Losing Mr. Right

by Natalie Charles

  “Don’t you dare not come over again.” I sprang to my knees and wrapped my hands around his broad shoulders to hold him in place. I bit his earlobe gently. “Promise me. Because last night, I was only putting in sixty percent effort.”

  “Sixty percent, huh?”

  “Maybe sixty-five.” I buried my nose against his neck. “Do you think you can handle more?”

  “No. I don’t.” He chuckled and reached behind his back to grab at my waist. “But I like a challenge.”

  I pulled him back onto the bed and managed to keep him for a few scorching minutes, but then he groaned and pulled away. “I’ve gotta run.”

  “What time will you be back?”

  “Four.”

  “Not a minute later.”

  He blew me a kiss as he fled out the door. I sat back on the bed with a sigh. Now what? I looked to the left and noticed that Beau was sitting at the top of my laundry basket, glaring at me. “Jealous?” He blinked and looked away. That laundry pile was high, so I added laundry to my to-do list. Other tasks included weeding the gardens and watering the flowers.

  I dressed in an old pair of capri jeans, a black tank, and a pair of strappy sandals, reasoning that if I was going to pull weeds, I could at least look fabulous. But this turned out to be a stupid thing to have thought. Twenty minutes into the task, my jeans were grass-stained at the knees, my sandals were loaded with mulch chips, and mosquitoes had attacked my bare arms. “Goddamn nature.” I yanked a dandelion out by the roots and tossed it onto the pile.

  A shadow fell over me. “Need any help?”

  I looked up and saw Mira standing there, her curly hair pulled into a thick ponytail. She wasn’t just being polite. She actually looked like she was dressed to work, in old, paint-splattered jeans and a long-sleeved tee. “I helped your grandmother all the time,” she explained. “I like to be busy.”

  “Yeah. I’d love some help.”

  “Great.” Mira smiled. “I’ll go get some gloves.”

  We worked silently, side by side, for a while. Then Mira said, “So. Do anything interesting last night?”

  I checked her face to see whether she meant anything by it, whether she had noticed Brett’s car in the driveway. Didn’t appear so. “I went to a party with a friend, then came back.”

  “The people walker,” Mira said. She was edging the mulch bed, pulling up some blades of grass that had drifted too far inside. “He’s really nice.”

  A flash of jealousy sparked. “You know him?”

  “Just a little.” Mira wiped her brow with the back of her arm. “He walks around here a lot. Kind of funny, isn’t it?” She grinned. “People walking.”

  That comment brought out something protective in me. “It has to do with his dead brother.”

  Mira studied me from below her long, dark eyelashes. “Oh. Okay.”

  “Yeah. It’s not funny.”

  I jabbed my little shovel into the earth a few times and suddenly, I felt bad. “I’m sorry, Mira. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

  “It’s cool. I don’t actually care.” And she continued digging.

  I studied her sidelong. She seemed like a kindred spirit, this Mira. “So listen. I know what goes on here. With Vaughan.” No reaction. “And so I’m wondering how that … works.”

  She gave me a quizzical smirk. “How what works?”

  “Oh, come on.” I sat back on my haunches. “I know you girls are sex workers. I know it, okay? And I’m just wondering if you can tell me more about it. I’m not saying anything,” I added when I saw the look on her face. “And I’m not competing, so …”

  A breeze blew a tendril of loose hair into Mira’s mouth. She paused to pry it free with the back of her wrist before replying. “It’s fine. I mean, Vaughan treats us good and we make a lot of money. We all have jobs.”

  “Jobs? Like what?”

  “I mostly do things outside because that’s what I like. I worked with Jai—your grandmother—all the time. Vaughan cooks all the meals; Bree and Joss clean. Actually, now that I think about it, Joss does a lot of the cleaning. Vaughan always has Bree running her errands for her.”

  I studied her from behind my sunglasses. “So this is a co-op?”

  “I guess so.” Mira went back to weeding, disinterested in picking apart her work situation. “It’s not bad. It’s sort of like a family, actually. And I don’t mind the clients. Vaughan has a screening system, and I’ve never felt threatened.”

  “Well. That’s good.” I absently raked some lines into the soil with my gloved finger. “Look. Can I be honest?” Mira turned her face up toward mine. “This is my grandmother’s inn. She wants it to be used as a bed-and-breakfast, not like … this.”

  Mira pulled off her gloves and untangled her curly hair from her ponytail. “It bothers you.”

  “No. It doesn’t bother me. It bothers my grandmother.”

  Mira gave me a half smirk as she smoothed her hair and pulled it back again. “I think it bothers you. I mean, it upsets a lot of people around here. But we’re not hurting anyone.”

  I sat back on the grass and pushed my tools aside. “Fine. I guess I feel a little strange about it. My grandparents lived here, and they were always so proper about everything. This isn’t the kind of thing Nana had in mind when she rented it out.”

  Her curly hair secured again, Mira pulled on her gardening gloves. “We have guests, too.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you like the sex part of it?”

  She let out a grunt as she tugged at a particularly stubborn weed. “Sure, usually. Sometimes it’s a lot of fun. I get to meet interesting people and stuff.” She stumbled back as the weed came free. “How’s your grandmother doing?”

  “She’s doing well.” I picked up a bundle of roots and dropped them into a wheelbarrow. “Thanks for asking. Do you have family around here?”

  “Nah. I grew up in Oregon.” She shifted to another part of the garden and knelt down again. “I like this. Gardening, doing things around the inn. I actually think this is my favorite part of it.”

  “You could be a landscaper!” I said it too enthusiastically, and Mira smirked. “I’m just saying …”

  “You don’t need to rescue me, Mindy.” She turned back to her work. “I’m not a lifer. There’s kind of an expiration date in this business, anyway. I’ll be here until it doesn’t make sense, and then I’ll figure out the next thing.”

  I looked down again. There was a thick monster of a weed growing beside the maple tree in the center of the bed. I’d already tried pulling on it, and now I was hitting it with that little gardening shovel. “Son of a—” I held my breath and stabbed at it. “Come on, you bastard!”

  “Can I help you?” Mira crawled over to my side. She watched me struggle for a moment before adding, “That’s a root. From the tree.”

  I paused. “Are you sure? It’s thin—”

  “Yes, it’s a small one, but it’s a root.” She took it gently from my hand. “Here, I’ll cover it with some dirt. It will be fine.”

  I rested my hands on my legs while Mira buried the poor root. I had to laugh at the absurdity. “Have I mentioned that I have no idea what I’m doing?”

  She grinned as she smoothed mulch back in place. “I didn’t think so. You’re wearing sandals.”

  I laughed at that. “My grandmother is better at this than I am. How pathetic is that?”

  “Don’t beat yourself up too bad. I can help you out.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mira was sitting close to me now, so close I could see the dusting of copper freckles on her nose and cheeks. She reached over and touched my neck. “You have some dirt—”

  “Where?”

  I raised my hand to my neck and our fingers touched. Mira kept her gaze on mine and gave me a sexy smile. In an instant, I knew she was very good at her job. “So. Did you have fun with the people walker last night? You know, if you two ever want a threesome
…”

  I burst out in an awkward giggle. “Thanks. I think we’re taking it slow.”

  “Gotcha. But if you want to blow his mind, I can give you some tricks.”

  And as we weeded the garden, Mira gave me some excellent advice.

  BRETT

  I HAD client walks all day, but I still managed to get back to Mindy’s cottage at five minutes to four. She greeted me at the door wearing a fluffy yellow bathrobe. “Well, well. You’re right on time.”

  “Please tell me you’re naked.” I shut the door behind me and locked it.

  She dropped the robe slightly, exposing a thin line on her shoulder. “Not quite. I’m wearing a camisole and shorts.”

  “But the bathrobe—”

  “My hair is wet.” She took me by the hand. “Come in. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  Today, I’d whistled and felt an ease I hadn’t felt in months. I’d been counting down the hours, and then the minutes, until I was back with Mindy. It wasn’t just that the sex had been great (it had). It was that David’s ghost had been haunting me ever since I’d arrived in West Portsmouth, but I’d barely thought of him that day. If I was honest, it had been a relief.

  I took a seat on the couch while Mindy hurried out of the room. Something scratched my ankle. “Ow!” I checked underneath the couch and saw Beau’s yellow eyes watching me. “Hey, buddy.” I reached out to pet him but he backed away and ran off down the hall.

  I should’ve brought her flowers. That would’ve been a nice gesture. I worry about stuff like that sometimes, like whether a woman will think that I’m reinforcing traditional gender roles. My mom never got mad when my dad brought her flowers, though. I was overthinking things.

  A hair dryer buzzed in the back of the cottage. I tried to sit patiently, but that was difficult. I’m up and walking all day. Sitting made me feel anxious. I pulled out my cell phone to check my messages. Lisa had messaged, asking if I wanted a ticket home. Do you want me to have Jon arrange your flight? This would help us with scheduling some upcoming meetings if we knew when you would be back in town.

  Oh, right. I was supposed to be moving. I didn’t want to think about that. Sure, I messaged back. Let me know the date.

  I’d deal with it later. Returning to work was necessary, but in the meantime there was the entire summer ahead of me. Of us.

  The hair dryer shut off. Mindy emerged without her bathrobe, wearing only small white shorts and a purple camisole. Clearly, she was not wearing a bra. She smiled that sexy smile and I sprang to attention. “So,” she asked nonchalantly as she approached me. “What do you want to do?”

  I pulled her into my lap and wondered if I’d ever get enough of her. It didn’t seem possible.

  CHAPTER 14

  MINDY

  July

  TUESDAY NIGHT IS bingo night at St. Ignatius Roman Catholic Church. The event is advertised on a wooden placard that Father MacGovern placed by the side of the road, right next to the marquee that warns drivers to Repent ye: For the kingdom of Heaven is at hand. I like the effect of the two signs: Come for the salvation, stay for the Bingo. $5 a card, 5 for $20.

  I broached the subject of bingo casually one afternoon while dusting Nana’s room. “I met Luanne. She says she knows you from church.”

  Nana nodded. I’d brought her laptop from home so she could play solitaire, and she was keeping her eyes on the screen as I worked around her. “Nana. I didn’t know you went to church.” My family was not religious.

  “It’s something to do,” she said softly. I heard the swish of the cards as her game ended. “They serve coffee after the mass. I have some friends there.”

  Oh, my heart. Nana was lonely. I bit my lower lip to keep from showing her the pity I felt. Keep it light. “Luanne mentioned they have bingo on Tuesdays. That sounds like fun, doesn’t it? I’m sure I could spring you for a couple hours.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nana’s face brighten. “Let’s make it a date.” She didn’t object.

  And so I started taking Nana to bingo night in late June. I picked her up early, took her out for dinner at Ruby Tuesday, and then brought her to bingo so she could visit with her friends. The first night we went, I sat awkwardly beside my grandmother at one of the round Formica-topped tables set up in the church basement. I kept my hands in my lap and tried to make polite conversation with her friends—that is, until Nana pointedly said, “You don’t want to sit around with old people all night. Maybe Luanne needs help.”

  Luanne Henry was the official St. Ignatius bingo director, a post she’d held proudly for going on a year. Nana told me Luanne had had to wrest the position from the hot, wrinkled hands of her predecessor, who’d held it for seventeen years before being forced by her children to move to an assisted-living facility after she’d nearly burned down her own house while making pancakes. Were there others in line behind Luanne, vying for the position and waiting for the day she lost her marbles? Probably. But this was a church community, and people kept their animosity and ambition to themselves for the most part, except when they cut each other off in the parking lot.

  Luanne was only too happy to press me into service. That first night, I was in charge of brewing the decaf coffee in the giant percolator and offering store-bought cookies to the bingo players. When it was time to clean up, I helped to fold the chairs and stack them neatly on the metal racks in the closet until they were needed again next week. “We have a little bit of a mouse problem,” Luanne whispered, and handed me a broom. Sweeping crumbs off the floor became my job, too. Normally I might have grumbled, except that Nana chatted so happily on the drive home and told me that she couldn’t wait for next week.

  I never would’ve expected that by July, I’d start looking forward to these outings.

  “You look different,” Nana observed one night at our Ruby Tuesday dinner over her baked chicken and steamed broccoli.

  “Different, like how?”

  I hadn’t had my hair cut and I wasn’t wearing anything new—I couldn’t afford it. My parents were sending money to compensate me for the landscaping, but I was squirreling it away so that I could pay off my credit card debt. Bingo night was my big night out.

  Nana poked at her chicken with her fork. Two-thirds of her meal would end up in a to-go box. “More relaxed. You’re happy here?”

  She said the last part hopefully, and my heart warmed. I set my hand over hers. “I love it here. And I’m happy to see you doing well.”

  A small smile lit her face, but then she returned to her meal. “Good.”

  Nana didn’t know about Brett, though she might have had some suspicions. Brett and I had once visited her together, but more often we timed it so that a joint visit seemed unplanned. I’d go to the nursing home first and Brett would come half an hour later, feigning surprise. Then we’d leave together. Any happiness on my face was there because I was completely lovesick.

  With Brett, life was easy. He called when he said he would. When he left early for a walk and kissed me good-bye, promising to come back for dinner, he did exactly that. I’d never been with someone who did what they said. We went for walks together and talked about how we wanted to travel the world one day. And the sex left me dizzy. It was an uncomplicated relationship, but the sex was intense. Brett had a desperation about him. Just the night before, he’d no sooner walked through the cottage door than he’d started kissing me in the center of the kitchen. “I need you,” he’d said.

  “Let’s go to the bedroom—”

  “No.” He was already pulling at his belt. “Right here. Right now.”

  I was wearing a sundress. He unbuttoned his pants with one hand and lifted my skirt with the other, tugging at my thong. “Take this damn thing off,” he groaned against my ear.

  My skin buzzed and my head was light. I kicked my thong aside and he hoisted me up against the wall, thrusting deep into me and biting at the side of my breast. I’d never been fucked like that before, pressed against a wall with my legs wrapped around a man�
��s waist. He moved quickly, with fast, urgent strokes. I came hard. We both did.

  Now I felt naughty as I sat there with Nana and remembered how Brett had moaned at the moment of his release. An ache appeared between my legs and I rubbed down the goose bumps on my arms. “Cold?” Nana asked.

  “It’s just a chill.”

  “Next time bring a cardigan.”

  I smiled. “Good idea.”

  We ended the dinner early because I was going to be calling numbers that night. This was Luanne Henry’s idea. “You never play,” she’d observed the week before. “Don’t you like bingo?”

  “I’m fine. I just come to help my grandmother.”

  Not like Nana needed my help. Once I brought her wheelchair to the table and brought her twenty dollars’ worth of bingo cards and a marker, she didn’t even want to talk to me. If I tried to make conversation, she’d shush me and hiss, “I need to focus.” So when I wasn’t helping Luanne, I mostly spent my time in the basement of St. Ignatius eating raspberry squares, drinking decaf coffee, and thinking about sex with Brett. I guess I probably looked bored.

  “I know!” Luanne had said. “Next week, you’ll call the numbers. Would you like to do that?”

  No, I didn’t want to do that, but Luanne had looked so darn happy at the thought that I’d smiled and said, “That sounds great.”

  I’d learned since summering in West Portsmouth that my grandmother enjoyed church gossip. She’d given me all the inside information. For example, being bingo director placed Luanne—twice divorced—in Father MacGovern’s inner circle, together with the choir director, the lady who reads the Psalms at Sunday mass, and the woman who ran the Altar Society. They met Monday mornings for coffee at the rectory. Nana said that up until three years ago, Luanne hadn’t given a flying fig about bingo or religion of any sort. Her desire to be close to Father MacGovern had nothing to do with a wish to save her immortal soul. She’d only found religion after he arrived in town, and coincidentally, Father MacGovern looked like a young Cary Grant. So I didn’t want to call bingo numbers, but I agreed to do it out of love for my grandmother and pity for Luanne, who must have found it challenging to lust after a man who had taken a vow of celibacy.