Flirting With Forty

by S. L. Romines

  Flirting With Forty

  A Cherry Hill Novella

  Copyright © 2020 by S.L. Romines

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Copyright © 2020 by S.L. Romines.

  Flirting With Forty by S.L. Romines

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copy-right reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without written permission of above copyright owner of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Editor: Vanessa Kelly

  Cover Design: S.L. Romines

  Cover Art License: Depositphotos @prometeus @photomaru

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition: April 2020

  Library of Congress Cataloging-In-Publication Data has been applied for

  Romines, S.L.

  Flirting With Forty – 1st Edition

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Other Works by S.L. Romines

  About the Author

  Stay Connected

  Dedication

  To My Very Own

  Sam

  Thirty-one years ago, I had no idea the journey I was about to take when I met you that night at the raceway, but I’m sure as shit glad I did.

  You are my human.

  You are my best friend.

  You are my person.

  …

  You are beautiful.

  You are brave.

  You are worth.

  Sam and Choopie-best friends forever

  Chapter One

  Today is not my birthday. Today is not my birthday.

  No matter how many times I repeat those words, reality continues to smack me in the face.

  Hello out there in La La Land. My name’s Nina Charles and about twenty-five minutes ago I turned the ripe old age of forty.

  Now, let me make one thing clear. I have nothing against birthdays. I love birthdays. I love everything about birthdays just as long as we’re not celebrating mine. Here’s the thing. For the past few years, I’ve been feeling it. All. Of. It. Everything that comes with aging, I’ve been going through the motions, and friends and family telling me that I don’t look a day over thirty is horseshit. Just a huge, steaming pile of horse dookie. I know they mean well, but let’s face it. I’m looking a hell of a lot older than I did last year and before I know it, I’m going to start farting dust and sprouting mutton chops alongside a full-on goatee from the looks of those three chin hairs I’ve got going on lately. Oh, and let’s not forget good old memory loss. That asshole won’t leave me alone. One minute I’ve got all my ducks in a tidy little row and the next minute I’m zoning out, forgetting why I walked into the kitchen in the first place. My kids are convinced that I’ve lost my mind, my gray hair has doubled in the last few months and my boobs are turning into half-deflated, saggy, armpit titties. That’s right. I said it. My fun bags have become sad, droopy armpit titties.

  “Mom, I’ve got to get to work early. Do you want me to take the kids to school?”

  I blink away the sleepy haze and turn to glance at my alarm. “Crap, is that the time?”

  “Sure is.”

  My oldest child. Sometimes I wonder what I’d do without that kid. When Sebastian was born, there wasn’t one person in the delivery room that thought he was going to make it. Born with upper respiratory issues, lungs that weren’t fully developed and being severely jaundice, his medical situation had us all up in arms. Being one month premature, that poor kid was hooked up to needles and tubes from his head to his toes. It was a heartbreaking sight. One that I would never wish upon any parent.

  Today, I’m very proud of the man that he’s become. Confident, smart and so damn sure of himself and what the future holds for him. I have no doubt that great things are in his future.

  “So, do you want me to drop the kids off? I’ve gotta run.”

  “Yes, please,” I reply, nearly sliding out of my warm bed. “I can’t believe I slept this long.”

  “It’s your birthday. You’re allowed.”

  I look up at my son and smile. He remembered.

  “Happy birthday, Mom,” he says, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “I hope you have a great day.”

  As a few tears dot my lashes, I’m once again pulled back to the reality that is my life.

  “I will kick you in the neck, Vin! And then I’ll slice your big toe off and feed it to Specks!”

  My daughter, Ozella Ann, was born right on time, kicking and screaming, letting everyone know that she’d finally arrived. Everything about that girl screams stealthy ninja. When she was younger, she poked some kid in the side of the head with her pencil because he’d been making fun of her. The boy wasn’t seriously injured, and he did leave her alone after that. I grounded her for a week because poking someone in the head and all, but I do have to admit that I was proud of her for sticking up for herself. But, with my youngest child, Vincent, Ozella has a penchant for coming out swinging first and asking questions later.

  “I’m gonna rip your balls off, Vin!”

  I blow out a breath when I hear all hell breaking loose downstairs.

  “Let me go see what the heck is going on down there,” I say, as I head out my bedroom door. “I think I just felt two more gray hairs sprout.”

  Following behind me, Sebastian laughs as I take the steps two at a time.

  “Yeah, I think you got some new ones on the back of your head. At least ten. Maybe twelve.”

  “Shut your butt, dude,” I reply as my eldest child chuckles louder. “Everything’s all shits and giggles until someone cracks an old mama joke.”

  As soon as Sebastian and I round the corner, my eyes go wide and I shake my head at the shit-show in front of me. Vincent, lying flat on his stomach on the living room floor, is haphazardly hogtied with an extension cord while packaging tape is plastered across his mouth, as my not so innocent daughter sits at the kitchen table leisurely eating a bowl of corn flakes.

  “What in the backwoods ain’t got no kinda sense fuckery is this?” I roar, earning my kids’ attention. “Someone care to explain what in the hell is going on in here?”

  During her freshman year of high school, Ozella came home all googly-eyed over some boy that had been showing her interest. It had even gotten to the point that my daughter started dressing a little more feminine, a polar opposite from her slightly tomboyish persona. When she found that same boy holding hands with another girl, the gloves came off and I was called into the office because the boy received a broken nose and a fractured pinky from my stealthy, little ninja.

  “I told him to leave my stuff alone,” my daughter replies as she continues to eat, searching her phone for the latest makeup tutorial. “He didn’t listen to me.”

  “Again?” I ask, walking over to my youngest son and remove the tape from his mouth.

  As soon as Seb
astian releases Vincent from the binding, he pops to his feet and points at his sister.

  “She’s crazy!”

  “What did you just say?” Ozella’s voice raises several octaves as she quickly gets up out of her chair, pushes away from the table, narrows her eyes, and points a finger at her brother. “You want me to duct tape your butt to the wall, Vincent? Huh? Because trust and believe, I will do it.”

  “Mom, I didn’t do anything wrong. I was minding my own business, trying to get ready for school when McCrazy over there jumped me. Like, she legit jumped. She looked like a feral orangutan with her arms waving over her head.” Vincent’s response is a mixture of truth and lies as he cracks a fraction of a grin toward his sister when he thinks I’m not looking. “Mom, seriously. I’m an innocent victim to her crazy.”

  “Liar! You were nose deep in my diary! You probably got a play-by-play of everything for the last year and a half!”

  “Did you read your sister’s diary, Vincent?” I ask, already knowing the answer. This isn’t the first time and I’m pretty sure it won’t be the last. “Well, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t read it.” Vincent runs a hand through his hair. “I was walking by and it just fell open. It’s really not my fault, Mom.”

  “Lies! It was in the back of my dresser drawer in a shoebox, you idiot!”

  Vincent was born with mischief in his bones and adventure in his eyes. The kid cracks me up, but I wish he’d stop trying to antagonize his sister. I try my damnedest to brush it off as a bit of sibling rivalry, but breaking into her diary is a recipe for disaster with any teenage girl.

  “Mom, who you gonna believe?” Vincent asks as he puts his shoes on. “Nutty McNutterson over there or me? The answer’s a no-brainer.”

  “You have priors, Vin, and let me say this,” I reply, looking at both Ozella and Vincent. “You two need to find a happy medium with each other. Understand? This crap’s getting old. You’re both driving me up a wall and I swear there isn’t enough wine within a hundred-mile radius to deal with this level of chaos.”

  “Tell him to stay out of my stuff and we’ll be just fine.”

  “Stay out of your sister’s stuff or you’re grounded for the unforeseeable future, Vincent.”

  “Tell her to quit being so mental and we’ll be just peachy.”

  I blow out a well-needed breath and turn to Sebastian as he shakes his head with a smirk on his face. “Can you please get these two to school before I blow a head gasket?”

  “Yep,” Sebastian replies with a slight smirk still on his face. “Let’s go, guys, I’m going to be late for work.”

  As the three of my kids gather their things and head for the door, my mind takes a trip down memory lane to a time when they were small and sweet. Now they’re teenagers and out for blood.

  “Happy birthday, Mama,” Ozella calls out behind her.

  “Yeah, happy uterus day, Old Lady.” Vincent’s response earns him a swift smack upside the head from his older brother.

  “Happy birthday, Mom,” Sebastian calls out as he closes the door behind him. “Have a good day.”

  “I love you, weirdos!” I reply. “Have a great day!”

  As soon as my kiddos are out the door, I flop down on the couch and revel in absolute silence. Normally, I’d be running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get the minions off to school, and on my way back home, I’d grab a latte before getting ready to work. Right now, however, it looks like it’s going to be a coffee pot kind of morning.

  Oh, that reminds me. I haven’t even mentioned my occupation. It’s not a big deal. Okay, it kind of is a big deal. I’m a writer. I write books. Well, more specifically, I write romantic comedy books. I know, right? You’re probably wondering how in the hell I can even form any coherent sentences living this chaotic life. That’s what locks on office doors are for. My kids know that when the door is shut and that bright pink sign is hanging on the doorknob, anyone who enters without being seriously injured or on death’s doorstep will feel my wrath. Plus, they like the perks of the paycheck.

  My life is basically one big story plot, and all of our crazy shit always ends up in one of my books.

  Right after my husband left me for some tramp at the gym, I needed an outlet, so I took up reading-something I hadn’t done in years. I’d burned through so many books that even my bank account felt the repercussions. I dove right into the romantic comedies, binge reading everything I could get my hands on, including V. Kelly. I might have laughed till I cried, nearly peed my pants on several occasions, and barked out a loud, unattractive snort-laugh while sitting in my gynecologist's office but, for a brief moment, I was smiling again. Those stories helped me forget about my pain and my heartbreak. And, when the loneliness set in, I dove into some steamy erotica where Annelise Reynolds had me searching out batteries while R.E. Hargrave had me clenching my thighs during a PTA meeting.

  Books made my life easier to bear, and after two years of diving into some amazing reads, I decided to try my hand at writing my own and as they say, the rest is history.

  Just as I make my way to the kitchen and turn on the coffee pot, the doorbell rings. I don’t even have to guess who it is because every morning like clockwork my best friend, Samantha, shows up for her morning cup of java and a daily dose of gossip. Living in Cherry Hill has its perks when it comes to chewing the fat with the bestie.

  “Bitcherella! Where you at?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Um, how come you didn’t tell me about the dude moving in the next door?” Sam asks as she tosses her purse and keys on the countertop. “He’s fuckin’ delicious and you’re being a hottie hoglet.”

  “Relax, turbo. I had no idea there was anyone next door.”

  “Well, it looks like he just pulled up when I did,” she says, quirking her finger for me to follow her to the front window. “Look at that shit.”

  I’d heard from my next-door neighbors that the house across from me had sold a couple of weeks ago, but hadn’t heard of who the new owner was.

  “I do believe that is your new neighbor, you lucky bitch.”

  My mouth instantly falls open as soon as the man that Sam points out removes his black hoodie, revealing a white tank top and muscular arms slathered with a ton of tattoos from his wrists to his shoulders, but that isn’t what makes my pulse race. It’s the beard. Rough, rugged, inked and bearded. Imagining all the things I bet he could do with all that face fur makes me bite down hard on my bottom lip while secretly wishing he’d fuck me on the back of a Harley while talking dirty to me.

  “Careful, Nina, your vagina might explode under all that pent up coochie tension you’ve got going on.”

  Sam’s not wrong. Ever since Chase and I divorced three years ago, my vagina has seen better days. Not only have I lost the elusive ‘O’, but I also haven’t seen a dick up close and personal since the very last time Chase and I were together.

  “He’s probably one of the movers,” I reply and head back to the kitchen, feeling that proverbial buzz between my legs. Taking a deep breath, I reach for two oversized coffee cups and fill them to the brim. “The new owners are probably some uppity snobs like the rest of the muckety mucks around here. Sometimes I’d like to pack up and get out of this little slice Snootyville hell.”

  “Shut your mouth! This place is like a petri dish of drama. I fuckin’ love it!”

  “You would.”

  “Hell yes, I do. If you had my mess of a marriage, you’d feel the same way. Hell, if that dude out there was moving in next door to me, I’d take my happy ass upstairs, put on my sluttiest outfit, traipse myself out that door and offer up the goods,” Sam says, as she pours herself a cup of coffee. “But not you. You’d rather sit behind these walls and let your vag dry up. What kind of life is that, Nina? Hm?”

  “It’s my life, Sam, and I love my life. It’s safe, it’s controlled, and it’s mine. The only people I have to worry about are me and my children, and I don’t need a man
getting in the way of that. I don’t have to answer to anyone. I’m happy, Sam, so drop it.”

  Sam shrugs her shoulders as she brings her coffee cup to her lips. “Fine. I’ll drop it. But this isn’t living, Nina. You’re not getting any younger. God knows that shit is creeping up on the both of us. The only difference between you and me is that I’m stuck in a loveless marriage that’s been at a standstill for the past ten years. But, you? You have a chance to live, and here you are living like a hermit. Congratulations, my dear friend. Your life sucks bigger balls than mine.”

  “Bite me, Sam,” I reply with a flip of my middle finger.

  Just as my best friend is about to utter something else that might guarantee another stiff bird in her direction, the doorbell rings. As I make my way to the front door, looking like a hot mess, I take a quick peek out the peephole and nearly have a super-sized panic attack.

  It’s him!

  My new neighbor!

  He’s here!

  On my porch!

  “Your pathetic is showing.”

  Sam’s voice grates on my nerves as I continue to eye-spy the delicious specimen through the peephole. But a few more doorbell rings later and my reaction surprises even me.

  “Go away! We don’t want any!”

  Behind me, Sam starts to cackle and there’s no way that my unexpected visitor cannot hear her.

  “Shut the hell up, freak!” I whisper-yell to my idiot friend. “He’ll hear you!”

  “I don’t give a damn who hears me. Especially that guy. Maybe what you need is for that guy,” she replies as she points toward the front door, “… to fuck your brains out.”

  “I hate you!” I silently mouth as the knocking continues.

  “Oh, for the love of Pete, just answer the damn door already,” Sam punches out as she moves towards me.

  “I swear, if you even think about opening this fuckin’ door I will punch you in your hairy vagina,” I tell her, keeping my grip on the doorknob.

  Sam’s brow arches into a wicked point, and I know that she’s about to be up to no good when a knowing smile stretches across her mouth. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, she makes a beeline for the bay window in the living room. Throwing open the blinds, and in drama queen fashion, she slams her palms against the window and smashes the side of her face against it.