Forbidden Fruit Vol 2

by Millstead, Kasey

  “I did, but since it’s only thirty minutes from here, I sold my house last spring. I’ve been reclaiming this place. The guest house was last.” I look sheepishly at the mess. “Obviously I needed a little help.”

  “Good thing I was available then,” he says with a dashing smile.

  “It’s nice having someone up here I can trust. Sometimes it can get a little creepy at night. It’s so quiet and fairly isolated. That’s why your mom suggested you,” I say. “I didn’t feel comfortable hiring some random guy.” When I mention his mom, he grimaces.

  I touch his arm. “Let’s clear the air, okay? I know you’ve had an interesting spring. And I’m a little disappointed to hear you’ve been so careless, but I think your mother is fed up, and it’s time she had a break.” He opens his mouth to argue, but I hold up a hand, and he clamps it shut. “Even so, this isn’t a punishment. It’s an ‘Avery is a train wreck and needs help’ kind of job. If anything, we’re helping one another. That’s all.”

  He’s quiet in response. I can feel he’s not angry, exactly, but definitely not happy. He continues working, removing box after box from the room.

  “We’ll have to go through these one by one before we can throw them out.”

  After a bit he says, “I forgot that about you.”

  “What?

  “That you’re so forward and blunt.”

  “Oh, that.” I laugh and roll my eyes. “It’s a curse.”

  He has a streak of dirt down his cheek and what looks like part of a boat in his arms.

  “No, it’s refreshing. It’s been a long time since someone was honest with me. Keep doing it.”

  I nod and wipe the dirt off his cheek. It only smears. There’s stubble there, and I marvel over his maturity. What happened to that little boy and where did this man come from?

  “So you want me to continue my filterless existence?”

  “Please.”

  “Okay,” I say and look him up and down. “First rule? Stop treating women like sex objects.”

  Pink rushes to his cheeks, and I’m glad to see I got a rise out of him. “What? My mom told you that?”

  I lift an eyebrow. “You’re denying it?”

  “Um..well...sex object is a little strong.”

  “Either way,” I say as I go back to my box. “Don’t do it.”

  Tyson lifts the box we’ve just completed and walks over to the door. With a quick glance in my direction he says, “Yes ma’am.”

  ~*~*~*~

  The remainder of the week passes the same way. Tyson gets up for a morning swim. He eats half the food in the kitchen. We throw out years of catalogues, moth-eaten linens, an ancient set of encyclopedias and the odds and ends my mother was convinced she couldn’t live without.

  The cool, late-spring weather quickly disappears, and by noon each day, we’re sweating. I’ve moved past jeans and T-shirts to cut-offs and tank tops. Tyson’s foregoes his shirt completely, wearing only cargo shorts. The pockets are filled with odds and ends he’s asked to keep. His body is distracting. And disturbing. I’m disturbed, that I’m distracted.

  “Just take it,” I inform him after he’s asked about a bag of coins from Spain. He holds them in his hand like treasure. “Anything you want. I’ve got little attachment to most of this stuff.”

  Of course, that’s not entirely true. I find a bottle of my mother’s perfume, and I fight off tears. Same with the fishing cap my father wore every Saturday morning, in his brief moments of solitude, while rocking away in his small, rusted boat. But I know those things are memories, not material possessions I can hold in my hand. They also aren’t the objects Tyson hides in his pockets.

  “Is this you and my mom?” he asks and holds up a yellowed photograph. It’s me and Bev sunbathing on the dock. We must’ve been about sixteen.

  “Yeah. We spent most summers up here.”

  He stares at the photo, a small smirk on his lips. “You guys look pretty cute.”

  I snatch the picture. Damn, I did look pretty cute. “Yeah, that was back when I could rock a two piece.”

  “Whatever. You can wear anything you want.”

  My cheeks burn. “It’s not the same. Now I work out and eat right just to be able to look average. Back then, I could eat anything and still look like that. Kind of like you. Bastard.”

  I’d made fun of him earlier for eating an entire pan of cinnamon rolls while I nibbled on egg whites and fruit.

  “You eat like that by choice. You’re in great shape.”

  “Here,” I say to move away from the topic of my body. “Give this to your mom.”

  “Thanks.”

  Seeing the photos makes me wistful. I know I’m attractive still. I have men in my life, on my terms. But being around Tyson’s youth and vitality makes it easy to remember I’m aging. Hitting forty wasn’t an easy milestone for me to cross.

  A knock at the door startles us, and I see a perky face in the window. “Ah, Monica my neighbor,” I say while dusting off my hands before I go over to open the door. I fix a smile on my face. “Monica! How are you?”

  I’m greeted by an overly enthusiastic grin and luscious black hair, pulled into a thick ponytail. “Great! You’ve been so busy, I’ve hardly seen you lately.”

  “Yep,” I say then look over my shoulder at the mess in the room. Tyson has continued working as though we aren’t there. “Making progress though.”

  “I can tell.” She nods. “And this must be who I’ve seen swimming every morning when I’m doing yoga up on my deck.”

  “This is Tyson, my friend Beverly’s son. He’s helping me out this summer.” I get his attention. “Tyson, this is Monica. She lives next door.”

  Monica goes out of her way to shake his hand and says, “We’ve been harassing Avery for years to clean up this place. Thanks for helping her finally get it started.”

  “It won’t take us long,” he says and flashes that killer smile. I wonder if he notices the way Monica’s looking him over, particularly his chest and stomach. His eyebrow lifts the tiniest amount. Yeah, he knows.

  “Monica and her husband Dan have had a house up here for about ten years. They were good neighbors to my parents.” I say. “They have a son, Jake, a little older than you. He’s at UVA.” I toss that in, just in case he’s swayed by the Botox or implants, to let him know she’s a mother. You know, because this summer is about him not whoring around, and that includes hitting on Stepford-style neighbors.

  “Okay, well just wanted to check on you,” she says again and grins that weird grin. Maybe she can’t help it. Maybe I’m a bitch.

  “Thanks. We’re doing great,” I say while nudging her along. I finally get her out and lean my back against the closed door. “Oh my god, she’s exhausting.”

  Tyson simply shakes his head and continues working. The afternoon passes as we haul box after box down the stairs and into the pile we’ve made for the dump. On this next pass, he stops in front of the fan we’ve plugged in and lets the wind blow over his body. He mops sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. I catch myself staring.

  “You know why this place doesn’t have air conditioning?” I ask.

  “Why?”

  “Because on days like this we should be on the water. Not cooped up inside.”

  “Is that a suggestion?”

  “No, it’s a command. Get on your bathing suit. Let’s take a break.”

  I leave him smiling in the cottage and head to the main house. Spurred by Tyson’s flattering words, I put on a two-piece. Then I grab a towel and a couple of drinks from the fridge and make my way to the dock. The sun is high and bright and just being out of the house feels cooler.

  The screen door slams from up the hill as I ease into the water, bracing myself for the chill. Mountain water is always a little cool.

  “How does it feel?” Tyson asks, The deck bounces under his weight.

  “Perfect.”

  He jumps in with a splash then pops up with a wide smile on his face. �
�You’re right, it is perfect.”

  We swim a little, and Monica waves from her porch. We wave back. “She’s not that bad,” I say. “She’s just so damn perky.”

  Tyson laughs and says, “God you really have no filter, do you?”

  “Shut up,” I say and make a weak attempt to splash him, but he laughs and dips under the water.

  After I’ve cooled off, I swim over to the ladder and climb up. The rungs are slimy with algae, and my foot slips. I expect to fall back in the water, but I don’t.

  “Woah,” is said into my ear. Tyson’s right behind me, gripping my hips. A jolt of energy rushes up my spine.

  “I’m good,” I say and steady myself. Once out, I move quickly across the dock to snatch up my towel and wrap myself tight. Like a towel can extinguish my flush of arousal from his hands on my body. The totally inappropriate, straight-to-hell, kind of arousal.

  I brace myself and turn to face the water, but he’s gone, already swimming across the lake with a slow, steady pace.

  “Get your shit together, Avery.” I say to myself then leave the dock before I do or say something stupid.

  ~*~*~*~

  In my room, I pause to study myself in the mirror. I don’t look bad. The bikini works. I cup my breasts and lift them slightly. The lack of children has kept them firmer than most women my age. I take down my hair and frown when I see the hint of gray weaving through the blonde. It’s a contrast of good and bad. I look good, but I’ve definitely aged. I throw a tank over my head and climb into bed, hoping a nap will take my mind off hard-bodied teenagers and the inappropriate feelings he’s giving me. I doze off, exhausted from the work, but I can’t fully sleep. Lingering thoughts fill my head, and I’m overwhelmed by desire. I look at the dark-paneled cabin ceiling and sigh. There’s one way to work this out, and I had the means to do it myself. I reach between my legs and brush against my clit, which brings both a sudden sense of relief and want.

  I close my eyes, clear my head, and sink into the teasing of my fingers. My mind wanders, of course going to the one place it shouldn’t. Wondering how Tyson’s hands would feel. Is he capable? In my fantasy, he’s more than adept, and I’m writhing under the sheet just thinking of his strong shoulders and warm breath between my legs.

  No! I shout to myself. No. This is not okay. Even in my head. But it’s too late, and I feel the orgasm building. Depriving myself isn’t an option. Get it out of my system, I think as anticipation builds between my legs. My breathing becomes heavy, and I pant against my pillow while bucking my hips against my hand.

  Fuck.

  Afterward, I feel a conflicting wave of euphoria and regret. I can feel my cheeks flush with heat, and I can’t tell if it’s from the orgasm or from shame. Probably a little of both. Tyson and I have spent the last two weeks cooped up in this lake house together, and obviously I need some space. And some companionship with an adult. Resolved in my goal, I shower and dress before leaving Tyson a note tacked to the cottage door explaining I’ve gone to town.

  I have needs to be met, and I know where to go.

  ~*~*~*~

  Tom’s restaurant sits on the edge of the lake. It’s the only restaurant, in fact, since it was grandfathered into the zoning laws, because his father opened it before there were such things as zoning laws on Summit Lake. We’ve known each other since we were kids. I’ve watched him grow from a gawky blond-haired teen, to a handsome man who’s experienced a lot of pain in his life. We drank our first beer together. I was at his wedding. I held his hand after his wife died. And yeah, we screw each other when we need it.

  I think after my behavior this afternoon, it’s pretty obvious I need it.

  It’s early afternoon, and the place is quiet. Just one family on the back porch. Tom slides over a glass of wine and sits across from me. “Didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “No?”

  “Monica came in yesterday and said you’ve had your hands full with that guest house.”

  I sigh. Of course, that’s why she made an appearance today. I bet it’s been killing her not to know all the details of my handsome, young worker.

  I take a large swallow of wine. “We’ve made a fair amount of progress.”

  “We?”

  “Bev’s son came up to help. Did she forget to mention that?” I ask. “Well, I’m paying him to help. It’s going well.”

  “Ah, you did mention him a while back. I didn’t realize it would be so soon.”

  “Desperate times,” I say. “For both of us, it seems. They needed a little bit of a break. He goes off to college in the fall.”

  Tom gives me a warm smile when his hand lands on my thigh. He needs me, too. I can feel it radiating off his body. Off his bones. He’s about to ask me something, but a large group comes in the door and catches his attention. I grab his arm before he has to return to work.

  “Would you like to come over tonight? After you close?” I ask.

  He frowns. “Is that weird? With the kid there?”

  I shake my head. “He’ll be up in the cottage playing video games and texting his friends.”

  “So you’re lonely?” he says as his lips curve into a small smile.

  “A little bit.”

  He glances at the waitress seating the group before leaning over to kiss my cheek. “I’ll be there at ten.”

  ~*~*~*~

  I feed Tyson an early dinner and don’t mention being gone all afternoon. He doesn’t bring it up, either. He only points to the large pile of trash by the back stairs that we need to haul to the dump tomorrow. He’d continued working while I was gone, which impresses me. With no supervision, I sort of expected him to slack off. It’s not the first time he’s exceeded my expectations.

  “I’ve got a friend coming over tonight,” I say, feeling a little embarrassed. Tyson notices my discomfort and goes for the kill.

  “A date?”

  “Sort of.”

  “I thought it was weird you didn’t have a boyfriend.”

  I walk the dishes over to the sink and turn on the faucet. There’s no dishwasher in the cabin. “Why is that weird? Can’t a woman be happy on her own?”

  He follows me with a stack of dishes. “I’m sure that’s possible, but it seems unlikely you wouldn’t have some guys sniffing around up here.”

  “Not appropriate,” I say. Tyson’s way of flattering a woman, or even flirting, is different but compelling.

  “Sorry.”

  “Tom will be here a little later. I figured you’d just be up in your room like every other night.”

  He nods and hands me two glasses. Water glasses. I figured I’d save the wine for later. I submerge my hands and find the sponge so I can scrub off the plates before rinsing them. Tyson stands beside me, taking each one to dry them off with a soft, ancient dishtowel that belonged to my mother. His elbow bumps into mine. “Sorry,” he says again, as we look into each other’s eyes. I look away and inhale, figuring my hormones have gone into some sort of pre-menopausal overdrive.

  “I’ve got the rest of this,” I tell him with a smile and shoo him up to his room.

  What I’ve got, is a problem.

  ~*~*~*~

  “Where’s the kid,” Tom asks after joining me on the cushy loveseat on the porch. I dove into the wine the minute Tyson went to his room.

  I bristle when he uses of the word “kid” but sip my drink calmly. He is a kid. My best friend’s kid. I held him as a newborn in the hospital. He was wrapped tightly in a blue-striped blanket. I changed his diaper. I went to his Lego-themed birthday party when he was eight. I sent him a check for graduation. That is who Tyson is to me. Not some hunky, legal, sex-on-wheels young man sharing my home that I think about when I’m masturbating. Ugh. I’m a pig.

  “Gone,” I say. “Probably has those little white earphones plugged in his head.”

  More than once, I’d wondered what he did up there at night. I’d made that up earlier about video games and texting. Tyson did listen to music a lot and playe
d games on a hand-held device, but his phone was surprisingly quiet. I’m beginning to think he looks up porn at night out of lack of anything better to do.

  Tom laces his fingers with mine, and I’m reminded that I once knew him when he was a boy, too. How we’d been friends that somehow crossed over into occasional lovers. Lovers that could be more than occasional if I were willing to take that step.

  “We’re alone then,” he says and leans close to press his lips to my neck. He moves his hand to my waist, fingers taut in the material of my shirt. I taste the wine on his lips and run my tongue over his. He tastes good. Familiar. Safe.

  The words trigger a reaction. Anger? A challenge? I don’t want safe, not tonight, and I push him back on the couch. After hiking my skirt, I settle on his lap. I feel his hard erection through his pants. I remove my sweater and reveal a thin camisole. He rubs his hands down my arms and up over my nipples. The tips harden and graze against the silky fabric.

  Tom tries to lift me to go to the bedroom, but I don’t cooperate. “Here,” I mutter into his mouth. “Take me here.”

  We normally do it on the bed. Only the bed. Tom’s not a bad lover. He’s generous but not wildly adventurous.

  “You’ve got a houseguest,” he reminds me and like that, I feel the dampness between my legs. The idea of risk ignites my arousal further.

  “Come on,” he says as he manages to move me off the couch. The space between my legs aches from having the heat and hardness of his body removed. I follow but corner him in the kitchen.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Tom asks and takes a breath as I lean against the kitchen counter. I lift my skirt to reveal black lace.

  “Nothing.” I look away, embarrassed by my eagerness. He must think I’ve lost my mind. “Just trying something new, but we don’t have to.”

  “I like it, Avery,” he says. “I’m just taken a bit off guard.”

  Once again encouraged, I hop up on the counter and pull my skirt up my thighs. Tom looks decidedly surprised and excited. He takes my breast into his hand and kisses my neck. I’ve hooked my thumbs in my panties to pull them down, but something makes me stop. A shadow moves against the back wall. It’s barely perceptible.