ANDI: Zero barfing. Neither from the wine drinking nor the kids’ filthy germs.
REID: Good to hear. I missed you.
I send off an emoji, the smiling face with jazz hands.
ANDI: How was your weekend?
REID: Pretty good. I grilled salmon and made these potato skins on the grill (duh).
Of course, I already know this because James was out of his mind over the meal. Me, I was out of my ever-loving mind over the man. Slim-fitting jeans, dark purple Henley, slight beard, and of course, an apron. This one read, CALL ME CRAZY. I GRILL IN THE SNOW.
ANDI: Yep, I saw. Looked yummy.
I respond, giving in to the guilt. I can’t carry it anymore. Delia is right.
I deserve to live life.
ANDI: Maybe you’ll make it for me?
I’m flirting and texting. It’s the most fun I’ve had since Gabby was born. Doesn’t take much, apparently.
REID: Oh yeah, would you like that? With or without Gabby?
He’s poking. I think.
ANDI: Without.
He responds right away . . .
REID: Tuesday?
ANDI: I’ll ask Leona. BTW: It’s getting close Valentine’s Day.
I’m fishing like a tenth grader wanting an invite to the prom, but I can’t seem to help myself. When he sends an eye emoji and the word know, and then a thumbs-up and a 100 emoji, my mind is put at ease and my thoughts turn naughty.
I should be formulating a plan, but instead, my overactive imagination is thinking of Reid naked. Washboard abs, scruffy face, messy hair, and so very smart.
My hand travels south, under the waistband of my panties and straight to my core. Except, my fingers can barely rival Reid’s, and my climax leaves me less than satisfied.
So I do what every sexually frustrated single mom does, and texts my babysitter.
“Hey,” I say, answering my phone on Tuesday afternoon. I’m waiting at the bus for Gabby.
“I’m going to say it from the beginning. I suck.”
“Everything okay?” I ask Reid, my stomach churning.
“I can’t cook tonight. I’m so pissed right now,” he says, panting as if he’s out of breath.
“Slow down. You okay?”
“Yeah. Shit, I’m sorry.”
I think about him running his hand through his hair, and my nerves settle. “What’s happening?”
Glancing down the street, I see the bus barreling in my direction, and immediately know I’m going to break my cardinal rule. I don’t like picking Gabby up while on the phone, but in 2.5 seconds, I’m going to waggle a pointer finger in the air, signaling be quiet for one second to my only child.
“Greg has mono. Fuck,” Reid huffs out.
“It’s okay. Have you had it?”
“That’s not what I’m worried about, but yeah, I had it in college. Had to go home for a month. Christ,” he says, and the bus rolls to a stop.
Gabby charges down the steps, and I waggle the finger.
“I’ve come to depend on him,” Reid says, “and was really hoping to get a lot done this week. Now I have to cover his study sessions until I find a replacement.”
“It’s fine. I get it.” In my head, I do. But in my heart, I’m crushed. He doesn’t even mention Valentine’s Day again, which in the whole scheme of things, shouldn’t be a big deal. But I’m like an adolescent girl with a crush, and am going psychotic.
“Mom!” Gabby tugs on my arm. “Is it Reid?”
How in the world did this man insert himself into our lives? It feels glorious, like the sun first rising in the morning.
“Hey, Gabby,” Reid says into the phone.
“I’ll tell her you say hi. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I came out for a quick run, and now I’m going to grab a shower and a slice of pizza before I head back to campus. I apologize.”
“How about your blog? Can you manage?” I ask, knowing he probably can’t, and it’s like rubbing salt in his wounds.
“I don’t think I’ll be posting much this week. It’s complicated. No biggie, though. Rain check?”
I nod, and then remember we’re on the phone. “Rain check.”
After I disconnect the call, I tell Gabby, “Looks like mac and cheese, it is.”
Of course, she has no idea what I’m missing. “My favorite. And then can we eat all my candy from the party at school?”
Remember when I said they can’t do anything for holidays at school these days? Instead of a Valentine’s Day party, they have an almost-February gig. Sheesh—this must be why I’m so obsessed with V-day. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“Hellooo!” Leona calls from her front porch, obviously waiting for us.
“Hey, Lee.” I take notice of her sparkly blue jeggings and suppress the urge to laugh. “Tonight’s off. Reid has to work. Emergency-type thing,” I say, defending him right away.
“Phooey. Whatcha doing then?”
“Making mac and cheese, and eating candy.”
Gabby runs up the steps, calling out, “Mom, I have to pee!”
“Talk in a bit, Lee.”
“Let’s do pizza. My treat,” she calls after me.
“Yes!” Gabby chimes in.
“Okay,” I say, giving in without a fight.
Later, Leona makes herself comfortable in my big chair—the one I write in—and tells Gabby to go paint her a picture. Code for I know something is up, and let’s chat.
“Pizza will be here in a half hour. Want to tell Leona what has your panties in a bunch?”
I blow out a long breath and fall onto the couch, my legs crisscross-applesauce underneath me. “Reid’s bogged down with work, and he’s too busy for me. Maybe it’s that he just doesn’t like me that much, and wants to end things before Valentine’s Day. Shit, I’m like a broken record when it comes to this holiday,” I say, mumbling the last part. Then I add, “My God, I’m like a schoolgirl on crack.”
“That’s life, Andi. Nothing is going to be picture perfect. Plus, you know Hallmark invented that holiday, and you’re not a Hallmark kind of gal.”
“All Hallmark holidays struck from the record, but that’s not only it. I feel bad for him. He loves his blog, and I think he also loves his day job, but it hurts me that he can’t get to his blog this week. And yeah, I got up in my Hallmark feelings for a second, but I’m over that.” I run my fingers through my hair, tying it in a knot, avoiding the truth.
“That means you care for him,” Leona says, stating the obvious.
“I know that too. Here’s the thing, Lee. I don’t actually do medical transcription. I write this cynical blog that gets a shit-ton of page views and makes a good bit of money. I don’t say it’s me who writes it, and—”
Leona’s eyes bulge out of her head, and her cheeks turn as red as the fire-engine-colored scarf she’s wearing. “Wow! All this time, I thought you were a geeky little hermit.”
When she laughs toward the end, I get the impression she’s excited by the news.
“So, what’s the big deal?” she asks, leaning forward.
If I weren’t so preoccupied, I’d worry her boobs are going to fall out of her V-neck sweater.
“Well, Reid likes my blog, thinks it’s smart and witty. And so he turned to the UnAffectionate Blogger, that’s me, for some blogging advice. Except he doesn’t know it’s me. And when I met him, I knew it was him because James got into his blog and my sister panicked. That’s a different story for another day.”
“So tell him.”
“That’s what Delia says, but I think he’s going to feel duped.”
“Not Reid.”
“Delia says that too.”
“Done.” Leona wipes her hands together, dismissing the subject. “Now, tell me more about the blog.”
I tell her the origin and about the mean bloggers, and how I’m actually worse than they were. She shakes her head, disagreeing, but I don’t give in.
“Now I wish I’d never done it.
Ever.”
“So, change it.”
“It’s not that easy. I don’t know.” I do, but I don’t. “Gah,” I say more to myself.
The doorbell rings, and I resist the urge to yell, “Saved by the bell.”
Leona makes no move to stand up, only shoves money in my hand. “You’ll tell him, and he’ll be fine,” she whispers, knowing Gabby is on her way out of her room.
I do nothing. I get the pizza and pretend as if this will all go away.
The next few days drag by. No Reid, lots of running, worrying over packing. And then he calls, his voice a whisper.
“What are you up to?” he asks, and my heart rate spikes.
“Cleaning up the kitchen. Super sexy, I know.”
“Gabby asleep?”
“In bed, I’m sure, soon.”
“Want to have a drink? I’ll bring over a bottle of wine.”
I look down at myself, freshly showered and in yoga pants and a loose tank. “Is this a booty call, Reid?” I’m brazen with my words like I should be in other ways.
“I didn’t mean it like that, but I do miss you.”
“I’m kidding. Come over. Warning, I’m without any makeup and comfy.” I don’t know why I offer this info. I’m myself with Reid, no matter what. Well, almost.
“Even better,” he says. “On my way.”
I admit, I run to the bathroom and spritz perfume in my cleavage and put on some lip gloss. Then I pinch my cheeks and look at myself sideways in the mirror.
When Reid knocks softly on the door, my lungs are only half operational and my palms are sweaty. Attractive, right?
Then he says hi and I’m fine. He walks in and shakes off his puffy coat, switching what I’m sure is an expensive bottle of red wine between his hands. He’s in a T-shirt and joggers, and I’m sure my tongue is hanging out at the sight.
“Hi,” I say back, instead of jumping his bones.
“You’re a sight for weary eyes.” He pulls me close and touches his lips to mine.
Then he places the wine on the table and backs me into the door, and I go willingly. With my spine pressed against the wood, his hardness leaning into my softness, I melt. My feelings for him go from one to a million in only two seconds. His eyes are gentle, his beard scratchy, his hands warm on my hips.
We kiss harder, his tongue breaking the barrier of my lips. I don’t put up much of an argument. Our tongues tangling, we seek friction down below until he pulls away.
“How about that drink? I don’t want this to be a booty call.”
“I was kidding,” I say, panting and on the verge of begging.
“I know.” His hand caresses my cheek, his thumb taking extra care smoothing its way over my face. “I want to have a drink and hear what’s happening with you.”
Tell him.
With my hand in his, we walk to the kitchen. Somewhere along the way, he snatched the wine. He’s comfortable in my kitchen, releasing my hand and easily locating the wine opener. As he moves directly to the cabinet with the wineglasses, I realize Reid is a fixture in my house.
He fills two glasses and clinks his with mine. “Cheers.”
We take a sip and walk to the sofa. He sits in the corner and I lean into him, my back against his chest.
“How’s Greg?” I ask, not harboring any ill will.
“He went to his sister’s place and quarantined himself to her spare room. I’m hoping his friend Reilly, who’s a semester behind him, will help me.”
“That’s good. And you’re out of town this weekend?” I play nonchalant, but I’m anything but calm when it comes to this subject.
He nods. “I wish I wasn’t.”
“It’s okay. Gabby has a lot going on with the holiday weekend.”
“Tell me about you. You good?” His lips press against the top of my head, grazing my hair, and he twists and puts his wine on the side table.
“I’m good. Busy like always, and missing you.” It’s the truth. “Gabby missed you too. She’s become attached, like I worried she would. I don’t know what to say and what not to say.”
“Say the truth. I mean, what do I know? But I like that girl . . . a lot . . . and I missed her too.”
The great divide cracks in my chest. I sit up and say, “Reid . . .” I have every intention of telling him, but he interrupts me.
“I know. Let’s go to your room. We’ll be quiet,” he says, and that’s what we do. Our tiptoes carry us to where our bodies and hearts want to go. My head screams no but loses out to physical need.
Hidden behind my locked door, Reid takes his time undressing me, licking, kissing, sucking his way up and down my entire body as he strips me of my clothes. He lays me out on the bed in front of him and drops to his knees, fully clothed, his mouth meeting my core. His mouth is gentle, almost too gentle, and then he adds welcome pressure.
I crack under his spell and come apart in a million pieces. It doesn’t take long. In fact, it’s embarrassingly fast.
“Reid, God . . .” I struggle for words, looking for an excuse, trying to explain away my lightning-fast finish.
“You’re so beautiful and perfect,” he says with ease, like he means it.
“You may be the only person who feels that way,” I say as he divests himself of his shirt and jeans.
“I don’t give a shit. If they don’t think it, they’re stupid. And who cares? Because it means more for me. All mine,” he says, his voice gruff and rumbly.
His body is on mine, skin to skin. His length is right where I want it to slip in, and I whisper, “I’m on the pill.”
“Yeah?” He eyes me with one eyebrow raised.
“Oh yeah.” And then I flip him. Well, not really, but he goes willingly.
He thinks I want to be on top, but I want to return his favor from earlier. He situates himself on the pillow and I slide down his body, my mouth taking its time, kissing and tasting. His chest and abs are rock hard, and I don’t even know what god bestowed this gift of a man to me.
When I reach his groin, he’s ready and I’m willing.
Taking my time, I use my tongue to trace his length and explore his velvety softness. It’s like how they describe in romance novels. Perfect.
He groans my name, and when I use my whole mouth to take him in, he groans even louder.
“Shhh.” I break away, and he promises he’ll be quiet. We have to remember Gabby is down the hall. Yeah, she’s asleep, but she could appear with no notice. Although, I’m too distracted to let it bother me.
I spend some time, speeding up, taking him deeper, and then I’m yanked up and flipped over faster than I can even understand what’s happening.
“Need inside you,” he breathes.
I nod and he takes his time, guiding himself slowly, like he doesn’t want to miss anything. I know I don’t. He sinks deep and pulls out, a long stroke, each inch marking a second of ecstasy.
My hands slide up and down his back, feeling each curve, every sculpted muscle, until they scratch their way up to his shoulders.
“Reid,” I say softly. “Faster.”
He continues to go slow, and even though I want it harder and rougher, each movement is delicious. I crack my eyes open and watch his abs ripple.
When he eventually speeds up, my nails rake up and down his back, leaving marks in their wake. I’ve never been this ravenous for a man.
And this one cooks! I make a little joke in my head as self-preservation. I’m getting in too deep with this guy, and my heart needs protection and care.
We both hit a high point and moan in unison. I’m at that place where I can’t take any more and I never want it to end. It’s a strange dichotomy, but I like it. I don’t want to change it. I’m in control, but helpless too.
Reid pulls out and slams into me, and I come apart. It sounds so dominant, but I love it. He’s doing all the thinking, which is a luxury for a single mom.
As I come down, Reid speeds up until he’s jelly, coming down from his own climax. We sta
y connected for a long while afterward. He’s on top of me, holding his weight on his arm, and gazing into my eyes. I almost think he can see the truth, but he can’t. We’re in our own little bubble.
For a second, time is on our side. A reality for Reid and a bubble of lies for me.
It’s late when we finally come down from our haze and Reid leaves, knowing he needs to sleep and he can’t do that here with Gabby.
We kiss at the door, and when he pulls away, I don’t want to let him go. He promises to get Greg’s friend Reilly situated as soon as he returns from Orlando, and then he heads into the dark night.
When the door clicks shut, my heart feels heavy with doom. There is no happy ending here.
Something’s off with Andi when I leave. Her brow furrows and she holds my hand with a deathlike grip. Guilt tickles my spine—maybe it’s because of my recent hectic schedule? Does she think I don’t want this? Us? Because I do.
Turning the engine over in the Jeep, I’m half tempted to run back up to her place and ask if I can spend the night. I’ll promise to leave before Gabby wakes. But I already pushed too hard about the Disney trip. In my heart, I know we’re a long way off from sleepovers with Gabby there.
Driving home, I tick off all the shit I have to do. Get Reilly up to speed, tie up all my loose ends, and prepare for next year. Of course, I’ll be doing some bullshit research project on the correlation of x and y, etc. But I’m really growing Grill and Groom. I have plans . . .
Restless when I get home, I flip open my laptop and get caught up on UAB. It’s been a few days since I’ve had time to play on the internet.
There’s a funny post on horseback riding lessons and GoFundMe, and then this.
Dear Wall Street Wife,
Stop whining. That’s all we have to say to you.
Who is we? Me and basically the entire internet. You wanted to be a stay-at-home mom? You wanted to live on the Upper West Side? You wanted two kids? You got it all plus a dog walker, housekeeper, dry cleaning service, and delivery groceries. How do we know? You write about it on your blog. Oh, the travesty of your nanny being out sick when you’re supposed to get your va-jay-jay waxed and bedazzled.
Hot For His Girl Page 17
