3.
Sam
I don’t breathe again until I’m through the door leading to the kitchen. I set the coffee pot on the counter as it swings shut behind me and let the air in my lungs come spilling out in one big whoosh.
“How’d it go?” Sarah asks immediately. She’s sitting down now in a folding chair next to Mike, who is leaned up against the wall, quietly scarfing down a large plate of eggs and hash browns.
“His name is Luke.”
“And?” she presses.
“And what?”
“What else? Are you going to see him again?”
“Calm down there, woman. I just asked his name and what he was doing in town.”
“What’s he doing in town?”
I shrug. My armpits are sweaty and my knees are weak. I can see those sparkling eyes of his as they slowly look over my body. Like he was appraising me. He knew exactly why I had come out to talk to him.
“He said he was in town for business. For the next week or two.”
“What kind of business?”
“He didn’t say. Actually, he didn’t say much of anything. Every question he answered with half a sentence.”
Sarah nods sagely.
“The strong, silent type. Hmm. What did his eyes look like? Did they look kind? The last thing you want is another fucktard fucking you over.”
“His eyes were…” I trail off as again I picture him looking me over. What were his eyes like? Dark. Intense. Sexy. Sexual. Eyes that undressed me. Eyes that made me want to surrender to him. “…nice,” I finish.
Sarah scoffs.
“Nice? Just nice? What is this: second grade?”
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Oh, honey,” she says, pushing herself up from her seat and coming over to wrap an arm around my shoulder. “It’s not what I want from you. It’s what I want for you. You need a nice, big cock to forget that shitty husband of yours.”
“Sarah!” I glance over at Mike but he’s only smiling and nodding, half an egg hanging out of his mouth.
“What?” Sarah asks innocently, running her hand through my hair. “I’m just worried for you. When was the last time you got some?”
“Sarah, please…”
“Aw, come on. Mike doesn’t mind. Do you, honey?”
Mike shakes his head and forks another egg into his mouth.
“Nope,” he says, chewing and talking as best he can. “Not at all. She’s right, Sam. The best way to forget someone shitty is to get on top of someone else.”
“See?” Sarah says with a raised eyebrow. “Straight from the sage himself. I don’t know if you know this, Sam, but you haven’t been a whole lotta fun these last few years. Not that it’s your fault, of course. I just want you to be happy. And that starts by getting some much-deserved D. Why do you think I’m so happy?”
I don’t say anything. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should just go for it. It’s been almost two years since the last time I’ve been with anyone. It’s hard to feel desire when your husband is always violently drunk. Even so, maybe I could just talk to Luke again, ask him out. No pressure for sex; just someone nice to talk to. Though if it led to more…
“Okay, okay,” I acquiesce. Besides, spending more time with him might help me figure out why he seems so familiar to me. “So what should I do? Should I see if he wants to get dinner?”
“Dinner, a movie, ass play…it’s really up to you, girl,” Sarah says with a laugh.
Mike snorts and hops off the counter.
“Start with the ass play,” he suggests. “No man would turn that down.”
“Really, guys, what should I do? How do I ask him out? It’s been more than five years since I’ve had to worry about this. I’m rusty.”
“Here, let me help you,” Sarah says, turning me to face her. She loosens my apron and pulls it off over my head. She unbuttons the top two buttons of my blouse. “Show him some cleavage and just see if he wants to get dinner tonight. And don’t worry about getting rejected. Any man who would reject you and that perfect body of yours is a fool and doesn’t deserve you.”
“Are you sure this isn’t too much?” I ask, looking down at my open shirt. “This isn’t too forward?”
Done adjusting my clothes and hair, Sarah steps back, takes me in, and nods in approval. Taking hold my shoulders, she turns me around to face the kitchen door.
“There’s no such thing as too forward for women,” she giggles. “Just what we get and what we’re too scared to take. Don’t be too scared.”
And with that, she pushes me out the door.
4.
Sean
I’m just about to pull out of the parking lot onto the wet road when I see her come rushing out the diner door. It’s still raining, though the storm seems to be easing. Big, pearly drops of rain drip off my bike mirrors. Normally I wouldn’t ride in weather like this, but I’ve got somewhere to be, the entire reason I’m in town in the first place.
“Wait! Wait!”
I wait patiently as Sam hops over the puddles separating us. Her hair is in a mess about her head, wet strands clinging to her skin. Seeing her come racing after me, I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. This isn’t something she would have done ten years ago, not for the old Sean.
I don’t say anything when she reaches me, just watch her silently and wait for her to speak. She nervously pushes back the wet hair from her face. Her apron is soaking wet now, clinging to her perfect form like latex.
“I…” she begins, trailing off as a blush spreads up her cheeks.
I stay silent. I’ve learned over the years that the best way to keep anyone on their toes is to not let them know what you’re thinking. The quiet man is the dangerous man. The quiet man is the man who is assumed to be in control. After too many years of giving away any power I had, I’m not interested in giving away any more. Burned once and all that.
“I…” she starts again but can’t bring herself to finish. Still I say nothing. In the distance thunder grumbles. Between my thighs my bike purrs.
“I was wondering if…if…” She’s looking at me desperately. “If…if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight? There’s this great place across town, a barbecue place, that all the locals know—“
“No.”
My rejection stuns her like a slap in the face. She falls silent, her mouth open. I know the place she’s talking about—Joe’s, a place out on the edge of town I’ve been to a hundred times—but this isn’t the reason I say no. I don’t want her to think this is going to be something it’s not. I’m interested in one thing and one thing only…
“What time do you get off?” I ask.
For a moment, she doesn’t answer. When she does, her voice is barely a squeak and she doesn’t look up from her shoes.
“Four.”
“I’ll pick you up at four then.”
“But my car…”
“It’ll be here tomorrow.”
“What are we—”
“Do you know how to cook?”
She looks at me confused. “Yes?”
“Good. I’ve been itching for a home-cooked meal for a long time now. You do steak and potatoes?”
She nods.
“I’ll see you at four then.”
Without another word I peel out into the street, my bike kicking up dirt and rainwater behind me. I hit the gas and shoot off, the rain pelting the front of my jacket. I don’t look back, not even after I’m out of site of the old diner. Sam Atley cooking dinner for me! Who’d have thought it?
***
By the time I reach where I’m going across town, the rain’s stopped completely and the first rays of sun are breaking through the clouds. I pull into the strip-mall and guide my bike to the end of the parking lot. Just as I kick down the stand and step off, a car pulls in beside me and out steps a large, bald man in an old, musty suit.
“Ah, you must be Sean,” the man says, approaching me with a hand held out. He
wipes his brow with the other. There’s something about him I instantly dislike, though I can’t put my finger on what it is. Probably just the fact that he’s a lawyer. I’ve had bad luck with lawyers over the years and always do my best to avoid them.
Reluctantly, I take his hand and squeeze, hard. He winces but doesn’t say anything.
“I’m Allen Parsons, your father’s attorney and friend. First off, let me say how sorry I am that he passed. I know it must be very hard for you.”
I have to snort at this. If this guy is who he says he is, then he should know exactly how much my father’s passing affects me. It’s been almost eight years since the last time the old man and I spoke, and that conversation was just to tell me that he had cut me out of his will. There was bad blood between us, bad blood that would never go away now.
“Well, anyways,” Parsons continues, turning and striding towards the strip mall. I follow him and wait as he unlocks a thick glass door with his name on it. He pulls it open and steps aside to let me pass. He follows me in, flicking on the overhead light as the door shuts behind us.
His office is small and as oily as he is. There’s a single, small desk overflowing with papers in the middle of the room, a rickety chair on either side. On the wall, a dusty painting of three cowboys chasing cattle hangs forlornly, tilted to one side. He leads me to one of the chairs and moves to sit on the other side of the desk.
“Would you like something to drink? Some water?”
Parsons pulls two plastic water bottles from beneath his desk and hands one to me. I mumble my thanks, uncap it, and down it in four gulps. Satisfied, I set the empty bottle on the table and look at the man sitting across from me.
“What did you call me for?”
My father’s lawyer smiles obsequiously and begins shuffling the papers on his desk, moving them from one side to the other. I get the feeling the same papers have been getting moved like that for years.
“Well, Sean, as I said over the phone, with your father’s passing, all that remains is to go over his will.”
“He cut me out of his will.”
Parsons laughs at this, a high-pitch braying that doesn’t match his plump little form.
“Actually, boy, he didn’t. Now—“ He holds up a hand to stop me from interrupting. “—Before you say anything, I want you to know I know all about you and your father. I know he told you eight years ago that he was cutting you out. But, as I’m sure you know, parents tend to have a soft spot for their children, especially when they only have one. Your father expected you to straighten up. You didn't. All the same, he wasn't one to leave anything up to chance, certainly not either of your regrets. He changed his will just four months ago, just when the sickness started, and left you everything."
For once, I am silent because I don't know what to say. This is unexpected. What’s that feeling bubbling up inside of me? Pity? Guilt? And something else, too. A lonesomeness. For knowing the old man died alone. I’ve seen enough to not wish that on anybody.
"Sean? You doing okay?"
I reach for the water bottle, dropping my hand as I remember it’s empty.
"I-I..."
"There's more." Parsons sits back in his chair, triumphant. "A lot more."
"What? What do you mean?"
"Than just the house. Your father had a lot of stuff no one but him knew about."
"Like what?"
"You name it. Stocks, bonds, bank accounts with every major bank. Rental properties, restaurants, eight or nine classic cars. He even owned land. Oil land. A thousand acres out west in prime drilling country."
He’s trying to lead me somewhere, but my brain isn’t clicking. The father I had known had been a frugal man, sensible though not so successful. What is this about stocks and bonds and land in drilling country?
"Sean, do you understand what I'm saying?"
"My father was rich? My father?"
"Not just rich. Loaded. Sean, you're worth over $150 million now."
5.
Sam
The rest of the day passes in a blur. I’m so distracted that five times I deliver meals to the wrong table. Finally, Sarah has to pull me aside and ask me what’s up.
“You know how I said I didn’t catch Luke in time, that he’d already left by the time I got outside?”
“Yeah…” she drawls, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Well, I lied.”
“Mmm-hmm. I thought as much. You were never good at it.”
“Anyways…he’s picking me up after work.”
“Ooh!” she squeals, setting the plate of country-fried steak she’s holding onto the counter. “What are you two gonna do?”
“I’m going to cook for him, over at the house.”
She nudges me with her elbow. “Just cook, huh?”
“Sarah...”
“You mean he’s going to fuck your brains out.”
Sarah!”
Sarah laughs and punches me playfully on the shoulder.
“Okay, okay. But you better give me all the juicy details tomorrow. What are you going to cook for him? And are you sure that’s a good idea? Tim technically still lives there. What if he shows up?”
“Tim hasn’t been home in two weeks. I doubt he’s going to show up tonight. And even if he does, I feel much safer with Luke there.”
“He does look like he could kick some serious ass…”
“Right?”
***
By the time four rolls around, I’m too antsy to do much more than just flit from one side of the kitchen to the other. My eyes keep drifting up to the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds. I’m nervous. And excited. But mostly just nervous.
When the clock finally cooperates and the hour hand strikes four, I hang my apron on a nail on the wall and go to the restroom to re-do my hair. Sarah comes in halfway through. At first, she merely stands on the threshold of the bathroom and watches; a minute later, she sighs, moves behind me, pushes my hands away, and begins to fix my hair herself.
“Here,” she says, “let me do it. We’re gonna want your hair to say something like ‘I’m young, I’m sexy, and I’m sultry’. There. What do you think of that?”
“Good, I guess. I actually think he’s going to pick me up on his bike. I doubt my hair is going to stay like this.”
“It doesn’t matter what it stays like. What matters is what it looks like when he first sees you. That’s the memory he’ll have. Speaking of, do you have any make-up?”
“No. I don’t normally wear much.”
“I feel ya, girl. No reason to dress up if all you’re doing is serving fat bikers at a diner. Lucky for you, I keep some here just in case.”
“In case of what?”
Sarah’s laugh is like champagne in a flute, bubbly and lilting.
“In case something just like this happens.”
“You’re always prepared, aren’t you?”
“Always,” she says gravely, pulling out a small pink zipper bag from a cabinet above the toilet. “Always.”
***
He doesn’t show up until four-thirty. Sarah finishes primping me at ten past the hour. I rush outside while pretending not to rush. There’s no one in the parking lot, no tall, lumbering biker, no purring bike with silver handles. Just a few old trucks belonging to the farmers inside eating their early dinners.
I wait on the porch of the diner, unsure what to do. Is he actually going to come? Or was it all just a joke? Or what if I already missed him? I mean, I was late, right? Why would he wait around? I’m sure he has better things to do.
Eventually, I can’t stand the hamster wheel in my head, so I push it down and head back inside. The three or four old men seated around the place look up, their eyes following me as I cross the diner and sit at the long counter. Funny how different their looks feel compared to Luke’s.
“Nothing yet?” Sarah asks as she flits by with a steaming plate of cornbread and beans and brisket.
“Nope.”
“W
ell, cheer up, honey. He’ll be here soon. You never can expect the bad boys to show up on time.”
I nod absentmindedly and force myself to take a deep breath. Every few seconds I look at the clock above the kitchen window. My heart is thumping a thousand beats a minute. Suddenly, I feel overwhelmingly self-conscious. What do I think I’m doing? I’m just a normal country girl who’s lived in this town all her life. There’s nothing interesting about me. I mean, just look at me. Who would want this?
I examine my clothes. With dismay, I notice a fleck of something yellow—mustard?—on the thigh of my black jeans. My shoes are old, worn, scuffed so much they’re grey. Twenty-eight years old and I work as a waitress for $11 an hour. Married to an abusive alcoholic. Less than a thousand in savings. Hmph. Some life. I wouldn’t bet on me either.
I drink a cup of coffee while I wait, trying not to dwell on all the negative thoughts raging in my head. It’s hard to do these days. So many negative thoughts.
I’m on my second cup when I hear the crunch of gravel in the parking lot. It’s him. I don’t know how I know, but I do. I just feel it.
I can’t force myself to look out the window. I’m too afraid.
This is real, Sam. This is it.
It’s now or never. I leave my half-filled cup on the counter and head towards the door, my mind utterly blank. I catch Sarah’s eye and she winks. Have fun, she mouths. Her tongue pushes into her cheek and she bobs her head, pretending to suck a dick, as she fills a patron’s water glass. The old man below her doesn’t notice—he’s too busy reading the newspaper.
Ignoring her, I push open the door and step out into the afternoon sun. As if it were a sign, the rain clouds have cleared and the day looks bright and fresh and new. It’s hot, but not unbearably so. All of this has to mean something, right?
He’s waiting in the middle of the parking lot, his bike rumbling between his legs. Seeing him, the same feeling of familiarity from the morning floods me, though I’m almost sure I don’t know him. But maybe this is why I’m so drawn to him. Even though I don’t know him, I feel, and hope, that I soon will.
Hard Choices: An Erotic Romance Page 2
