by Sylvia Fox
I have a need, springing up from some place deep inside, to see her. It doesn’t make any sense. How? Why? What excuse could I give? I need to get past this and focus on something else. Anything else. But I can’t.
Tomorrow is Saturday, and my work crews all have their respective projects under control. Then again, they always do, so if I show up at a job site tomorrow, they’re going to think I don’t trust them. I need a plan for the day to keep myself distracted, or at the very least, occupied.
I work several ideas through in my mind before deciding. I’ll break the routine with a sunrise run on the beach then take the truck for a wash. If I don’t want to start living off pizza and Chinese takeout, I need to fit in a trip to the grocery in as well.
Alright, that’s a solid start. If I can get that far without focusing on Sam, maybe I’ll be alright.
Chapter Three
Sam
The thought of home might have been boring, but waking up in the comfort of my room surrounded by reminders of childhood, with no worries about what time it is or what the structure of the day will be, definitely doesn’t suck.
The subtle aroma of coffee wafts into my room from the kitchen. I can make out solid daylight through the curtains, and Dad’s always been out the door by six thirty, so it must be Mom. But why would she be home? She’s forever involved in charity this or volunteer that.
My parents have done well for themselves, not that they live in excess, but home is nestled in a gated community butted up against a stretch of private beach. In an otherwise middle-class town built off of beach tourism, you’d be lucky to find a yard with much more than weeds poking through the soil, but not in our neighborhood. In our neighborhood, the houses each have immaculate curbside presentation complete with thick, perfectly manicured, St. Augustine sod. It must be some kind of dick measuring tool, or status symbol, or something because it’s difficult to maintain and requires near constant maintenance. But every fucking idiot around here is forever outside watering or mowing or something. Not that my parents ever had time for that—one of the many perks they lucked in to having Ian next door. His top crew swings by the neighborhood and make sure both yards are perfection. No other lawn in the neighborhood even comes close. I guess if it is a dick measuring tool, Ian’s dick wins.
Much as I’d like to stay in bed playing with the thought of Ian’s dick for a while, I’m on my feet with a yawn as I fumble my way towards the kitchen to start my morning IV of caffeine.
I turn the corner and am nearly tackled. “Mom?”
“Samantha! Oh, how I’ve missed my girl!” Mom engulfs me in a warm, firm hug. “You’re up earlier than I expected! What time did you get in last night?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Late,” I mutter, trying to regain some space to breathe. “What are you doing home? I figured you’d be out till this afternoon,” I say.
“Well, I cleared my schedule for the day so we could have some girl time to catch up. Hope that doesn’t interfere with any plans you made.” Good thing I didn’t make plans because that didn’t exactly seem like a question.
She spends the next forty-five minutes sitting with me at the kitchen table, filling me in on every small detail of life I couldn’t possibly care less about while I focus on getting my caffeine level back to its baseline.
“Oh, and remember Ian and Gail from next door?” My attention snaps to my mother. “Well, you know they divorced over the winter, right?” she asks.
What. The. Fuck?
Did the world just spin upside down and backward in a blink? How is she still talking? Didn’t she feel that too?
How in the hell am I only now finding this out? Why didn’t I get a phone call at two in the damn morning if that’s when shit went down? This is important and I should’ve been, like, the third person on Earth to know about it.
Mom chatters on without me while I regain consciousness.
“Poor little Will. I guess his mother was more concerned about her new boy-toy—you know that’s why she left him, don’t you? Rumor has it there was a torrid affair for months before she left. She was barely hiding it at the end. Just putting it out there for anyone to see. It was disgusting.” Mom shakes her head. “You know this new one, he’s only just turned thirty! Anyway, she basically dumped Will on Ian and bolted. Now it’s just the two of them next door. He’s really taken it hard though. Ian that is. I mean, he hasn’t said anything to Rick, but how could he not? Will stays so busy with his Scouts and sports that I’m not sure he has had time to process. Anyway, I don’t want to be a gossip, but I didn’t want you running into him and stepping on a land mine, it’s been a sensitive topic.”
“Holy shit!” The words fly from my mouth, skipping the mind to mouth filter checkpoint.
“Yeah, it’s a terrible shame,” she says, nodding.
Yeah, it’s a shame. A shame Gail, that horrible waste of a human being, was stupid enough to walk away from a living breathing Adonis, who also happens to be one of the most easygoing and decent people I’ve ever known.
“What’s Ian doing with himself? Is he seeing someone?” I ask, trying my best to play it cool.
“I doubt it. From what Dad picked up through their conversations, he’s focusing on work. I think he is in denial. She must have really done a number on him,” Mom says.
“Bitch.” Again, the words help themselves right out of my mouth.
“Yes, well… Honestly, I don’t think he’s ready to put himself back out there, and I can’t say I blame him. They were high school sweethearts and got married right after college. I don’t know any specifics, but you know she never seemed to have the same commitment to him he had for her.”
Mom continues to ‘not gossip’ about all the various details of their now defunct relationship, while the seed of an idea sprouts in my mind.
Ian could use a rebound to help him move forward and I know I can help him forget about that fucking wildebeest.
Age difference be damned! If Gail can find love, or whatever, in a thirty-year-old, why couldn’t Ian be happy with me at twenty-one? But how do I get him to see me as the woman I am and not his best friend’s daughter? Little Samantha next door?
I drag through the rest of the day with mom, only half present, as my thoughts continue drifting back to Ian and how I can help him get back at that lying, cheating, whore… and the idea of skin on skin contact with him has me dripping wet in the pedi-chair at the nail salon.
By the time we get home from dinner I have worked every detail out in my head. I need to be up front with him in my intentions to help him see there are other fish in the sea, but maybe I don’t have to be too honest? At least not full disclosure up front? I mean, once I’ve convinced him to get his pole back in the water, I can convince him I’m a fish too, right?
Chapter Four
Ian
Ding-Dong. “Just a minute,” I yell at the door. “Every time. Every fucking time both hands are full, or I’m in the middle of something, the goddamned phone or doorbell rings.” I groan to myself as I plop two bags of groceries on the counter and head for the door.
“Yeah?” I ask as I yank on the knob to deliver a scornful stink-eye at the perpetrator. No sooner than my eyes recognize the face before me, then my ability for thought and speech are temporarily stunted. “Samantha? Is that you? Surely my eyes deceive me.” I’ve been trying all day to keep my mind off her, and here she is. This gorgeous, and I mean fucking GOR-GE-OUS, woman in front of me has managed to outdo the memory I had of her. How is that even possible?
“Hey, Mr. Black. I saw you pull in and I wanted to talk to you about something. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Uh, no. Not at all. I’m just back from the store putting away groceries. Is everything OK? Everything OK with the lawn?”
Really you moron, is everything ok with the lawn? Those words seemed relevant in this conversation with a twenty-one-year-old college student? What the fuck would she care about her parents’ lawn?
; “Ha. No, no, everything’s fine with … the lawn. I just got home last night and, well—ok, this is going to seem kinda random, but Mom told me what happened with you and Ga—your ex,” she says bluntly.
“Oh, yeah. Right. Sure, uh—I can’t really imagine what you would want to know about all that drama?” I say gesturing her inside. “I’m just in the kitchen. Come on in and make yourself comfortable.” I usher her ahead of me to steal an unfettered moment of her ass. Yep, still perfection.
I resume my task with the groceries, desperate not to think about having her all to myself, alone in my house. Focus on the produce. Do not look at what she’s wearing. Do not stare at her body. My mind is racing. Suddenly, I don’t know how to behave normally and every action I perform requires an unusual amount of cognitive power to do it correctly.
“Here, make yourself comfortable at the breakfast bar. Can I offer you something to drink?”
“Oh no, I’m fine thanks.” She jumps right into the meat of things. “I don’t mean to pry, but Mom mentioned the divorce finalized last winter, so it’s been what, six months?”
“Well,” I say with a gulp. “Actually, things wrapped just before Thanksgiving, so uh—you know, the holidays were a little rough for Will and me…” Why are you whining about how hard things were? Focus man, focus. “Anyway, I guess that would make it almost eight months now. Why?” I ask growing ever more curious why any of this would be of interest to a young vixen like her.
A recurring thought flashes in my mind, pissing me off all over again. If the bitch wanted out—she only had to say so. Why lie to my face for months? And with that, the anger I’ve been actively trying to extinguish is smoldering again.
“OK, the thing is,” she starts out in an adorably coy way. “I never felt like Gail treated you at all the way you deserved! And to be honest, I can’t imagine what she thought she’d find in someone else that she didn’t already have right here, but either way, it’s her loss at this point, right?”
Now completely at a loss for words, I stutter, “Uh … OK?”
Without hesitation Samantha continues, “Yeah, just trust me on that. It’s definitely her loss. Anyway, Mom let it slip that you haven’t started dating yet?”
“Well...” I attempt an interruption, but she continues un-phased.
“See, that’s just what I was afraid of. So I had this idea. And before you say no, hear me out, OK?” she says, looking up at me with those big, beautiful brown eyes.
“OK, I’m listening.”
“Good! So, I’d really like to help you out.”
A thousand thoughts flash across my mind. She’s lying naked in my bed, I’m positioned above her, our bodies moving together in a natural rhythm. Sweat dripping from my chest.
Focus. Shit
“Help me how?” I ask, trying to play it cool.
“I’d like to help you get back out there. You know, playing the field,” she says in a gentle, but insistent voice.
I carefully, diligently go about folding the paper bags for the recycling while trying to keep my focus on anything other than Samantha. My eyes dart around the kitchen, seeking some other object to focus on but there is nothing. Reluctantly, I turn my attention to the angel sitting before me, determined not to stare her in the tits. I fail immediately.
“Let’s pretend I thought I was ready for that. At my age, I wouldn’t even know how to start getting back out there, as you say.”
“For Christ’s sake Ian, you’re forty-two years old and have a body to rival most twenty-year-olds. You are one of the kindest and sweetest guys I’ve ever met, and you are definitely not too old to date! As for where to start, that’s where I come in,” she says determined, but with a hint of sweetness in her voice.
I struggle to process everything I just heard, stumbling past the fact she just called me Ian for, I think the first time ever, and settling for a moment on the words about my body.
“So? Will you do it? Please, please, please? Trust me,” she says making a pouty face. “We can take it slow if you want. We don’t have to jump straight into a dating app if you’re uncomfortable with the idea.”
My cock stirs in my jeans as I replay we can take it slow if you want in my head.
Chapter Five
Sam
“OK, where to start? From the sound of things, I guess you aren’t on Tinder, then?” I ask.
“Oh sure, I’m on the Tinder all the time. I mean, just before you came over even, but, you know, for the sake of argument let’s pretend I’m not, shall we? What would we do then?” Ian asks followed with a deep laugh.
“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying yourself, Mr. Black.”
“Let’s go with Ian. I liked the way you say it, and besides, Mr. Black is my father’s name.”
“Alright then, Ian—what do you do with yourself when Will’s not around? Maybe there’s an opportunity hiding in your everyday routine.”
Doubt sprawls across his face. “Not likely, my time is spent at the gym or on a job site and I can’t recall many opportunities presenting themselves in either scenario.”
“That can’t be all you do,” I say, as my thoughts linger on his delectable body in appreciation that those activities are all he does. “That’s it? Nothing else?” I ask.
“I occasionally treat the crew to a beer and a bite while I grab a steak at Flamingo’s, but I don’t see how that could be relevant.”
“Hmmm. That’s a little upscale from the nightlife at school but we can work with it. They have a bar, don’t they?”
“Yes, but I would hardly think of it as a bar scene,” he says in an attempted back pedal.
“Still though, it’s a place to start. We’ll go there tonight,” I say pleased with myself for seizing the opportunity.
“Wait? Us?” he asks with surprise.
“Sure, I’ll be your wingman. Besides, when was the last time you went on a date? I bet you could use a little practice, so… you’ll practice with me.” Try as I might, I can’t hide my smile as I speak the words and if the look on his face is any indicator, a similar dirty thought occurred to him as well. “I’ll take that as a yes,” I say. “I’ll be back at seven and we’ll go. Sound good, Ian?”
“Well darlin’, I don’t see how there’s any saying no to an offer like that,” he says.
The space between us is now electrified and—while the last thing I want to do is leave, I need to get home and find an outfit. Nothing too slutty, but his eyes need to be on me tonight and nothing else.
“Tonight is the night. Be sure to dress for success. You won’t let me down will you stud muffin?” I ask in a sultry voice before I close the door behind me.
Stuff muffin? Really Sam? Thank the lord he can’t see the deep reds covering my face as embarrassment consumes me whole.
Overall, that went better than expected. You have an opening, now how are you going to close? The question rolls in my mind as I search for the answer. I pull everything out of my bags in search of something perfect. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I will know it when I see it. Ian is no impetuous twenty-something so I expect his tastes to are too refined for tight little jean shorts accompanied by a tank and a sports bra, though that would be just fine for an evening at the Flying Saucer back at school.
The afternoon disappears outside my window while I make myself ready for the evening.
A peek at the clock on my nightstand tells me it’s six forty-five and panic wells up from my gut. A few last touches in front of the vanity and I’m off, heels in hand.
The timing works out perfectly. Dad pulls in the garage which throws Mom into overdrive, trying to set the table and have everything ready for a nice family meal. I feel a little bad about dissing them, but fortune favors the bold, as they say. “I’m heading out to catch up with some old friends. Don’t wait up. I might be late,” I say as the door latches closed.
Our garage door has just finished its descent as I scuttle from driveway to driveway. “Phew.” I love my
parents, but the less they know about this the better. Besides, there’s really nothing to tell. At least not yet.
As I approach the safety of Ian’s front door, it opens before I can reach for the bell.
“Please, come in. Wow. Well, I don’t know what you think a wingman’s responsibilities are, but the way you wear that dress, I may end up being your wingman,” Ian says smiling.
I struggle for words while my eyes drink in the sight before me. He’s wearing a black, button down collared shirt with the top three buttons undone, with a patch of his chest hair open to the night. His sleeves are rolled up to just below his elbows and the bottom is left untucked over his jeans. I don’t know if the jeans are designer, or just fit him exceptionally well, but they cover his ass and legs like they were sewn on around him. He’s shaved, sort of, with a clean neck, but a three or so day stubble of beard on his face. He looks so hot right now, I have zero interest in leaving the house.
“You don’t look so bad yourself, mister. I’m glad you took my advice.” I finally manage.
The space between us is rife with tension as if it hadn’t dissipated from earlier in the afternoon. The way his eyes caress my body as he looks me over, I have no interest in dinner and my patience is wearing thin. I’m ready to get down to business right now. Tear this damn rag off and take what is yours already.
“Shall we go?” I ask. “Or would you prefer to stay?”
Not taking my bait, Ian grabs his keys. “Let’s get this train wreck over with, shall we?”
“Train wreck, huh? You think I will be bad company or something?” I ask.
