FLIRTING WITH 40

by K. Bromberg

  “Yes,” I say, surprised that he told them anything about it.

  “He’s almost too good to be true, isn’t he?” she murmurs, and our gazes hold for a beat.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Guys like him—genuine, courteous, respectful—are few and far between.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” I say, my eyes back on Slade. He runs across the sand, arms up, asking for the pass before leaping in the air to snag it one-handed with a natural athleticism.

  “I was always looking for the catch when I first met him. Most people aren’t as generous as he is with his time or help or . . . anything really without wanting something in return. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.” She lifts her beer to her lips. “In five years, it never has.”

  We watch the men running and tackling each other on the beach, a smile on my lips as their laughter and antics carry back toward us.

  There has to be a point to her telling me all of this. Maybe it’s because he treats everyone like this and she doesn’t want me misreading his kindness and getting my hopes up for more.

  The question is, how do I ask her without coming off as a bitch when I really think she’s being sincere?

  “He’s had a tough few months at work. Maybe your retreat will give him time away from it all.”

  “I’m not sure how.” I laugh. “Being forced to bond with pretentious people isn’t exactly what I think of as relaxing.” I lean back on my hands and put my face up to the sky and close my eyes.

  “Anything is better than the endless waiting for him to be reinstated from his bullshit suspension. How can you discipline a doctor for caring about his patients?”

  “I completely agree,” I murmur, glad my eyes are closed because it hides the surprise on my face. He told me he is on a sabbatical, not a suspension.

  “He’s a good guy. One of the best.”

  I angle my head over toward her. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I’ve watched many women come along for the ride with Slade. I’ve watched them go googly-eyed and fall head over heels in love with him because of who he is and how well he treats them. Then I watch them get crushed when he moves on without realizing how attached they’ve become.”

  “So, you’re warning me, then?”

  “Not really.” She laughs when Slade tackles John. “Yes, maybe.” She smiles. “I just want you to know what you’re walking into, is all. I can already see it when you look at him, and us women should look out for other women.”

  “Thanks,” I say dryly. “Warning heeded.”

  Her laugh is sudden. “Oh my god. I get how that just came off. That I’m interested in him and jealous.” She covers her eyes with her hands and groans. “That couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s a brother to me. I promise. You must think I’m a total bitch.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Look.” She takes a sip of her beer, and I can see her struggle with finding her words. “Slade is such a good guy that he doesn’t realize why people are so taken by him. It never crosses his mind. He’s generous and scattered and brilliant and caring and goddamn gorgeous, but he’s just . . . being him. That’s all he knows. He isn’t reeling in women to notch a bedpost or boost his status as being a player . . . he’s just that magnetic. So, I guess what I’m saying is—”

  “Don’t mistake who he is—how he is—and think he’s more into me because of it?”

  “I guess, but less harsh sounding,” she says and laughs.

  “I get what you’re saying, and I appreciate the insight. He’s a great guy who has brightened up my days a bit. I’m just taking it for what it is.”

  Her smile is soft. “If I were in your shoes, I’d still think I’m a bitch.”

  I laugh and then turn to find Slade and the rest of the guys walking up to us. “Nice moves,” I tease.

  “Pathetic is more like it.” His grin tells me he knows they weren’t, and he liked that I noticed. “It’s closing time,” he says as he plops down on the sand beside me.

  “Then why are you sitting?”

  “Because it’s my turn to make sure the fire dies down before we leave it.” Someone tosses a cup of water onto the fire, and it sizzles. “You cold?” he asks.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Come here,” he says and wraps an arm over my shoulders and pulls me against him. I freeze at first, my need to fight my attraction more ingrained than the resolve I have to go with the flow. But the heat of his body, the scent on his skin, and way his thumb keeps brushing back and forth over my shoulder makes me want to melt right into him. “Better?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I murmur as I rest my head against his shoulder.

  His friends finish packing up and say their goodbyes, and moments later, an engine revs to life before it fades into the distance. Then we’re left with only the crackling of the fire and the roar of waves as they land on the beach.

  But there’s a comfortable silence between us, an ease as we soak in the atmosphere. We don’t talk about the part we have to begin to play tomorrow. We just sit and enjoy each other’s company without pressure or expectations.

  “You were awfully quiet tonight,” Slade finally murmurs, the heat of his breath hitting the top of my head.

  I shrug. “It was fun. Thank you for inviting me. They seem like a great bunch of people.”

  “They are. I’m lucky to call them friends. I did see Prisha talking your ear off. She wasn’t spilling my deep, dark secrets now was she?”

  I chuckle. “She may have told me what an awesome guy you are—”

  “Clearly, I paid her to do so.”

  “Clearly,” I say as her warning ghosts through my mind. As that charm of his pulls me under its spell and I’m left not wanting the night to end.

  “Do you feel better about going on the retreat now that you know I’m not a serial killer and everything?”

  “Much better,” I murmur. “I’m still not convinced others will buy it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because we live in two different worlds.”

  “And opposites attract.” His sigh fills the space. “You’re still hung up on the age thing, aren’t you?”

  I open my mouth to speak and then close it, knowing how stupid it sounds when not a single one of his friends looked at me differently because I was older than them. Not once did they make me feel awkward. “I keep telling myself to go with the flow. That no one notices the age difference, but then I think how ridiculous Paul looks with Barbie on his arm, and I get hung up on it. Is that what people are going to see when they see you and me together?”

  His silence is accentuated by the crashing of waves, and he tightens his arm around me. “I think they look ridiculous because they try too hard and because she wants everyone to know she’s landed what she thinks is a good catch, only we know different. I think that someone who is secure in their relationship doesn’t need to keep trying to prove to everyone else that they are.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and I tense at the connection—not because I don’t want it but because I don’t understand why it’s so natural to accept it from him. “Am I younger than you? Yes. Does it matter to me? I wouldn’t be sitting here if it did.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that . . . I don’t know what I meant,” I murmur, suddenly feeling stupid. I’m the one who’s older, who should be more mature, and yet, he’s the one showing me it doesn’t matter. None of it does. “I’m sorry. I came down here tonight determined to have a change in attitude, not to care what people think anymore—to be more like you, but I guess old habits die hard.”

  “Don’t be like me, Blake. Be like you. Remember our to-do list?” He knocks his knee against mine.

  “Yeah.”

  “That doesn’t sound very convincing. You’re on a deserted beach with the moon above and a very handsome man at your side,” he jokes. “What more could you ask for?” He rubs his hand up and down my arm. “Let it go. Take the ride. Put yo
ur toes in the sand. Howl at the moon. Do whatever it is you want to do so long as it’s in pursuit of finding you again.”

  I blink away the tears that well in my eyes. Sure, Kelsie told me similar things, but she’s my best friend, she’s obligated to say stuff like that. But he said it when he didn’t have to. He’s cheering me on like no one ever has.

  I nod resolutely. “You’re absolutely right.”

  “You’ve never spoken truer words,” he teases, and I hit him playfully as our laughs ring out.

  And he is right.

  Screw what people think.

  My toes are in the sand, now I just need to find the courage to howl at the moon.

  He stands, and the night chill assaults my skin again as he begins to kick sand on what’s left of the fire. “We should get going before we get kicked out of here.”

  He reaches out his hand to me and pulls me up with a little more force than expected because, when I rise, I find myself off balance. Both of our natural responses kick in, and I brace my hands against his chest as he grabs my hips to steady me.

  It leaves us chest to chest, the laugh falling from my lips dying as I look up and see his face inches from mine.

  “Sorry. I’m sorry.” Flustered, I try to push against the more-than-firm muscles beneath my palms and take a step back.

  But his hands on my hips flex and hold me in place.

  “You know you’re going to have to get a lot more comfortable with me touching you if we’re going to pull this off, right?”

  “Yes. Sure.”

  “Because every time I touch you, you tense up like you’re afraid I’m going to bite.”

  “I don’t mean to.”

  “We’re going to have to kiss, you know? To sell the lie.”

  “We kissed the other day on the street.” I stumble for things to say because, as much as I’ve thought about him kissing me all night, I’m silently freaking out. “I was fine with that.”

  His chuckle is barely audible as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “No one’s going to buy that we’re hot and heavy for each other if I kiss you like that.”

  He rests his hand on the curve of my shoulder so his thumb can slide back and forth over the hollow of my neck. Goose bumps blanket my skin as the waning firelight flickers and dances in his eyes. His smile is soft, seductive, and amused all at the same time.

  “I guess not.” My voice is barely a whisper.

  “Then maybe . . .” His eyes dart down to my lips and then back up to mine. “Then maybe we should get the first one out of the way so we know what to expect.”

  Such a smooth line.

  “Maybe we should,” I murmur, my body thrumming with an anticipation that’s equal parts desire and exhilaration.

  Such a willing female.

  When his lips meet mine, they are both soft and demanding, and I forget this is an act. I forget that we are practicing, and every part of me falls under the spell of the moment.

  The briny scent of the air.

  The warmth of his lips.

  The taste of beer on his tongue.

  The touch of his hand as it frames my face.

  The soft mewl that falls from my lips.

  It’s the kind of kiss that you want to go on and on. The kind where you know that, once it stops, you’re going to come back to yourself. Then nerves are going to hit and your sensibility is going to soar, so you decide it’s so much easier to be under its pull than to slip out from beneath it.

  But we do slip free with one last brush of lips, but he keeps his hands framing my face. “What do you think, Blakely? Do you think we could pass that off as being real?”

  I don’t trust my voice to speak, so I nod while my hands, which are still gripped in his sweatshirt, relax some and my pulse races a staccato I’m embarrassed to admit to.

  “At least we know we got something right.” His voice is low, laden with a desire that he isn’t trying to disguise as his thumb rubs over my bottom lip.

  “Good to know.”

  “It isn’t howling at the moon . . .” A smile slides onto his lips, and it’s just as devastating as his kiss.

  With my bottom lip between my teeth, I take a step back. “But my toes are in the sand.”

  His eyes hold mine, and I swear the look in them makes it hard for me to breathe.

  I can tell myself all I want that this was just practice.

  But who am I fooling?

  It’s been years since I kissed a man like that.

  Paul and I stopped french kissing years into our relationship. I’d forgotten the intimacy and romanticism of it until now.

  Until Slade’s lips and our pretend kiss that was so much more than pretend.

  It was just a kiss.

  It was just practice.

  Prisha’s advice may have been good, and as much as I want to heed it, parts of me are a lot deeper under the influence of Slade Henderson than I thought, and therefore I don’t want to hear it.

  I want to listen to how my body feels. How my heart is racing. How my head is swimming. How that ache in me that he created burns. And how I want . . . just simply want for the first time in what feels like forever.

  He’s a rebound.

  That’s what this is.

  And that kiss just showed me he’s exactly what I need.

  Quick. Filthy. Devastating. A rebound romp.

  My only thought as I pull out of the parking lot and head home?

  I definitely need to go home and shave.

  Slade

  I look at the stack of folded clothes on the bed before me. I think I have everything I need, including the box of condoms.

  Because, fuck, that kiss last night? Was on fire.

  I was interested in Blakely the first night we met. When she had dinner with me at Metta’s, I might have gotten a crush on her. And last night? After she destroyed me with those soft lips and fisted hands in my sweatshirt? I’m definitely game.

  What an unexpected twist.

  What a risk I’m more than willing to take because . . . the woman’s gotten ahold of me somehow.

  There was a reserved confidence about her last night, a subtle change in her demeanor that turned me on. Quiet strength wrapped in stunning beauty.

  A beauty that was effortless.

  And there’s no way that kiss didn’t affect her either.

  My dick stirs to life at the mere thought of it.

  “Yep. Definitely bringing the condoms.”

  When my cell starts ringing and I see the name on the screen, my thoughts shift rapidly.

  Talk about killing the daydream.

  “It’s been less than forty-eight hours and you’re already calling?” I tease when I pick up the phone.

  “The proper way to answer the phone is: Mom, I already miss you so much.”

  I snort but love the damn woman anyway. “I could, or I could ask you why you’re calling.”

  “I just wanted to tell you to have a good trip.”

  “Trip?” I feign ignorance to find out just how much she snooped before leaving.

  “Your duffle bag was out, I figured you were taking a little vacation to celebrate my being gone.”

  I cough over a laugh. “I’d never do that.”

  “Yes, you would.” She’s so matter-of-fact but the amusement in her tone is playful. “Why do you think I didn’t leave you any precooked meals when I left. I figured you wouldn’t be home long enough to eat them.” Silence falls for the briefest of moments as I marvel at her ability to figure things out. Then, of course, she goes in for the kill. “So, who is she?”

  “Who is who?” I grab my toiletry bag and add it to the pile.

  “Who is the woman who is putting that smile on your face and who you are sneaking off with? I mean, if she weren’t anything special, you would have said something. Your hiding her says volumes.”

  “And you wonder why I told you to go home.”

  “Deflection is not going to work,” she says in her mos
t motherly tone possible.

  “There is no woman, Mom.”

  “Uh-huh. You sure came back all smiles the other night after meeting your cousin for drinks.”

  “I have to go pack now.”

  “Does she have three heads? Is she a celebrity?”

  “You need help.” I shake my head and laugh.

  “Or is she the one?” She gasps. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “Tell Dad to take your temperature.”

  “Was it love at first sight?”

  “Or, better yet, take you to the emergency room because I think you’ve hit your head. There is no such thing as love at first sight.”

  “And that, my son, is where I’ve raised you all wrong.”

  “I know what you and Dad have is unique and one of a kind, but it just isn’t like that these days.”

  “I don’t buy it. The minute I met your father, I knew he was the one. There was a pull that made us happen to be in the right place at the right time. Could you imagine if I had resisted that nagging feeling and had not gone to the Christmas party where I met him? I had no intention of going but decided last minute I had to. Could you imagine if I’d listened to everyone who told me I was crazy when I said he was the one that first night?”

  “Lucky for me you didn’t.”

  “You’re damn right,” she teases.

  “But I don’t see how you and Dad have anything to do with my love life.”

  “So, there is a love life, then?” I can picture her rubbing her hands together as if she’s gearing up for some juicy details.

  “Goodbye, Mother.”

  “Have fun. When you know she’s the one, you just know. I love you. Oh, and don’t make me a grandma until you put a ring on it.”

  I sigh and shake my head. The woman is insane and incredible and exhausting all at the same time.

  Right when I pull my cell away from my ear, it rings again.

  Jesus Christ, it’s like Grand Central Station right now. When I glance at the screen, my stomach drops.

  Shit.

  I take a deep breath and prepare to face the consequences of my actions. “Dr. Schultz,” I say in greeting.

  “Hi, Slade. How have you been holding up?”

  It’s a loaded question asked by the man who holds the fate of my medical career at Memorial General in his hands. I say I’m fine, and I’m not remorseful. I say I’m miserable, and I don’t know what it tells him. My lawyer said to tread lightly since the hospital is in a tricky position in this case, so I muddle through a canned response. “I’m anxious to do what’s asked of me, sir, so I can get back to work.”