by Aria Johnson
“I believe that cute guy was making goo-goo eyes at you,” Veronica teased as we moved toward the elevator.
Goo-goo eyes was the kind of antiquated terminology that she was fond of using.
“I hope the salsa instructor is patient with new students,” I said, deliberately changing the subject. I was too unsettled by the unexpected flirtation from the brawny alpha to have a discussion about it with Veronica.
My track record for intimate relationships was nothing to be proud of. My last long-term involvement was with a married man—one of the therapists I’d taken Brandon to see. That relationship was probably unhealthier than my marriage and yet I’d remained available to him off and on for three years. I hadn’t expected him to leave his wife for me, but seeing him on his terms only—during hasty lunchtime visits or whenever he could find an excuse to slip out of the house—did a job to my self-esteem. But I only had myself to blame. Eventually, I found the strength to put an end to the illicit affair.
There weren’t any eligible bachelors in my age group living in Middletown, Pennsylvania and when I drove into the city for work, I seldom stuck around to go to Happy Hour or to attend any other nighttime activities where women and men tended to hook up. Being on the prowl for a man seemed so sad and futile, and quite frankly, I didn’t have the emotional strength to throw my hat into the ring.
The last time anyone had flirted with me was at a horticulture convention about a year ago. His name was Clyde McCloskey and I became acquainted with him while he was giving a presentation titled “Insecticides for Landscapes.” His discussion on the insecticides used to control landscape pests was so boring that attendees were falling asleep. At the conclusion, when he asked if there were any questions for him, no one uttered a sound. Being polite, I raised my hand and asked about soil drench versus foliar spray.
Clyde gave a long-winded response, causing people to start looking down at their watches and gathering their belongings. When participants began moving en masse toward the exit sign, Clyde asked if he and I could continue the discussion over drinks.
I didn’t find him particularly attractive with his bushy mustache and thick-lensed eyeglasses, yet I surprised myself by agreeing to have a drink with him at the hotel bar. Despite the presence of a wedding band on his finger, we ended up in my hotel room, naked and in bed.
For the remaining days of the convention, we both ducked our heads down and scurried in opposite directions whenever we ran into each other. That was the last time I’d had sex, and I was beginning to feel lonely for male companionship. But I wasn’t the least bit interested in a sexual entanglement with a dreamy-looking panty-melter who was probably a player with a long list of women on rotation.
A hot guy like the silver-haired rock climber would have me eating out of the palm of his hand, and I had enough common sense to know when to stay in my lane.
In class I surprised myself when I learned the basic On1 style rather quickly. Then the instructor moved on to more complicated left and right turns. After thirty minutes of concentrating on counting while dancing, I was relieved when she announced the class was over. Since the room was available to us for another ten minutes, she encouraged us to continue dancing—to be free with our movements and to improvise.
From her playlist she switched to a faster song, and I quickly moved to the back of the room where no one would notice me. The upbeat music with its rhythmic precision was both energizing and cathartic, allowing me to forget my troubles and lose myself in the driving force of the horns and drums. As I shook my shoulders, waved my arms, and twirled around, I ventured from the salsa to a weirdly wild mambo, or maybe I was doing the rumba. I had no idea.
In a zone, I briefly closed my eyes and envisioned myself vacationing on a tropical island holding a mojito in one hand and a margarita in the other.
My eyes popped open at the sound of the door opening and I was jolted by the sight of Mr. Silver-Haired Hotness entering the class.
Smiling, he craned his neck and scanned the room that was filled with women. His sparkly dark eyes landed on a tall, gorgeous brunette who appeared to be in her early twenties—maybe her late teens. He waved at her and she blushed and stopped dancing, seemingly embarrassed that she’d been caught freestyling.
It figured that a hot guy like him would be romantically involved with someone half his age. I felt a surge of resentment for the way he’d toyed with my emotions by tossing me that gleaming smile. Why had he bothered when he knew he was only interested in youthful arm candy?
No longer in the mood for dancing, I was ready to go home. Dealing with Brandon’s hostility was preferable to being reminded that I was over the hill.
I tried to make eye contact with Veronica, but she was oblivious, swaying her hips in time to the music and giving no indication that she suffered from the acute hip pain she complained of at work.
The leggy brunette weaved through the throng of salsa dancers, making her way to the back of the room. I didn’t want to hear a verbal exchange between the May-December lovers, and so I began inching my way forward, trying to get to Veronica.
But I wasn’t quick enough. The young beauty’s long strides with those coltish legs carried her to back of the room in record time.
“You promised not to come to my class. It’s so humiliating, Dad,” she complained, rolling her eyes and twirling her hair.
Dad! My mood instantly elevated as did my level of respect for Mr. Hotness.
“I thought the class ended ten minutes ago. I was only checking to make sure you hadn’t gotten lost or anything,” he explained in a teasing tone.
Clearly not feeling playful, the daughter rolled her eyes. “I have to grab my bag and my water bottle. Can you please wait for me in the car?” Behaving as if her father’s concern for her well-being was a heinous crime, the girl stormed over to the cubbies where handbags and other personal items were stored during class.
I willed myself not to look in the hot guy’s direction, but my neck swiveled around on its own accord. Our gazes met and I felt lightheaded.
He made an adorable face and then shrugged as if saying: I’m a concerned parent; what’s so terrible about that? He was being playful, and but for a brief moment, I glimpsed a flicker of hurt in his eyes.
I commiserated by giving him a sad smile and shaking my head. I was painfully aware of the difficulties of parenthood.
He turned and left. To wait in the car, I supposed.
Meanwhile, I noticed that his daughter wasn’t gathering her belongings. She and another young lady were standing near the cubbies taking selfies. Sharing the salsa class experience, they held up colorful pairs of maracas and posed with their mouths scrunched into those awful duck lips that I’d yet to understand the meaning of.
After the music ended, Veronica, apparently unwilling to call it a night, began mingling with the instructor and a few others from class. As I waited for her to wrap it up, I realized I was a bit parched. My sedentary body wasn’t accustomed to so much physical activity and I could have kicked myself for forgetting to bring a bottle of water to class.
I cast a glance at Veronica, but she was still being a social butterfly. Not wanting to appear rude by rushing her, I left her alone and went out into the corridor in search of a water fountain. I didn’t have to look very far. The fountain was on the opposite side of the corridor and so was Mr. Hotness! He was supposed to be in his car, but there he was, leaning against the fountain, and the shock of seeing him caused me to stop short and gawk at him. Like a deer caught in headlights.
“Hi, there. We meet again. Is it me, or is one of us stalking the other tonight?” He smiled playfully and the smile revealed crinkles at the corners of his eyes that added maturity and character to his otherwise youthful face.
Being serious by nature and not good at sardonic bantering, I couldn’t think of one witty response. I possessed a warped sense of humor that hardly anyone got, so I refrained from cracking jokes with anyone other than Brandon—when he was
in a rare good mood.
“My name’s Jeff Schaeffer,” he said, extending his hand.
“Claire Wilkins.” I held out my hand and it was instantly swallowed inside his.
“My daughter, Allegra banished me to the car, and she’s not gonna like that I’m still hanging around against her orders. But I decided to show her that teenagers aren’t the only ones who get to be rebellious,” he said with a wink.
Jeff didn’t seem cocky at all. In fact, he had a boyish quality that was endearing. At the same time, he was incredibly masculine and exuded an aura of quiet power and control. Yet, despite his positive traits, every part of me wanted to turn around and run. Truth was I didn’t want to give him an opportunity to reject me over my undeveloped conversational skills, and so I merely smiled and hoped he didn’t think I was a mute idiot.
“I saw you outside the rock-climbing gym and thought I recognized you. Seeing you again in the salsa class made me realize that I don’t know you . . .” His voice trailed off and he cleared his throat for effect. “But I’d like to. I don’t see a wedding band,” he said, looking down at my hand. “I don’t have one, either.” He held up his left hand
“I, um. I’m divorced,” I sputtered.
“Yeah, me too. Two years. How long for you?”
“Sixteen.”
Jeff whistled and furrowed his brow. “I’m still adjusting to being single, but I guess you’ve gotten the knack of it.” He flashed another adorable smile and I noticed his even white teeth.
Jeff was a perfect male specimen. He was tall. Well over six feet with an olive complexion that was a stunning contrast against his silver hair. And his strong athletic body was muscular but not overly bulgy. As if he wasn’t already good-looking enough, he also had long sweeping eyelashes that added to his sex appeal.
I felt frumpy in the shapeless sweats I’d chosen to wear to salsa class, but Jeff gazed at me admiringly. Like he thought I was hot! Slowly but surely, I began to get over my jitters and stopped stumbling over my words. I found myself inching closer to him and smiling a lot as my comfort level improved. As luck would have it, the moment I became relaxed, people began streaming out of class and filling the hallway.
Suddenly self-conscious, I took a few steps back. I wasn’t quite sure if Jeff was flirting with me or merely being friendly, but I put a little distance between us. I also stood up straight, making sure that neither Veronica nor his daughter would misinterpret my body language and get the impression that we were up to anything.
“Hey, why don’t we finish this conversation over lunch or dinner?” he boldly suggested, maintaining direct and steady eye contact. Then he pulled out his phone. “What’s your number?” he asked in a rather assertive tone, looking down at the screen with his thumb poised to punch in the numbers.
Fully aware that an opportunity to go on a date with a sincerely nice guy who was also hot as hell wouldn’t come around again anytime soon—if ever—I blurted out my number.
“Got it.” He winked at me. “I’ll call you in a couple of days to set something up.”
“Sounds good.” I raised my hand and fluttered my fingers in what I hoped looked like a sexy little wave, and then I slowly turned around.
I’d forgotten to quench my thirst, but that no longer mattered. In a euphoric haze, I felt like skipping back to salsa class, but realizing Jeff was watching me, I concentrated on moving as gracefully as possible and praying that I wouldn’t stumble before I reached the door.
Inside, I let out a long breath and leaned against a wall to keep myself upright. A date! I was going out to lunch or dinner with the most incredibly gorgeous guy I’d ever met.
“You okay?” Veronica’s voice brought me back to reality.
“Never been better.”
“Well, you’re looking off into space like you’ve gone bonkers. Did someone say something to upset you?” She looked around for the culprit, ready to defend me.
“No, everyone here seems really nice. I’m just a little lightheaded from all that dancing. But it was fun, Veronica,” I quickly added. “Thanks for inviting me.”
She took a moment to appraise me. “You’re not going to drop the classes, are you?”
“Absolutely not,” I said with a secret smile.
Chapter 4
I arrived home with Chinese takeout and was greeted by the scent of something cooking that was heavy on fried onions. Puzzled, I made my way to the kitchen and found Brandon standing at the stove with a spatula in his hand. To my chagrin, he’d gone against my wishes and Ava was in the kitchen with him. The tattooed harlot was perched atop the kitchen island sipping beer from a can while Brandon fussed over something that was sizzling and popping in the frying pan.
Being face-to-face with the person who’d caused my fragile son so much pain and angst caused my heartrate to speed up. Had it not been for the lingering elation over my upcoming date, I would have been frothing at the mouth. Seeing her sitting on a surface where we ate our meals made my blood boil. The sheer audacity! She had a wildness about her, and her numerous tattoos gave her an unclean appearance. Appraising her, I noticed that her black nail polish was badly chipped, adding to her unkempt look. I was seriously bothered by her slovenliness and wondered when she’d last washed the scuzzy-looking jeans she had on.
Brandon whirled around. “Hey, Mom. This is Ava . . .my girlfriend. I’m making cheeseburgers and jalapeño fries—her favorite,” he gushed. He was talking fast, obviously nervous. His eyes pleaded for me not to kick her out the house. To allow him this rare moment of happiness.
Expecting me to object to her presence in my home, Ava gave me a tight little defiant smile. As she waited for Brandon and me to begin bickering, her eyes flickered with excitement.
Refusing to give her the pleasure of seeing me unravel, I took a deep breath. “Hi, Ava. I’ve heard so much about you; it’s nice to finally meet the young lady who has captured my son’s heart.” I nodded at the beer can. “I assume you’re of legal drinking age.” For Brandon’s sake, I kept my tone cheerful, but my sneering smile informed Ava of my utter disdain for her.
“Yep, I’m legal.” She gazed at me through mean eyes and then threw her head back and chugged down more beer. She cut an evil eye at me as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. That crude gesture forced me to look away. It was insane that my son had fallen for such an appalling girl.
Sensing the tension in the room, Brandon glanced at me. “You wanna try out my cooking, Mom?” The nervous way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down softened my heart.
I held up the bag of Chinese food. “No, thanks, I’ll watch the news in my room and have dinner in bed. I’m sure you two lovebirds want to be alone.” My words were followed by a significant look that warned him not to dare try and procreate with Ava in the sanctity of our home.
Brandon nodded in understanding, but I further enforced my rule by narrowing an eye at him. He scowled and nodded again. I get it, his surly expression said.
While Brandon and I communicated with our eyes, Ava set the beer can down and concentrated on picking at the remaining black polish from her thumbnail.
“You’re letting the burgers burn,” she said to Brandon in a reprimanding tone that pulled him back to her universe and out of mine. I was so irritated by her, I had to rush out of the kitchen.
What a bitch! I didn’t know her full story, but she was clearly a damaged person. It was imperative that Brandon come to his senses and get her out of his life. What on Earth did he see in her? She was unattractive inside and out, and since it was clear by her attitude that she felt nothing but contempt for him, I wondered why she was deliberately trying to trap him with a pregnancy?
His father’s money! Howard had a lucrative business and owned commercial real estate all over the state. But Ava was delusional if she thought Howard would part with any of his money for the offspring of the son he loathed.
On second thought, maybe she had latched onto Brandon so that she and her lesb
ian lover could have a baby. Using Brandon as a sperm donor was cheaper than paying for one. My foolish son didn’t have a clue he was being used.
Suddenly panicked, I wondered if she was still ovulating. Sighing, I set the bag of Chinese food on the nightstand and decided I wasn’t in the mood to worry over Brandon tonight. I’d had a wonderful chance encounter with someone who wanted to get to know me better and I preferred to daydream about my upcoming date than agonize over the possibility of Brandon impregnating his so-called girlfriend.
I’d have a stern talk with him after work tomorrow. If he was grown enough to even consider the lunacy of bringing a child into the world, then it was time for him to become self-reliant.
Veronica was right; implementing tough love was the only way to prevent Brandon from ruining his life.
• • •
First thing in the morning, I trekked down the hall to peek in on Brandon and was grateful to find him sleeping alone.
As usual his TV was on with the Xbox hooked up to it. A video game was frozen on the screen. I moved deeper inside his room to turn off the TV and had to navigate around Xbox discs and their cases, among a variety of objects that were carelessly strewn about.
Glancing at Brandon as he snored softly, I noticed that a set of controllers were entwined in the bedding. Not the usual solitary controller and the headset he used to communicate with online players. The two separate controllers indicated he’d been playing with a partner.
Empty beer cans were scattered about, and since Brandon didn’t drink alcohol (he hated the taste), I concluded that he’d disobeyed my rules and had invited Ava to his bedroom at some point last night while I was asleep.
His comic book collection, the only possessions that were important enough to be kept organized inside sneaker boxes, was spilled onto the floor on the opposite side of where Brandon slept, confirming my suspicions that his girlfriend had been in his room.
Apparently Ava hadn’t minded the squalid conditions. In fact, she’d added to the chaos with the beer cans and piles of comic books.
