Only Good With You

by Zoey Kinsman

  “Thank you, Anne. I would feel honored to call you my friend. So tell me now, dear friend, what am I supposed to do with the boner I get when I sit close to you or watch you walk?”

  Man, he was a master of the surprise.

  “What I think you should do right now is please get me a Café Americano with artificial sweetener, one packet please.”

  Exhaustion came back to visit, but this time it was emotional and not physical. It had been a while since I had to work to keep up emotionally with an interesting man. Asking him for coffee would give me a bit of a needed break to regroup.

  Seeing that I was serious, he said, “Hold that question in your mind. I’ll be right back with your coffee and will expect an answer.”

  As he stood, I couldn’t help but take a better look at him. Through a filter other than older agent lady, I saw his tallness, his toned and sculptured body, long legs that went on forever, and those hands that called to me. A shadow of blondish brown stubble was starting to form on his face. Shit, he really was a beautiful man.

  The sexy woman in me that had laid buried deep down in the caverns of my being turned on with that realization. Quickly and carefully, so as to not be seen, I rearranged my Spanz, hoping beyond hope that it was keeping everything in place and not letting my aging self shift unnecessarily. Suddenly, I felt self-conscious. Was my make-up still good or fading fast? I fluffed my hair. Perhaps a trip to the restroom was in order. I was beginning to care. But why did I really care if we were going to be just friends? Friends didn’t judge. Friends took you as is. Hmm, that question still lingered and begged an answer. And there was the issue of his boner. What did he really want me to do with his boner problem?

  * * * *

  Placing the two coffees gently down on the table, he moved the chair that was next to me around so he could face me. I looked back into his eyes, wondering what was coming next.

  Reaching across and taking my hands into his, he asked, “So, have you got any answers for me?”

  “No, actually, I have more questions.”

  His face lit up with anticipation. Maybe if he answered correctly, he’d win the grand prize, that being me.

  “Fire away! I’m all ears.”

  “No, your ears are actually really cute and small.”

  A realization that had been rattling around looking for clarity in my head made itself clear. I liked him. Paul Wickham was both charming and disarming, and now he had me rhyming in my head. I let out a slight giggle at that thought, which he immediately mistook as a comment on his “cute ears.” But he was so right to assume that he was indeed winning me over.

  “So I’ve got cute ears?” His grin was wide.

  “If I said it, then it must be true.” And I returned a wide grin in his direction.

  “Well, then my cute ears are open to hearing your questions.”

  Something was happening in that moment between us. A connection to another human being. Whether it was good or not was yet to be seen, but my guts were ripe for the picking and my heart beat awake at the thought of feeling again. Yet, my head knew to tread carefully into the unknown.

  “Paul, what is it you really want out of this supposed connection you feel toward me?”

  The giddiness left us both with that question, and his grin turned into a more serious expression of concern for being able to communicate his wants openly and truthfully.

  “I want to know you more deeply, more intimately, to form a lasting bond.”

  “I don’t mean to lecture or dictate, but honestly, there is no future for you and me together. I would only hold you back. You need someone who can grow alongside you, who you can build a future with, who could have children with you, and ultimately would grow old with you. I’ve already done that. I’ve built my future, and I’m already growing old. Your life is in front of you.”

  Exasperation set into his face once more. “If I wanted what you outlined, I would not be here pursuing you. Maybe I don’t want children. I’m just not sure of that. Maybe I don’t see you the way you see yourself. I see a young, vibrant, successful career woman who turns me on physically and mentally. Is that so wrong, Anne? Is that really so wrong? I don’t see us being different like you say. I see us as having so much in common. It’s where we intersect that makes me want you.”

  His hands stroked mine tenderly, and then he raised one to his lips and kissed it firmly. His tongue touched my skin and again left me dizzy. Raising his head back up, his gaze found me and held me, as if beseeching me to understand.

  “I understand…I do, but…I really need to go to the bathroom!”

  I grabbed my purse and made a bee-line for the restroom at the back. I was panicked by his honesty, but more so by my own reaction to him. God, I must also look like a bloody mess. How could he ever really want me?

  Once inside the bathroom, I stared in the mirror to see what he saw in me. My make-up was remarkably still intact, but my lipstick long gone. My hair, a bit flat, only needed a touch of the brush and a bit of puffing up. The face staring back at me was full of wonder. Maybe I was pretty good looking for my age? Even women his age had those little crow’s feet starting around the eyes. I had to admit that I had aged well on the outside, but it was the inside that was worrisome. Could Grumpy Cat become a Pussy Galore again?

  There was honesty to his logic. Maybe we did have more in common than most people. There was our love of the arts, a curiosity of the intellectual, and most importantly, a career in a business that was known to reward with one hand and be cruel with the other. He admittedly had followed me through the years. Was that creepy or endearing? Was it a boyhood crush or a sincere interest?

  After reapplying a quick coat of lipstick and readjusting my bra and Spanx, I braved the outdoors again. He sat in that same chair where I had left him, looking toward the bathroom, awaiting my return.

  “Why did you leave so suddenly? I was afraid there might have been a back entrance and you slipped out, slipped out of my life again.” His tone was solemn.

  “If you think you know me like you say, you would know that I would never do that. I confront things head on.”

  “Well, I see you applied some lipstick for me, so I’ll take that as a good sign,” and his face perked up.

  “How do you know it’s for you?” I wanted to see if he could handle a bit of ribbing.

  “I don’t, but I wanted to assume it was.” He looked right through me with that remark, not joking, piercing my insides with want and desire.

  “Are you trying to flirt with me, Paul?”

  “No, Anne, I’m trying my best to turn you on and make you want me as much as I want you, so we can stop talking so much about things that are so emotionally hard on me.”

  “Well, I think we need to work on being friends first. The basis of everything with me is friendship.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Come, I’ve ordered the limo back to L.A., and we can talk ‘friendship’ on the way back.”

  He held out his hand to me and I took it easily. The tiredness welcomed his hand, and the arm that provided comfort after a very long day.

  The limo was indeed waiting for us on the street outside the café. The driver opened the door and Paul let me get in first. Is the driver looking and judging us together? Paul followed and again sat right up next to me. I guessed his idea of friendship and mine were different. There was absolutely no room for Jesus between us. It was too late to argue, both literally and figuratively. Soon enough we would be separated, with time to mull over all the events of today. Surprisingly, his body up against my own did have a comforting effect on me.

  After about ten minutes, the driver raised the privacy glass and it was just the two of us again. There was water and champagne to enjoy, but neither of us made a move for it. Instead, Paul just held my hand, looking out the window as the streets and highways blew by.

  I found myself watching him and alternately looking down at my hand in his. Was he wondering what the hell he was doing here,
right now, in this moment with me?

  When I moved my hand slightly, he turned to me. Tenderly he turned, and his other arm, with firm conviction, reached around to pull me into him. The odor of his body engulfed me, his musky scent beguiling. Letting go of my hand, he reached to touch my face.

  “Anne, you don’t know what you do to me.”

  “No, I don’t—”

  Before I could finish another thought his lips firmly met mine. Fire stirred in my loins, and a kind of frenzied giddiness that hadn’t visited there in a long time resurfaced. My lips spoke for me. I kissed him back urgently with the same intensity, hard and biting. His mouth opened, as did mine, and our tongues fought for space. His mouth wet, delicious, and sweet, was like a shot of whisky, making me lightheaded and dizzy, yet spreading a delightful feeling of warmth throughout my being.

  When he moaned slightly, my own lips curved in approval. He looked at me for understanding.

  “I’m pleased.”

  His mouth sought to connect again. Willingly I responded, melting into him. Whatever this was, I didn’t want to know right now. Silencing my mind, our mouths searched each other to feel, to connect on a deeper level.

  “Hold me,” I heard him say.

  My free arm went around that toned middle and I pulled on him as tightly as I could. Yielding, he took my free hand and placed it between his legs so I could feel how hard he was. His tight jeans accentuated his big dick. Yes, what to do with that boner? There was that question again.

  “Paul?”

  “Shhh…”

  Those yummy lips started kissing me down my neck and into my ears, and gently bit on my lobes, sending more currents of electricity between my legs. My hand did not move from his pants. His bulging largeness felt so good in my grasp. Those big brawny hands were clutching, groping parts of me, looking for more coverage. He was strong. That strength felt welcome against me. My body responded willingly, going limp in his grasp. The more he groped the more I leaned into him.

  Without words, he took my face between his hands and kissed me again. Once more needy with desire, I responded willingly to his touch and that intoxicating animal scent. The stillness of the evening darkness invited us into her open and generous ease.

  On and on we connected with our hands and mouths. He travelled the terrain of my being and I let him until I didn’t.

  “Paul, it’s moving too fast for me.”

  Stopping, he looked into my eyes and could probably see I was a little scared. Stroking my face, he soothed me and then cuddled me against him.

  “We have time, my beauty.”

  No one had called me beautiful for years.

  “By the way Anne, I think it might be a good idea if you release your hold on my crotch. If not, I’m going to have to take you right here and now.” The corners of his mouth turned up and he gave me the slightest playful wink.

  Quickly my hand came back to rest by my side, and by the heat of my blush, it must have been the reddest it could get.

  I hadn’t realized that I was still holding on to his cock when I asked him to stop.

  “Oh. Sorry, Paul, but you put my hand there, so I just went for it.” I tried to jest in return to lighten the mood further.

  “No problem, but no teasing allowed now.”

  My hand went to rest on his arm that held me close. Somehow, I felt a natural closeness with him. What was this madness?

  “Okay, let’s get it together now.” I moved away a bit from him on the back seat of the limo and started straightening up my disheveled look, making sure the control top garment hadn’t moved.

  “Have some water.” He passed me a bottle of water and we both drank to refresh our parched mouths. “What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked nonchalantly.

  “What are we doing here, really?” Fear resurfaced. I was not bullshitting around with a younger guy. What did he want? Again, he had to spill it, or I was so out of there.

  “I thought I made myself clear at the café. I want to know you more.”

  “To what end? This is so silly. Yeah, obviously there is a connection of sorts, but to what end? Seriously, this is not for you. Let me just spare you the effort.”

  “Who are you sparing what?” Annoyance was written all over his face.

  “Huh?”

  “I think you’re afraid that there might be something here to learn about and discover, and you want to spare yourself. Be honest with yourself, at least.”

  “I honestly don’t get you.”

  “You’re afraid of getting hurt.”

  He was right.

  “Why would I get hurt? This is going nowhere.”

  “Really? So who was fucking kissing my face off?”

  “I’m sorry if I offended you. I thought we were both enjoying ourselves.”

  “We were until you got freaked out about how good we are together.”

  “Ugh. Paul, there can be no us. We are at different stages of our lives. You are best suited to someone who is, frankly, younger and has the same interests.”

  “This conversation again? I get to choose who I want to be with and not you!”

  Our space within the limo fell silent.

  I looked out the window, trying to get my mind straightened up. My rational self told me to let him go tonight, but my emotional self wanted more of him. Maybe he was indeed right that I didn’t want to get hurt again. I was too old for such nonsense.

  I felt his eyes watching me.

  Mercy, please help me let him go.

  His hand reached for mine again, turning me back to him. His lips begged for his own mercy. There was no resisting his pleas. My lips, swollen with desire, responded to his piercing inquiry.

  Back and forth we tasted each other once more, letting the night envelope us, leading us into an oblivious trance.

  * * * *

  When the limo came to an abrupt final stop, we both stopped to collect ourselves. I had arrived home. There was a sadness in me now. When I looked at him straight on, it was obvious he felt the same.

  “Anne, please have dinner with me tomorrow night,” he almost begged.

  My energy for disagreements was gone. Besides, didn’t I owe it to both of us to at least talk more, or truthfully explore him some more? Oh, yes, he was a wonderful adventure.

  “Okay,” I heard myself sheepishly agree to see him again.

  “I’ll come for you at seven o’clock…right here…tomorrow then.” His voice, husky with his own need for sleep, also sounded so pleased with my response.

  “Tomorrow,” I said as I tried to make it quickly out of the limo. But his hand reached for me again. Ever so slowly he kissed me, this time with a lingering wetness, as if to leave a reminder.

  I didn’t know if I could actually get out and stand after that one.

  It was Paul who actually jumped out first and came around to open the door for me. Holding on to his outstretched hand, I somehow urged myself out and onto the sidewalk.

  “Thank you for a very interesting evening.” My smirk was visible, and my giggle completed the effect.

  “My pleasure, and I look forward to keeping it interesting tomorrow.”

  “Night.”

  “Night beautiful, see you tomorrow.”

  With that, I climbed the stairs to my front door and looked back briefly to see him standing there watching, ensuring that I got in safely. After I closed the door behind me, I heard the door of his limo close and then take off.

  Moving slowly from sheer exhaustion, I made my way through the front hallway into the living room and threw my purse on the nearest chair.

  Shit! I just remembered that I was going to have to deal with Trish in the morning. What was I ever going to tell her?

  Chapter 2

  When the alarm rang at seven in the morning, as it always did, something felt peculiarly different.

  Shaking myself awake in my big king-sized bed for one, I realized that I was still tired. Usually I woke refreshed. Tiredness with twinges
of a strange irksome feeling engulfed me. Abruptly, tiny pieces of memory from the previous night flashed back into my foggy brain. Then Paul Wickham flashed fast before my eyes, all handsome and hunky, his eyes looking lovingly on me. Ruminating in recollection, I could still evoke his touch on me and taste him in my mouth. His musky cologne lingered gently all around and on me if I breathed in deeply. Vivid and endearing pictures of how passionately we had connected flooded back. Remembrance told me that the feeling that pulled at me was happiness.

  Did last night really happen, or was it a piece of fantasy literature I was reviewing for work?

  Rolling over onto my back, looking straight onto the white ceiling of my bedroom that never lied, I knew that it had happened. The feeling of pleasure the memory evoked was all too real. Part of me wanted to savor every moment, but my practical, logical self knew that I had to get it together, and fast. I couldn’t spend my time thinking of him. Work was calling, and I had to get the day going.

  Quickly I made my way out of bed and into the shower. Naked and wet, I wondered what I would do with that boner if I had the chance. Again, I had to push the thought away and focus on getting ready and out the door.

  Driving along the freeway, I thought about what kind of music he might like. He said we had a lot in common, but did we, and how did he know that to be true?

  Why was I thinking about him so much?

  When I finally made it into the office, I abruptly remembered that I had to tell Trish something. She would want to know what he wanted from me and why he’d asked me to stay back after dinner. Could I tell her the truth? Would she be crushed? Maybe it would be easier to just make up a business story. But Trish could see right through me. She would feel betrayed if I lied and she ever found out. Perhaps she didn’t need to find out?

  “Morning Trish, how are you today?”

  She followed right behind me into my office.