Old Enough (The Age Between Us Book 1)

by Charmaine Pauls

  Cupping her head, I drag her face to my chest and let her rest there while I stroke her hair. The petting is my way of rewarding her for her trust and obedience, and my heart warms as she melts against me, allowing me to hold her close. After a long time, she pushes away. She doesn’t say a word, but it’s there in her eyes. She liked my roughness, but she thinks we shouldn’t have done it. Maybe she’s right. My intention was taking it slow, which is impossible with her. She pushes all my right–or wrong–buttons. I’m a demon, and my lust rules me. No matter. She’ll get used to it. A revelation as clear as a turquoise sea hits me right in the chest. She’s mine. I’ve claimed her, and I’ll do anything to keep her. Anything. That’s the part that scares me the most, because I’m not a noble man.

  Regret already infuses the moment, but it’s not regret for what I’ve done or am going to do to her, it’s because I have to leave.

  I pull her closer for a kiss. “I have to go.”

  I can read her so easily. She wants to ask where, but she doesn’t.

  “I have responsibilities at home,” I say.

  “Of course.”

  She lifts her thigh over my lap and settles next to me. With her tits bare and her skinny jeans outlining her crotch, she’s the most fuckable thing I’ve seen. It takes even more willpower than holding back my climax to put my dick back in my pants and zip it up. As I get to my feet, she follows. Another second in her presence and I may be tempted to forget about Clive, Sam, and my mom.

  “Stay,” I say.

  The single word comes out like a harsh order. She flinches. Rejection washes over her features.

  “Lock the door,” I tuck my T-shirt back into my jeans. “You don’t have to walk me out.”

  I can’t help but caress the soft skin of her cheek, running my thumb over her lips to catch the cum she didn’t catch with her tongue. One day soon, she won’t have the freedom I’m granting her now. I’ll have her tied up and fucked so raw she’ll pass out from multiple orgasms. All I can do is turn and head for the door, leaving my fast-growing obsession half-naked, tousled, and sexy as hell in the middle of her lounge.

  Jane

  I haven’t felt like a cigarette since Evan died. It’s a good thing I don’t have any in the house, or I might’ve caved. The best I can do for my shaking nerves is a glass of wine, which I carry to the bath I run after Brian leaves. I lower my body into the soothing water, letting the heat dissolve the tension in my shoulders.

  What the hell are we doing? This wasn’t part of the plan. I was going to tell him the incident in my kitchen was a once-off, and now we’ve extended that to the sofa. I don’t know what has gotten into me. The attraction between us is nearly irresistible. My body hasn’t felt passion like this since the love of my life passed away, and it’s starved for what Brian can deliver. Still, I’m behaving irresponsibly and immaturely. I don’t know him. I know precious little about him. Then again, why not? I’m single, and we’re consenting adults. Why not give in to my wildest passions and enjoy it while it lasts? With our age difference, it’s not going to develop into a relationship. It’s not what Brian will be after, so why stress about it? He probably wants nothing but a good lay. And from what I’ve experienced so far, we like the same dark things when it comes to sex, things Evan awakened in me and I buried when I married Francois. With the newfound resolution, I feel a lot lighter, so much so that my appetite returns.

  When the water cools, I dress in a warm bathrobe and fix myself a toasted cheese sandwich to gobble down with the rest of my wine. I even manage a productive work session in front of the television before I go to bed after tidying the house. That night, I dream of Brian’s mouth and hands on my body until I ache for his cock with a deep-pulsing need that throbs in my core.

  5

  Brian

  Clive is at our house when I get home on Monday from varsity. He sits at the kitchen table with a beer, shooting worthless advice at Sam who’s trying to do her homework. Mom is cooking, for once. It smells like spaghetti. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I shoo Clive outside with me so Sam can work without his interruptions.

  “What’s up?” I twist off the cap and sit on the wall, resting my back against a pillar.

  Clive gives me a suspicious look. “What’s up with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been out all weekend, telling no one where you’re going. We waited for you at the bar.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “None of your business.”

  “I’d say it’s my business, seeing that I’m babysitting your mother and sister.”

  “I’d do the same for you.”

  “You’re avoiding the question.”

  “You want a report on my movements? What are you? My lapdog?”

  “I’m just saying. It’s not like you not to hang out.”

  “As I said, I had stuff to do.”

  He leans a shoulder against the wall, scrutinizing me. “Tron said you were at the shop.”

  “So?”

  “You took security cameras and whatnot.”

  I take a sip of my beer, not bothering with an answer.

  “What are you cooking up, Brian?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Who needed security shit?”

  “I was doing someone a favor.”

  “Fine.” He gives up with a huff, knowing it’s fruitless to push me.

  “Relax, will you? And stop checking up on me like you’re my mother.”

  “So, it’s nothing?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you say so.” He doesn’t seem convinced. Pushing away from the wall, he says, “Come on.”

  “Where?”

  “Playback. Eugene will already be there.”

  Clive is supposed to be my best buddy. At least, we were best buddies back in school. He’s not used to me having a girlfriend or not spending my free time getting pissed with the guys. In a way, I understand his sulking mood. I’ve shut him out, and he feels it. Since Mom seems to be having things under control tonight, this is the least I owe him.

  Chucking the last of my beer, I get to my feet. “I can’t stay late. I have class early tomorrow and work in the afternoon.”

  “Mike’s swinging by later. He’ll understand if you rock up with a hangover.”

  I slap him on the head. “He won’t, and I’m not fucking up this job. I need the pay. One beer, and then I’m out.”

  “Okay, okay. Keep your panties on, fuck-face.”

  He grins at me when I pull my keys out of my pocket.

  After checking with Mom to make sure she’ll be all right, I text Tron who lives up the road to tell him to keep an eye out until I’m back. Everyone knows Mom’s history. Our neighborhood may be piss poor, but we watch out for each other.

  Playback has a few pool tables and a big screen television mounted on the wall. It’s in Hatfield, in the student area. It’s happy hour. As always, the place is crowded. Eugene is at the bar, watching a cricket replay on the screen. He waves as we make our way through the tightly packed bodies and loud music. Smoking is forbidden, but the place reeks of stale cigarettes.

  Eugene slaps me on the back when we make it to his spot. “Where the fuck have you been?”

  I take the beer he slides my way. “Is your old man still into real estate?”

  “Yeah.” He squints. “Why?”

  “A friend needs a place to rent.”

  “Who?”

  “No one you’ll know.”

  “He’s being mysterious,” Clive chips in.

  I give him a fuck-you look and turn back to Eugene. “I’ll go see him later.”

  “Come by tonight. He’ll be home.”

  A noise that rises above the music on the opposite side of the room draws my attention. A bunch of guys in TUKS sweaters are cheering for the South African cricket team. In the midst of them stands a blonde girl with hair so straight it looks like it’s been ironed down her bac
k. Lindy Williams. Her dad is the wealthiest man in Pretoria North thanks to a chain of car dealerships. He’s got enough money to make it in Groenkloof, but not the status. Monkey Williams–the nickname stuck from childhood because he was such an agile tree climber–prefers to be a big, rich fish in our small, poor pond.

  Lindy shakes her golden hair over her shoulder and gives a shy smile, pretending to be listening to one of the nerds instead of staring at me. I turn my back on her group, giving my full attention to Eugene, but not before he’s caught on.

  Eugene motions with his beer in Lindy’s direction. “Her eyes are all over you.”

  I take a sip of my drink and make a face. It’s lukewarm. “Not interested.”

  “Her dad’s the richest man in the north,” Clive says, “and she’s an only child. You’ll be the king of the castle if you can get her to tie the knot.”

  It’s hard to keep the irritation from my voice. “Go for her, then.”

  Clive laughs. “It’s not me she’s got the hots for.”

  “Will you two assholes cut it out and let me enjoy my beer in peace?”

  On second thought, I leave the can on the counter. I could ask for a cold one, but it’ll go from the bartender’s paycheck, and she’s is a sweet kid who tries hard to pass as a punk.

  “Just saying,” Clive says under his breath, smothering a chuckle.

  The three of us have been thick since school, but the more time passes, the more I feel myself detached from them, like they’re heading somewhere I’m not. I don’t have any facts to base the feeling on, because we’re all in the same boat, rowing fucking hard in the same direction, which is nowhere. There just seems to be this division that gets bigger with each passing year. Sure, I’m trying to get a degree while they’re working manual labor jobs like their daddies and granddaddies before them, but it doesn’t make me a better man. It’s more like they’re content with where they are while I’m sitting on an ant heap crawling with the big red kind. Not that I know what I want, except that I’m not going down like my old man or theirs. I steal another glance at Lindy, finding her eyes on me again. Or like Monkey, for that matter.

  Suddenly jittery, I get to my feet. “Come on. I’ll give you guys a ride.”

  “What the hell?” Eugene stares at my untouched beer. “Are you the fuck serious?”

  “We just got here,” Clive adds.

  “One game,” I say over my shoulder, walking toward the pool tables.

  I put down my coin and wait my turn, arms folded over my chest as I watch Eugene play the vintage pinball machine. No sooner does the pool table clear, than Lindy scrapes together her courage and walks in our direction. I position the balls, paying her no attention, but she stops right next to me, her hip touching mine.

  “Hey, Brian.”

  I don’t have a choice but to acknowledge her. “Hello, Lindy.” I take a step to the side. “How have you been?”

  “Great.” She swirls the paper umbrella in her glass. “Studies have been hectic, though.”

  “Yeah. Law will do that to you.”

  She smiles and blushes. “You remember what I’m studying.”

  “Not many in our school make it to law school.”

  “How about you?”

  “I’m good.”

  She glances at Clive and Eugene from under her lashes and then lowers her voice. “I was wondering…”

  Ah, shit. I know what’s coming, and I feel bad for hurting her ego when it has taken two of those cocktails to summon the courage to come over here.

  “Well, I…” She blushes some more. “There’s this movie–”

  “Lindy.” I take her shoulder and turn us away from my friends, sheltering her with my body to save her the humiliation of their unabashed stares. “I’m no good for you. You know that, right?”

  Her blushing cheeks lose their color.

  “That’s to say if you were going to ask me out,” I add. “Of course, I may be a pompous prick assuming something you had no intention of doing.”

  “No.” She takes a stuttering breath and brushes her hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t asking you out. I was going to tell you about this movie I saw.”

  “My apologies for assuming.” I give her shoulder a squeeze and let go. “You’re way out of my league.”

  “I…” She looks over her shoulder toward her group. “I just wanted to say hi. I’ll catch you later.”

  “Enjoy the party.”

  She takes a step backward, almost stumbling before righting herself. “Bye.”

  “Bye, Lindy.”

  Before my last word is out, she hurries away and hides in her law boys crowd.

  “Jeez, bro,” Clive says when I turn back. He imitates my voice. “You’re way out of my league.” He raises his arms. “What was that?”

  “Just letting her off gently.”

  It’s not her fault I’m not interested in girls my age. Sometimes it feels like I’ve been born old.

  I hand Eugene the cue. “You break.”

  For the next hour, I play like a donkey’s ass, losing on purpose to get the hell out of here quicker. I’m not here because I want to be. I’m here to prove to Clive and Eugene that we’re still on the same page.

  We’re wrapping it up when Mike walks in. He’s the opposite of me, a young guy in an older man’s soul. I swear he’ll never grow up.

  “How’s the meat tonight?” he asks with a wink, looking around the room.

  “Good, if you’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” I retort.

  He gives me an injured look. “That’s nasty.” His gaze slips to the keys in my hand. “Going already?”

  “I want to be fresh on the job tomorrow.”

  “Speaking of which, we’re invited to a piano recital.”

  “We?”

  “The building staff. It’s the inauguration of the new stage. The president of the Performing Arts Council thinks it’ll be good PR, and my boss agrees with him. Unfortunately. We need butts on those seats.”

  I don’t give a damn about the theater other than the money the job earns me.

  “Is that a yes or no?” he calls after me as I push my way through the people to the door. “I need to confirm numbers.”

  I’m at the exit when his voice reaches me. “I’ll take that as a yes, and you better bring a partner.”

  I throw him a good-natured finger over my shoulder before the bouncer shuts the door. In the parking lot at the back, my truck makes a stark contrast to the sleek city Toyotas and new Corsa models the other students drive. The red Alpha Spider belongs to Lindy, courtesy of her daddy.

  After dropping off Clive, I drive Eugene home. It’s still early enough for his old man to be up. Albert sits at the kitchen table, cleaning his pellet gun.

  “I’ll be damned,” he says in a cigar voice. “If it ain’t Clive Claassen.”

  “It’s Brian, Dad,” Eugene says, moving toward the kettle.

  “Brian. Yeah.” Albert kicks a chair toward me. “Sit down. Have you eaten? Katrina,” he bellows in the direction of the doorway.

  “Leave Mrs. Prinsloo.” His wife will be in bed, her hair in curlers. “I’ll grab a bite at home.”

  “Tea?” Eugene asks from the sink.

  “Thanks.” I take the seat Albert has offered. “I need a favor.”

  Albert lifts his eyes to me, not stopping to shove the pipe cleaner down the barrel of the gun. “What kind of favor?”

  “A friend needs a place to rent.”

  He mumbles under his breath. “There’s a lot going around here.”

  “Not around here. North-east, maybe.”

  He chuckles and whistles through his teeth. “East? So, this friend’s got money. Not my territory.”

  “I was thinking toward the dam.”

  From the places we saw yesterday, I deduced Jane doesn’t have the budget. If she can’t afford a garden service or security company, finding something agreeable out east isn’t feasible.

  “Those plots are big,�
� Albert says.

  Eugene puts a cup of tea in front of Albert.

  “What about a granny flat on one of those plots or a small house in a safety complex? Safety is a must.”

  Eugene shoots me a questioning look. “Who are you scouting for?”

  “A friend you don’t know.” I turn back to the old man. “Can you look into it for me?”

  He picks up the mug and slurps the tea. I grit my teeth, fighting the impulse to say something that will evoke his anger or to walk away from the noise I can’t handle. When he draws another long, noisy sip and smacks his lips, I push my chair away from the table, getting ready to leave. This is as much as I can handle. Eugene is oblivious to my vixen insides. I’ve never told anyone about my misophonia.

  “I’ll see what’s available.” Albert puts the gun on the table and fixes me with a stare. “What’s in it for me?”

  “Commission from the rent?”

  “Nah.” He leans back in his chair. “An eye for an eye.”

  “What do you want?”

  He throws a thumb toward the window. “Help with driving the junk to the scrapyard. I need a truck.”

  Eugene rolls his eyes. Katrina probably put pressure on Albert to get rid of the junk. Both Eugene and I know a trip to the junkyard won’t make a difference, but neither of us comment.

  “How’s Saturday?”

  “Good.” He pushes to his feet and pats my shoulder. “Don’t be late now, Clive. You’re just like that no-good father of yours. Can’t read a clock.”

  “Dad,” Eugene says, drawing out the word.

  Before Eugene can correct his father, I cut him short. “I’ll be on time.”

  Albert gathers his gun and ammunition, and shuffles from the room.

  With the old man gone, Eugene loads a tray with the tea he takes his mom every night. “Care to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Just doing a friend a favor.”

  “That’s what you keep on saying.”

  There’s hurt in his voice and the same look in his eyes I’d seen earlier in Clive’s. He’s upset that I’m hiding something from him. Tough luck. Jane is not up for discussion with anyone. She’s nobody’s business but mine.