Her Teddy Bear #3 (Erotic Romance) - Dress Up Your Teddy

by Strong, Mimi

  Trevor was, indeed, in the kitchen, and the good news was a pot of coffee was brewing. The bad news was we weren't alone. A petite woman with dark brown hair in a pixie cut was slicing fruit at the kitchen island, in the middle of the large, gleaming, all-white kitchen.

  She looked up at me, her huge blue eyes wide and doll-like. Her expression became warm, genuinely joyful, and she said, “You must be Naomi!”

  She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and reached out to shake my hand.

  Trevor was sitting on a kitchen stool at the island, looking pale and guilty.

  My underarms prickled with nervous sweat, but I shook her hand and tried to smile. “Roxie?”

  She glanced at Trevor, then back at me. “Roxanne, but my friends call me Roxie.”

  My stomach lurched. What did she mean? Everything was a blur as she got me a mug and poured my coffee, chatting away about what fruit was in season. What had she meant and what was I supposed to call her? I decided to make a statement.

  “Thank you, Roxie,” I said. That was it. I'd decided we were friends, and it was up to her to declare otherwise.

  She simply smiled back.

  With that, Trevor seemed to relax. He patted the stool next to him, but I took a seat closer to where I was standing, with a seat in between us.

  Roxie said, “I'll be out of your hair in a minute.” As she moved around the kitchen, I noticed she was limping, so at least the sprained ankle was true. Still, she didn't seem to be having too hard a time getting around, and I couldn't see how stairs at her townhouse were such a problem that she had to move in with my boyfriend.

  I said none of this as I sipped my coffee.

  She looked different from my imagined version of her—older, maybe forty, and not perfect. She had some acne scars on her cheek, and while she was still a lovely woman, spotting those flaws made me feel better. Some of her hair was gray, and I didn't think the haircut was that flattering. Still, she had an enviable figure, with a tiny waist. I tried not to look at her small waist, but my eyes disobeyed me.

  After some more chit-chat about fruit and her plans for the day (shopping for curtains), she left us, but not before an awkward goodbye. She hugged Trevor and kissed him on the cheek, and then she did the exact same to me.

  I waited until I heard the front door close, then I turned to Trevor and said, “I'm getting a very sister-wife feeling right now. Like one of those reality TV shows about polygamists.”

  “I'm sorry,” he said. “I was hoping she'd be out of here before you woke up.” He grabbed me and hauled me off my chair and onto the one next to him. With his arm still around me, he said, “It's not fair for her to see you coming down from my bedroom, looking all adorable and sexed-up in my T-shirt!”

  I smiled at the compliment and cuddled in to him.

  “Tell me she's moving back out for good soon. She seems nice and everything, but … I don't want to share you.”

  He answered by kissing me and pulling me closer.

  I moaned into his mouth and surrendered to him, enjoying the touch of his warm hand traveling up between my bare thighs. I shifted to let his fingers travel all the way up.

  “Sorry!” Roxie said, bustling into the kitchen.

  We pulled apart quickly, my face hot with embarrassment.

  She had one hand up to cover her eyes as she grabbed the plastic containers of cut fruit off the counter. “Just forgot these. I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached. Don't mind me, I'm not even here.”

  Thankfully, this time we didn't go through the hug-and-kiss-goodbye ritual.

  A moment later, the door slammed.

  Trevor craned his neck down for another kiss, his hand returning to the spot between my legs, but this time I clenched my legs together to stop his fingers from roaming.

  I pulled back and picked up my coffee.

  He nodded, got up, and turned on the stove. He pulled out a cast-iron skillet and started cracking eggs for an omelet.

  I asked him, “When did you guys separate?”

  He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

  “Trevor, it's a one-word answer. We don't need to have a big talk. Just name the month.”

  “February.”

  “Seven months ago.”

  He nodded.

  “And when was the last time you two slept together.”

  This one took longer to answer.

  Finally, he said, “March, but it was a mistake. She hadn't moved out yet, and there was a storm. The power was out, and ...”

  “And you guys had sex because what? Because you were bored and there was no TV or internet?” After I asked, I felt bad for how disgusted my tone was.

  He nodded. “Basically.”

  I took a deep breath and sighed. “Actually, I can live with that. If it's really true. I can understand you guys hooking up one last time for old time's sake, especially in a power outage. What I can't live with is the idea of you still being in love with her.”

  “I'll always love her.”

  He poured the egg mixture into the sizzling pan.

  That wasn't what I wanted to hear. Part of me wanted to rip off the borrowed T-shirt and storm out of there in a huff. Another part of me wanted to stay, eat the omelet, and take Trevor back to bed and make love to him.

  And then, Trevor said something that shocked me.

  He pulled out a spatula, looked me right in the eyes, and said, “I have a lot of love to give. There's plenty more for you.”

  My armpits prickled once more with sweat. He hadn't said he loved me, but he'd hinted at it. Or something. I was so confused.

  Being the cool chick I am, I changed the subject. “What kind of omelet is that?”

  He grinned and turned back to the stove to flip it. “There are different kinds of omelet? It's just egg with a bit of milk and salt and pepper. But we have lots of toppings to put on it, like salsa, and sour cream, and bacon bits.”

  I laughed. “Bacon bits? You mean like for baked potatoes?”

  He winked at me. “Try something new. You might like it.”

  I agreed to try the omelet with bacon bits. Maybe I would like it. I hadn't wanted to go out on a blind date with Trevor in the first place, but now I was hanging out at his house, wearing his clothes, even meeting his wife over a casual breakfast. Who knew what the future would hold?

  Part 3: Office Christmas Parties Are the Worst/Best

  A week after Halloween, Roxie moved back out of Trevor's house. I hadn't bumped into her there again (thanks to careful planning on my part), but I was so relieved.

  Trevor and I saw each other all through November. We went for walks together, saw movies, and he even came to the Farmer's Market with me and my parents one Saturday. He and my father talked each other's ears off about landscaping and local plants. My mother kept her hands off him, but she did gaze up at him in adoration a few times, which I found really sweet. I definitely didn't get the vibe she was after him, but I still teased her a bit about her “crush” anyway, just to get back at her for all the teasing she'd given me over the years.

  I enjoyed dating Trevor, though he did frustrate me at times. He really did find the idea of talking about his feelings excruciating.

  Aside from relating the story of how he'd met Roxie, he didn't breathe another word about their life together. From the one-word answers he gave, I learned that they'd dated for a year before getting engaged, then had a one-year engagement, and got married on the second anniversary of their first date. The wedding was two years earlier, and they'd split in February after a year and a half of marriage.

  I was relieved that Trevor didn't count the separation time into his account of how long they'd been married. It was just a small detail, but it really helped me feel more comfortable that it was truly over between them.

  By December, we'd fallen into a routine. We'd spend the whole weekend together, and alternate weekdays. More and more of my clothes and things migrated over to his house. He had two large closets
in his bedroom, and he gave me one all to myself.

  My mother commented that we were living together, based on how few days I spent at home, but I denied it. “I don't have a key,” I said.

  She just twisted her lips and said, “Don't accept a key. Get a ring.”

  I laughed and teased her for being old-fashioned, but she did make a point. There was no need for me to take a key anyway, so I decided not to worry about it. After two months, there was certainly no rush.

  And how did I feel? Oh, I loved him.

  I hadn't told him this, but the feeling had snuck up on me, getting stronger each time I saw him. I'd considered telling him a thousand times, especially since he always asked me what I was thinking, often when I was thinking about how I loved him. He hadn't said it, though—hadn't mentioned anything about love since that morning over the omelet. I was not going to be the person who said it first. Not this time. I'd been first with other boyfriends, and those had never worked out. Maybe I was being superstitious. Maybe I was just being stupid.

  My feelings for Trevor were so strong and pure, I felt like those times I'd said it to other boys had been lies. I hadn't actually loved them so much as I'd wanted to be loved. Those other guys had been mistakes, but Trevor didn't feel like a mistake at all.

  One Sunday dinner, one of the ones Trevor didn't join us for, I actually gave my sister heck for not setting us up sooner.

  She thought this was hysterical, but there was a glint of disbelief in her eyes. She still wasn't convinced this wasn't just a transitional relationship, a rebound for him.

  December came, and things at my job got crazy. My accounting work and collection calls were under control, but we were doing a production of The Nutcracker, and somebody must have named the Scottish Play in the green room, because we were cursed with problems.

  We had a small fire in our off-site storage warehouse, destroying props and costumes and even parts of the set. Everyone from the office upstairs was pressed into helping out downstairs, and yours truly spent three days hand-painting snowflakes onto backdrops. I didn't mind, because it was a nice change from my regular desk-work, and I love the theater. I'd actually been a back-up dancer for the same production a few years earlier, which was how I'd made some contacts for my office job.

  Eight days before The Nutcracker opened, calamity hit once more. The lead dancer broke her arm and some ribs pulling a daredevil stunt, skateboarding behind a car for a YouTube video, of all the stupid things.

  The understudy was bumped up, and then, two days before opening night, the Mono hit. Six dancers down with Mono, just like that.

  I was touching up some snowflakes when the director approached me.

  He looked me up and down and asked me what size leotard I wore.

  “You're kidding,” I said.

  “Naomi, you know the routine. You're a great dancer. Come on, it'll be fun.”

  “Let's pretend we both don't know damn well I'll do it, and you keep giving me compliments.”

  “You're so beautiful,” he said, grinning. The director was a small man, barely taller than me, with a bulbous nose that made him look like a Christmas elf, and he was utterly irresistible when he smiled. “You have the loveliest legs I've ever seen. Your knees are utter perfection.”

  “Keep going.” I laughed and kept painting snowflakes as the butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I did know the routine, but I'd need to work hard to get ready, and I'd be the out-of-breath dancer hiding in the back row, but the idea of being on stage thrilled me.

  That afternoon, they fitted me with my costume. I got in trouble from the hair and makeup people for having my hair in a chin-length bob. They had to use a ton of bobby pins to press up the short bits, and an extension to give me a proper bun.

  It wasn't exactly a Broadway production, but I was proud of my theater co-workers for all taking their jobs so seriously.

  Even as people murmured about swollen glands and the possibility of more people falling ill, everyone kept repeating, “The show must go on!”

  I still had my dress rehearsal makeup on when I went to Trevor's office Christmas party. Because my sister also worked at the real estate development office, she grabbed me when I walked in the door. The party was in a banquet room at an upscale hotel, and everyone seemed really serious.

  Nikki gave me a crooked grin and said, “Got enough makeup on, kid?”

  I grabbed her head and smeared my blush-covered cheek against hers while she squealed. Some gray-haired guys in suits turned and stared.

  I recognized a few people, including some of Nikki's friends, and the real estate agents who'd been at the show suite Trevor and I had “toured.”

  “Bar?” I asked.

  She pointed, and I saw there was a lineup and only one bartender. I said, “Hey, look, is that whats-his-name over there? That actor guy you love?”

  Nikki turned, and I grabbed the gin and tonic from her hand and downed it in one gulp.

  “You're such a brat,” she said.

  “Merry Christmas!” I hiccuped.

  We moved through the crowd of people in suits, until we found Trevor. He was clapping another man on the back and both were laughing heartily. I stood silently, wondering if he was going to claim me, to make it official and all. His whole office knew we were dating, but few of them had seen us together yet.

  He didn't leave me hanging for long. He stretched out one long arm and beckoned me to come join him, then introduced me to his colleague.

  I was bursting at the seams to tell him all about rehearsal and how excited I was about dancing in The Nutcracker the next day. It wasn't a ballet production—I'm not that talented!—but a family-friendly version with some modern dance routines, a bit of physical comedy, and one scene performed with puppets. My muscles were aching from the high kicks at rehearsal, and I was going to be popping Ibuprofen like candy, but the excitement was bubbling in my veins.

  After only two days, I was already re-evaluating my life and career. I didn't want to work in an office anymore. I wanted to sing, dance, and act, and the first person I wanted to tell was not my sister for a change, but Trevor.

  He squeezed my hand, but kept talking to the other man about negotiating height restrictions with the city. Finally, he turned to me and said, “Naomi, if this talk is dull for you, you can mix and mingle.”

  I stared up at his professionally-cool expression. I didn't know whether to apologize for having been standing there with a bored look, or to take him at face value. I didn't want to embarrass him in front of clients, so I mumbled something about my sister needing company and wandered off, feeling like a jackass.

  I found the ladies' room and wiped off most of the stage makeup. At least it was a fancy hotel washroom, with baskets full of toiletries, soft tissues, and cold cream.

  As I was fixing my hair, the lady real estate agent who'd been at the show suite came in, laughing and talking with a girlfriend. As soon as they saw me, they both clammed up instantly.

  They went into the bathroom stalls and I stepped back to examine myself in the mirror. I wore a simple, navy blue dress and matching pumps. With the excess makeup taken off, I looked respectable enough. So why did I feel like “the young floozy” dating the boss?

  I stared into my eyes in the mirror, and then my gaze traveled down a pretty little card tucked into the basket of toiletries: Believe in yourself and the limitations of life drop away.

  It was true. I believed I could dance all my parts in the play. I just had to believe I could be more than a transitional girlfriend for Trevor, but a real partner.

  I left the washroom and found him, where he was still talking to the same gentleman.

  This time, I listened closely to their conversation, and when there was a lull, I asked the man a question.

  The man, a Mr. Charles, seemed all too delighted to explain to me about preserving the character in heritage neighborhoods. I love old houses, so the conversation flowed naturally. I barely noticed Trevor getting closer an
d closer to me, until he was standing right at my side, one arm casually around my back.

  When the conversation with Mr. Charles concluded naturally, Trevor and I walked away, and he gave me one quick look that said it all. I'd done well.

  When we sat down for dinner, sharing a table with my sister and a few other friendly people, I leaned over and whispered in Trevor's ear, “You look so sexy in your suit.”

  He then whispered in my ear, “I bet you can't wait to take it off.”

  “It's a shame it's such a long drive back to your house. I don't know how long I can wait. Maybe we can borrow the coat check room for a few minutes?”

  “Only a few minutes?” He nibbled my earlobe.

  “That's all I need. You set me on fire, baby. I swear you just touch me and I'm coming for you.”

  He growled, his voice low and rumbling in his chest, and his hot hand moved possessively up my thigh. At his touch, desire pooled in my body and my pussy tingled with energy.

  Suddenly, I remembered I had an early-morning call time, and I wasn't planning on going all the way out to his house that night.

  I pulled my face away and broke the news. He looked devastated, then excused himself from the table.

  The waiters came by with our steaming food, and we all got started.

  Trevor came back, grinning.

  He didn't say a word, but slipped something into my hand under the table.

  I pulled it out from under the tablecloth. A keycard. He'd booked us a room at the hotel.

  “Oh, you shouldn't have,” I said, concerned about the cost.

  He raised his eyebrows and gave me a devilish look.

  “But I'm glad you did,” I finished.

  After dinner, the lights in the banquet room dimmed, and the party got a little more festive. The office manager had organized some games, and we did some relay race activities that included a speed-gift-wrapping competition. I won the gift-wrap segment, and Trevor cheered for me like I was winning the Olympics, and not a plastic mistletoe ornament.