by Edie Sommers
I thought about my life, my goals, my family. Mostly, I lost myself in the music. Queen today. Bohemian Rhapsody. Over and over. In my head I sang the words.
I returned home to still no sign of Andy and Jack.
This wouldn’t do. They might be dates on the weekends, but weekdays they were my buds. I stomped over to their front door and banged.
Andy opened the door, clad in a pair of running shorts and no shirt. I grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling over, possibly from more than exertion. “Yes?” he asked, eyes focused too high to see me. He dropped his gaze and smiled. For a moment only. “As glad as I am to see you, you know the rules.”
I channeled my dear, liberated auntie, put my hands on my hips, and glared. “Those were your rules, not mine, and I’m not fine with them, you hear? I used to see you two often, even if just to say hi. Now you’re hiding out in your house, and we don’t see each other.”
Andy lost the battle not to laugh. I must’ve resembled a flea barking at the dog. “You haven’t seen us, but we’ve seen you. What’d you have in those bags that you had to make so many trips? I’da come helped you if Jack hadn’t stopped me.”
Must’ve been hell for a gentleman to watch what he assumed to be a struggle and not come to my rescue. “Never mind that! Are you going to let me in, or do I have to go through you?” Like my bodily getting past him stood a snowball’s chance in Hell of happening.
Maybe I should have showered and changed, worn something nice, but that would make me Date Cassie and not Friend Cassie. Right now I wanted to be Friend Cassie.
Andy reined in his mirth, stepped back, and waved me into the house with a bold sweep of his hand.
“Hey, Andy…” Jack came into the living room and stopped in his tracks. Was this shirtless day at the Getsinger house? Sure, I’d seen them barely clothed, but I’d never been more aware of each muscle, the pattern of hair on Jack’s chest, and the lack on Andy’s.
Jack and I remained frozen, staring at each other. He broke the awkward silence. “Not that I’m not glad to see you or nothing, but what’s up? Is something wrong?”
I glanced at Andy, who shrugged. Right. Words. My thing. Not his. “I don’t like not seeing you two between dates.” I braced my hands on my hips again. Hey, it’d worked with Andy. “We’re friends first, right?”
My heart banged in my chest. What would I do if they asked me to leave?
Jack glanced over my head, stilled a moment, and nodded, sharing some kind of silent communication with Andy. “I’m putting dinner on the table. Spaghetti. Want some?”
Magically we were back to being Cassie, Andy, and Jack, neighbors and friends. “Andy made the sauce?” My stomach rumbled on cue.
“Yep.”
I beat Jack into the kitchen. Andy’s homemade pasta sauce? Add another check mark in the plus column for Andy.
“I made blackberry cobbler.” Jack licked a fingertip and drew a line in the air. Smug jerk.
“Need any help?” Normally, on spaghetti nights I fixed the salad.
“Nah, we got it.”
Suddenly the playing field grew uneven again. Oh! “I’ll be right back!” I darted over to the house, snagged the way too expensive bottle of wine I’d bought months ago, and came back. “Y’all have got to try this!”
We fell into long-practiced roles: Andy setting the table, me pouring wine, and Jack ladling noodles and sauce onto plates. We sat at a four-top table, the guys across from each other, and me on the side between them. In that moment it hit me, how I really could come between them with the choice I had to make.
But if I didn’t date them, didn’t make the choice, I might lose them both.
“Thanks for the gift and flowers, guys, but you’ve set my coworkers’ tongues to wagging.” One coworker’s in particular.
Andy assumed his one-answer-for-everything pose, hung his head and blushed. Jack patted his own back and said, “Let ‘em talk. Least they’re leaving some other poor soul alone.”
I shoved noodles and sauce into my mouth and moaned. “Oh, so good!” Both men stared at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” Andy answered.
“What? Tell me?” Had I grown a third eye or something?
Jack tapped his lip. “You got a bit of sauce right there.”
They continued staring while I licked the droplet away. I moaned again at the next bite, and two forks clattered to two plates.
I glanced at Andy and back to Jack. “What?”
Jack twisted his napkin with his fingers. “It’s just that…” He made eye contact with his brother. “It’s…” He heaved out a sigh. “We’re trying very hard to keep things friendly, but if you moan one more time, I’m afraid we might not be responsible for our actions.”
Oh, really? I waved a piece of garlic bread at them. “Kiss repellent.” Tonight wasn’t about dating. Tonight we’d rekindle the friend bond.
“Not if we’ve all eaten some,” Jack pointed out.
“Well, then.” I savored every bite of my meal, saving my moans, and my fantasies of them being irresponsible all over me, to myself.
9
Saturday, and another date with Andy looming in the evening. Pacing didn’t calm my jangled nerves. Neither did raiding the fridge. Even taking my car down to Sonny’s carwash didn’t bring the happiness of a momentarily clean car. Nothing helped to ease the anxiety of facing him after kissing—and enjoying—his brother.
In desperation, I texted Darlene. “Help! I’m nervous and don’t know what to do!”
“Clean your room?”
“Done!”
The next message took a full two minutes to appear, Darlene not being the world’s fastest texter. “Corralled the dust bunnies under the bed?”
“Yup.”
Another pause, and then, “Check the batteries in your smoke alarms?”
Hmmm… That was a new one she’d never asked before. Oh, yeah, right. This month’s work safety video had been on fire prevention. “I don’t know if I have fresh batteries.”
Darlene didn’t miss a beat, though her response took her a while. “You’re a single woman. Of course you have fresh batteries.”
Um… true that. I made a mental note to check the smoke detectors—which Andy normally took care of.
My phone stayed silent for a few minutes and chimed again.
Darlene sent a smilie emoji and, “If there’s nothing left to do at your place, then come clean my apartment. It’s a mess.”
“You’re not helping.” Not really. Truth be told she wasn’t even trying hard. She must‘ve been multi-tasking. With narrowed eyes, I asked, “Are you watching Ellen?”
Nothing. Then, “Not anymore. You have my full attention. Promise.”
A mental image formed of her clicking off the TV. Then she texted the magic words: “Want me to come over?”
Did I really want to rope her into listening to me rant all afternoon, and discard outfit after outfit as unacceptable? “No. Thanks for the offer, but I don’t want to ruin your day off.”
Another long silence passed, then, “Does your yard still look like you live in an abandoned house?”
Yes, it did, damn it. No need answering, she knew the truth. Sometimes I wondered if she stalked the house.
“Go pull weeds, and I expect a full report on your date come Monday. I would say call me tomorrow, but with any luck you’ll still be recovering from a wild night of sex.” Her text was filled with misspelled words, a sure sign of her having switched to talk-text.
I reread her reply until the words finally made sense. Knots formed in my stomach again.
One trip to the home store later added a trunkful of annuals to help me spruce up the yard and add to the tattered pack of flower bulbs I’d bought on sale last fall. And a pack of nine-volt batteries for the smoke detectors. One couldn’t be too careful.
Jean shorts that had raveled into Daisy Dukes two inches ago and a T-shirt from my favorite band—well, my favorite band in middle school, befo
re I grew boobs—were fine for sweaty work. I knelt beside what might have once been called a shrub, with a spade in one hand and a plant in the other.
Dig. Plant. Dig. Plant. Check package. Dig up bulb. Replant with the correct end up.
Sweat formed on my brow, plastering hair to my forehead. Swiping at my face with a dirty glove probably smeared potting soil all over my cheek.
Eying the flats with an evil eye didn’t shrink the amount. Why had I bought so many plants? Oh well, I still had a few hours to fill before I needed to start getting ready for my date.
Me playing gardener definitely wasn’t a look I’d want my dates to see. Their vehicles weren’t home, so maybe I’d be finished by the time they arrived.
Good. If they saw me now they might run screaming.
I dug. I planted. And planted some more, earbuds and classic 80s rock in my ears.
A hand landed on my arm. “What the…” My shriek turned to a wail when I landed flat on my butt, glaring up at Andy. I yanked out my earbuds.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Andy trudged over to the petunia I’d beheaded with an ill-aimed spade throw, and picked up the spade. “I just asked if you needed some help.”
Clutching my hand to my wildly beating heart didn’t calm the racing. Oh my God! What a sight I must be!
Andy crouched down beside me, nice and clean in dress pants and casual shirt. “Are you all right?”
No. And I might not ever be again. The heating in my cheeks had nothing to do with the bright sunshine beating down.
I wiped a dirt-smeared hand across my forehead, adding another stripe across my face. “I only have a few more to do.”
Empty flats spread out around me, their former cargo now forming a riot of color in my flower beds: petunias, marigolds, cock’s comb, and a few others I didn’t know the names of but that the clerk at Home Depot assured me were perfect for sunny areas.
Andy knelt beside me, still clutching the spade. He turned my palm up and kissed a blister. “You should be wearing gloves.”
He studied the beds and dug a hole right where I would have and held out his hand. I passed him what might have been a zinnia.
Without a word he helped me finish my planting, his peaceful silence saying more than words could. He must like spending time with me, even if we weren’t doing anything special. Our date wasn’t for a few hours.
“You hungry?” he asked. Not a smudge marred his face or his clothes.
Morning had long since given way to afternoon. “I could eat.” I managed to bite off the “you” I mentally tacked on to the sentence. Did the guy have no idea the impact of his gaze? One look paralyzed me, inducing thoughts of many things, but not food.
Him, sprawled out on a bed. Naked. Me, with a jar of honey. Okay, maybe food worked in there too.
“I’ve got a pot of soup simmering in the crock pot, if you want some.”
Huh? “What?”
He grinned. Maybe he did have some idea of my thoughts. “I invited you over for soup.”
Oh. “Soup, in this weather?” The moment the words left my mouth I wanted to bury my face in my hands. Why couldn’t I be witty or clever?
Score a point for Andy. He didn’t move in for the kill and point out my embarrassment. Hey, he couldn’t blame me for being reduced to few brain cells in his presence. There were mirrors in his house. He had to know how fine he looked.
He also had to know that his kindness and the way he focused all his attention on whomever he spoke to, the beauty in his soul, matched the beauty on the outside.
Andy swiped a strand of hair out of my eyes with a gentle finger, inducing a shiver even in the hot sun. “I’m using up what I canned last year from Grandpa’s garden. The new crops will start coming in soon, and I’ll put up more. This way, nothing gets old and goes bad.”
A practical man. Doing his own canning. Mom would approve. Darlene would roll her eyes. But yeah, I could eat.
He could also run that finger over my face again anytime.
Brushing dirt off my clothes with my hands only succeeded in adding more. At least I remembered to toe off my filthy sneakers before wandering into the house. I washed my hands at the kitchen sink. When they’d split the house in half, the original owners had added the kitchens, leaving an empty area in the yard between the two extensions. Andy and Jack’s kitchen window faced my own. I’d made faces at them before while washing dishes.
Was it bad that I had my own place at their table? I used to envy the other women who’d sat there, but not anymore. They didn’t get to stay. I did.
Andy sat a bowl of steaming vegetable soup in front of me, and a saucer with a piece of cornbread, with butter oozing off the top. The guy knew his way around a kitchen. He must’ve gotten home long before I’d noticed.
The first bite of soup wasn’t enough. Was that cilantro I tasted? Mmm… I’d never tell Mom, but her family heirloom recipe didn’t come close to Andy’s. “Where’s Jack?”
“At Grandpa’s.” Andy met my gaze over the table, his eyes full of hunger for more than food. I gulped. For the past hour he’d seen my shorts-clad ass bent over a flower bed.
I stood, he stood. “I think you have some butter on your…” He pointed to my lip.
With boldness I had no idea I possessed, I said, “Lick it off.”
He only hesitated a moment before leaning in and running his tongue over my lip. We both moaned.
Holy… Had he just…?
Snakes slithered to life in my insides. We shouldn’t. I knew we shouldn’t but… “We’re filthy,” I pointed out.
In a husky, libido-amping murmur, he said, “Then let’s get clean so we can get dirty again.”
Oh, God. Oh, God.
My heart stopped, then slammed against my ribs as we attempted to merge into a single body. My brain got as far as the “We should…” part of “we shouldn’t” and stayed right there. No way a mere mortal like myself could resist his wicked grin.
No thoughts. No consequences. Just feeling. His lips on mine, his hands skating over my skin, going places I’d always wanted them to go.
Andy’s room might as well have been ten miles away. Lips locked together, we pushed and shoved our way down the hall. We passed the closed door to the too-clean bedroom. I stopped. Andy stopped. “Only if you want to,” he whispered.
I wanted to, God how I wanted to. But what about Jack? I hesitated a moment too long.
Andy stepped back, eyes downcast. Now I’d hurt him. We were all adults, we all knew the score. Time to take a deep breath and jump. “I want you,” I replied. Want you so badly I ache.
He grabbed me by the hand and we dashed into the bathroom. In a lust-filled haze I stripped off his clothes, while he returned the favor.
Every inch of him. Exposed.
My breath caught in my throat. Heat pooled in my groin. My nipples hardened enough to cut diamonds. Damn, damn, damn.
I’d never wanted anything as badly in my life as to have him on me, in me…
His hand on my arm got me moving again.
We stepped under the shower spray together. Water sluiced off his slick skin.
Water. Skin. I extended my tongue and licked a swath up his pecs, gathering moisture on my tongue. The dark nubs of his nipples hardened into pebbles, demanding my mouth on them. Andy arched toward my mouth and moaned—all the encouragement I needed.
The firmness of his belly, glimpses of which had tantalized me for months, was now exposed to my questing fingers. Keeping my eyes on his face, I explored lower, seeking an answer to a long-asked question. My fingertips met silky skin, with a mere trace of stubble. He shaved. Completely.
Firm plains of muscle pointed the way downward toward his groin, where even harder flesh waited. Fully erect. Hard as marble.
For me.
He brought his mouth down to mine, plunging his tongue past my parted lips. The shower spray hit us both in the face. Andy laughed. No first-time nerves threatened. This was a joyous occasion.
Spanning my waist with his hands, he dropped lower, to the hips I’d always thought a touch too wide, then back up.
Here we were, naked, and yet he didn’t take advantage. He poured body wash into his hand, lavender scenting the steam. “May I?” he asked.
I grabbed his hands and placed them on my breasts, working the soap into a lather. We laughed.
“Turn around,” he said. “Let me get your back.”
No one had ever washed my back for me. I turned, giving a shiver when I stepped away from the warm spray and cool air hit my flesh.
“Is the water too cold?” Andy’s lips rubbed my ear when he spoke.
“No. I’m fine.” Perfect, in fact. I shivered again at the delicious sensation of Andy’s hands on my back. He stroked me slowly, reverently, exploring every inch of my skin above my waist.
“My turn,” I told him, spinning around and taking the body wash. Hands full of soap bubbles, I gazed up into his eyes, warming under his amused smile, and ghosted my hands over his pecs and down to his abs.
Nether regions throbbing for more, more, more, I promised them “Later” and began a leisurely exploration. When would I ever have a chance again to discover every inch of him this magical first time?
I soaped his arms, ran a fingertip over a scar on his hip, leaned in to kiss the freckles on his chest. He turned, and I touched him to my heart’s content: his broad shoulders, smooth back, tightly muscled glutes.
Oh, God. I needed him. Now.
Andy turned back toward me, ran one hand up his hard cock, and stared down at me, dark eyes nearly black. He smiled and lowered his head, first to one nipple, then the other, placing a reverent kiss on each. My breath came in ragged gasps. Eyes wide, he gripped my shoulders, urging me back. He studied me at length, running a smoky gaze up and down my body, amazement and wonder in his eyes. “You’re beautiful.”
All the imperfections I catalogued daily disappeared. Andy believed I was beautiful, so I must be, at least in this place and time.
I repaid the favor he’d done me, taking in the sculpted muscles of his arms, chest, and stomach, and below. His shaved balls hung low, water dripping down his legs. His cock rose dark and hard toward his stomach. For me. All for me.
