Seeking Mr. Wrong

by Natalie Charles

  Lettie spun around and saw him opening the door with his elbow. “Here, I’ll help.” She raced over, her brown hair flying loosely behind her, and lifted the mug from his hands. “Thanks.” She blew the steam across the top and took a sip.

  Eric moved forward to inhale her, fresh out of bed in her old sweatshirt, black leggings, and wellies. He liked seeing her without makeup, all soft, flushed skin and freckles, but he must have been staring. Her eyes darted away from his. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

  “I just like looking at you.”

  He reached up to stroke her cheek, and she smiled, and he had never been happier.

  They drove later that morning to Montpelier to visit his mom. He’d gone a few weeks before, but the leaves were late to fall that year. “It’s a day of hard labor,” he said. “I need a woman who knows her way around a rake.”

  “What a shame. I’m a delicate petal.” Lettie sighed. “It’s been nice sleeping with you, Eric.”

  “Guess I’ll see you around.”

  But Lettie wasn’t a delicate petal. She was a hard worker and an asset to the team of siblings as they cleaned up their mom’s yard. Nor was she a shrinking violet. She and Sarah were standing off in the corner of the yard, shrieking with laughter, when Andrew came up beside Eric and said, “I like her.”

  Lettie had won Andrew’s respect when he’d jumped into her pile of leaves and she hadn’t hesitated to chase him around the yard with her rake. Now Eric felt a warmth climb up his neck as he watched Lettie and his sister chat pleasantly. “I like her, too,” he said.

  And Mom was easily charmed later in the afternoon when they stood in the kitchen and enjoyed mugs of hot apple cider. Lettie took her mug straight to the built-in bookcase on the far end of the room and pored over the titles.

  “Mrs. Clayman,” she gasped, “you read romance novels!”

  It was his mother’s indulgence, those books covered with heaving bosoms and hairless chests. He glanced over at his mother to see whether she was embarrassed by this comment, but she wasn’t. Not in the least. “I adore them,” she said, and walked over to Lettie’s side. “Do you read them?”

  “I’ve only just started.” Lettie reached onto the shelf and pulled out a paperback with a tattered cover. “But you have a whole collection!”

  “I love a happy ending. Here, try this one.” She stood on her toes to reach the title. “Marvelous author. And this one. Do you like historicals?”

  “I haven’t read many of them.”

  “Well, start with this and tell me what you think. Then I can give you more.”

  His mom looked so pleased to share her collection with someone else. “She may be a keeper, Eric,” Sarah said, quietly grinning beside him. And he couldn’t argue with that.

  ON SUNDAY MORNING, we loaded Odin into the car and drove to the Rhode Island shore. I loved the beaches there, and it was the ideal locale in which to trash my wedding dress.

  It had been Eric’s idea. We were watching a movie on Saturday night, and I asked him to get a blanket from the closet. Minutes later, he walked into the living room carrying my wedding dress on a hanger and protected in a plastic bag. “Aletta,” he scolded, “is this what I think it is?”

  “Oh no.” I buried my face in my hands. “Why were you digging through my closet?”

  “When you say ‘digging,’ does that include me opening the door and seeing it right in front of my face?” He tugged at the plastic cover. “Can I see this?”

  But he didn’t wait before pulling down the zipper, and I didn’t stop him. “There’s no shame in it. James and I only broke up in June.”

  “Still. I’d think this would be the first thing to go.”

  He had a point. James and I had agreed (through Faye, via e-mail) to sell the engagement ring and the wedding bands and use that money to cover cancellation fees. It’s not like we had an illusions of a reunion. “I was planning to donate it, but then Odin chewed the train.”

  Eric shot the dog a stern glare. “Mr. Osbourne. Your manners are lacking.” Odin yawned.

  I rose and helped Eric to remove the dress from the bag. It was sleeveless and the bodice was fitted with a lace overlay. At the waist, it flared into layers of fluffy white. I still loved it, but I would never think of saving it for another wedding.

  “It’s bad luck. No bride should ever wear this.”

  His mouth curled wickedly. “Then you know what you should do? You should trash it.”

  “Yes.” I sighed. “I’ll throw it out.”

  “No, trash it. Wear it once and get it really dirty. My cousin did that after her wedding. She had a photographer take pictures and everything.”

  When little in your life makes sense, this kind of suggestion seems perfectly rational, and so we planned all the ways in which I would trash my wedding dress:

  Eating chocolate cake and wiping my fingers on it

  Swimming

  Running on the beach

  Rolling down a hill

  When we reached Misquamicut, however, we couldn’t find parking. “How can it be so crowded in November?” I groaned. “What’s going on?”

  “There must be something,” Eric replied. Then he pointed. “There. It’s some kind of road race.”

  I was all set to suggest we turn around and forget the whole thing when I saw the banner. “Wait. That’s not just any race. That’s one of those color races. You know, where they throw that colored powder on you?”

  Mindy had run one last spring and told me all about it. The idea was to wear white at the starting line, and as you ran, the organizers set off blasts of colored powder so you were fully covered by the time you reached the finish line. “It was one of the best experiences of my life,” she’d gushed. “It makes you feel so happy!”

  Eric shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

  But I barely heard him. It was destiny. Serendipity. Perfection. “Park. Park anywhere and we’ll walk.”

  When we finally found a spot, I ducked into the backseat and changed into my dress and sneakers. We walked with Odin to look for same-day registration, but the woman at the table told me they were sold out. “Sorry, honey.” She looked genuinely disappointed for me. “It sold out in a few hours.”

  “Please. I don’t even need to run. I’m trying to trash my dress.” I fluffed it so she could see. “My fiancé dumped me two days before the wedding. No, not him,” I said when I noticed her gaze turn to Eric. “He’s fine. He’s helping me with the healing process.”

  The woman had short, tight, sterling curls and a wide mouth that sloped down at the corners. She clicked her tongue and said, “You poor lamb.”

  She lifted her sunglasses and set them on top of her head. Lowering her voice, she said, “There’s a spray that goes off at the starting line. You could line up and go through it without actually running the race. Here.” She slipped me a racing bib with the number 223. “It’s unregistered. Take it so they don’t kick you out, but you have to promise me you won’t run more than a few steps.”

  I crossed my heart. “Promise.”

  I lined up near the back of the pack, and when the starting buzzer sounded and a puff of brilliant color filled the air, I cheered along with the other runners. There was dance music and the smell of tropical fruit, and I received a number of compliments on my gown. I wanted to run the entire 5K, but I remembered my promise. I turned around at the starting line and trotted back to find Odin and Eric.

  “Look at you!” Eric beamed and pulled out his cell phone. “Say cheese!”

  In the photo I am toddler artwork or a watercolor brought to life: a melding of magenta, lemon, and cerulean in a flowing form. The color is brilliantly bright and has eliminated most of the white from my dress. And I am smiling like a person who knows she is beautiful.

  I WAS SITTING UP in bed, my sketch pad balanced on m
y knees. One of my tasks for the Winter Concert Committee was to design the flyer that would be sent home to parents. I could settle for finding decorative paper, but sketches seemed so much more personal. Unfortunately, snowflakes were apparently not my forte. “It looks like a blob.”

  “Let me see.” Eric set his book on his lap and leaned to look over my shoulder. “It doesn’t. That looks like a snowflake.”

  “At best it looks like a blob with fingers.” I reached for my eraser. “It’s because you’re not wearing a shirt. You’re distracting me.”

  He slid his hand across my stomach and nuzzled his lips against my neck. “I don’t think you’re distracted enough.”

  A chill shot through me. It never failed. Even the thought of Eric gave me butterflies, and having him half-naked right beside me was enough to make my brain overheat.

  “I can’t.” I sighed. “I really have to do this. I need to get these things to the printer.”

  “You’re such a tease.” He sat back and picked up his book in mock frustration. “Better hurry up. The offer won’t last forever.”

  “Oh, you’re going to leave?”

  “I may fall asleep. This book is boring.”

  I glanced at the cover. It was something about maneuvering organizational structures and it looked dreadful. I thought about suggesting one of my erotic titles, but paused. Eric and I might have gotten serious, but I hadn’t yet revealed that side of myself. Things were being kept on a need-to-know basis, and I’d managed to convince myself that this was both appropriate and commonsense. I needed to protect myself.

  Our relationship had its challenges, though. For one, we agreed we weren’t ready to disclose it to Brunhilda (he still called her Gretchen, but whatever). The board of education was reviewing résumés for his position, so it was possible he would be transferred back to the middle school soon, and why create unnecessary drama? we reasoned. Once he was transferred, we wouldn’t need to disclose anything. Plus it was sort of hot sneaking around. At staff meetings, I’d catch him looking at me and I’d start sucking on the tip of my pen, or running my finger along my neck. Eric would get flushed and shift in his seat, trying to maintain his professionalism. Then when we got together later, he’d tell me how naughty I was and make me pay. It was like an erotic novel come to life, but with fewer whippings, spankings, and handcuffs. All right, we were fairly vanilla, but still. The sex was amazing.

  For some strange reason, my relationship with Eric coincided with increased attention from Max. His cologne got more powerful, his T-shirts got a little tighter, and his boasts got a little more boastful. “Man, I’m so sore,” he said one afternoon. He’d wandered into my classroom while I was changing the bulletin board to snowflakes and snowmen. “I think I overdid it at the gym yesterday.”

  He set one foot on top of the bookcase and stretched out his hamstring right then and there. I didn’t want to be rude, but I didn’t want to encourage him, either. I settled for watching him out of the corner of my eye. “Were you running?”

  “Nah, I finished the marathon a couple of weeks ago.” He set his foot back on the floor and did some twists for his back. “Came in under three and a half hours. First marathon.”

  I stapled a snowflake border in place at the top of the bulletin board. “Oh yeah? That’s a good time?”

  You could see him deflate at my ignorance. “I was in the top tenth of all finishers. I missed qualifying for Boston by minutes.”

  “Oh wow.” Staple, shift, staple. “Well, congratulations. I’d be sore, too. I can’t even run a mile without needing oxygen.”

  “I’m not running right now. I’m back to lifting. I did some dead lifts yesterday, really pushed myself. I’m paying for it now.” He set his hands on his waist and laughed.

  “I can imagine.” Barely. I didn’t like sweating. I liked eating, and I had the cellulite to prove it. “Does this look centered to you?”

  Max took a few steps back. “Bring up the right corner a little.”

  I shifted. “Better?”

  “Good.”

  I finished my stapling and climbed down from the bookcase, brushing my hands together. “I love a new bulletin board. It changes the entire feel of the classroom.”

  Max took a few steps closer as I stood admiring my handiwork. Something in his cologne tickled my nose. “We make a good team, Lettie.”

  Ugh. The tone of his voice made me want to shower, but I tried to keep it light. “Yep, we do.”

  “I’ve been thinking.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and came even closer. “About what happened at the holiday party last year.”

  The kiss. Oh no. I was in no way prepared for or interested in having this discussion. “Right. I thought we talked about that?” We had. Because I clearly remembered pushing him away and reminding him that I was engaged.

  Max lifted his shoulders and gave me his most charming smile. “Things change. Circumstances. You were seeing someone, and I was seeing someone—”

  “Hold on.” I did a double take. “You kissed me while you were seeing someone?”

  “Not really seeing her. It wasn’t serious.” He was momentarily flustered. “But I mean, it wasn’t the right time for us. Maybe the right time is now?”

  He smiled. No. Just no. I rubbed my temple. “I have . . . a lot of things going on.”

  Max seemed to interpret that response to mean, Not today, but why don’t you try again tomorrow? And that was exactly the drawback in dating Eric. He was incredible, and he did a hilarious impression of Max stretching and telling me that he could “bench-press a D-cup,” but I couldn’t shout my feelings at the top of my lungs to the world. We were stuck making out in the supply closet. (Yes, we did that. I’m not proud.)

  “What if I deadlift Odin?” Eric said as I attempted another snowflake in bed. “Would you pay attention to me then?”

  “No. Watching you work out doesn’t actually interest me.”

  Eric shucked the comforter and moved to the foot of the bed, where he started rubbing my feet. I leaned back against the pillows behind me and set my pencil on my sketch pad. “Stop it.”

  He paused. “You don’t like it? I thought you loved foot rubs?”

  “No, I mean not that. Keep going with that. I mean, at what point do I wake up and realize that we’re still at Noah Webster Elementary School, and you’re the hot vice principal who doesn’t know I’m alive?”

  He grinned and did something magical to the ball of my foot. “You’re making stuff up. I noticed you from the beginning.”

  He must have known what I meant. It was all too good to be true. I loved looking at him, at his clear green eyes and his bare chest. He was such a beautiful man, and beautiful men had never paid me a lot of attention. But insecurity wasn’t attractive, and right at that moment I was being treated to a foot rub, and there was no reason to look a gift horse in the mouth. Even so . . . “You haven’t met my family yet. Once you meet them, you’ll run.”

  He laughed softly. “I take that as a challenge.”

  He had no idea. Not with his normal, functional family. “You can’t win this one, Eric. They will break you.”

  His smile turned my insides to warm, gooey mush. “Are you done with your doodles? I’d like to get on with it.”

  “You win.” I tossed the sketch pad aside. The snowflakes could wait.

  He pressed her up against the white door to his apartment, his hands tight against her waist. “I need you,” he whispered against her ear. “I need to bury myself in you.”

  Her knees weakened with desire, her legs parting at the thought of him. What was this power he held over her, this lust that he stirred? She had never felt it before and she couldn’t imagine feeling it with anyone else. She brought her face forward to inhale the scents of his black leather jacket and cologne, and tucked her fingers into the front pockets of h
is jeans to draw him forward. He was hard as hell. A hard man is good to find. She palmed him through his pants. When he tensed and moaned, a thrill shot through her.

  “You’ll be the death of me.” His breathing was labored as his key found the lock. She heard the click and felt the shift of the door. Then his hand slid up her thigh, beneath her skirt. “Goddamn these,” he grumbled as he tugged at her tights. “Get them off.”

  “We’re not even inside yet.” She laughed but helped him to slide the waistband of her tights down her hips.

  “That’s better.”

  He pulled her into the apartment and shut the door behind them. It was dark. A window in the back of the apartment was open, and light from somewhere oozed inside. Otherwise it was all sound and touch. His fingers between her thighs, his breath in her ear, her hands fumbling to slide his leather jacket off his shoulders.

  “First I’m going to fuck you hard and fast. Then I’m going to fuck you properly,” he murmured.

  “You’ve always done it the right way.” She had no complaints about his performance any of the times they’d been together.

  He helped her out of her tights and tossed them to the side. She cried out in pleasure as he slipped his fingers inside of her. “You have no idea, sweetheart.”

  He was on his knees, her leg over his shoulder as he teased and tongued her. She set her head back against the door—they weren’t yet two feet into the apartment, but she didn’t care. Couldn’t. Her fingers curled into his thick dark hair and brought him closer. She came without warning, buckling against the force of it and making sounds she didn’t even recognize. As he rose to his feet again, her joints felt soft and her muscles felt tired, but the look in his eyes told her he wasn’t even close to being finished.

  He lifted her easily into the air and she wrapped her legs around his waist. When she kissed him, she could taste herself on his lips. He took a few steps and stopped. Next thing she knew, he’d turned himself around and they both fell back against a leather couch, cool and smooth beneath her knees. “Your turn.” She reached for his pants and released his massive erection, then stroked his length slowly.