by Lia Lee
“He’ll be back soon,” I say, though I’d expected him back already. “Let’s finish the story, and I’ll bet he’ll be here by then, okay?”
“O-kay…” she says with a yawn. “I like you, Kin.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Kids were so open and honest, unlike adults. If everyone were so straightforward, the world wouldn’t need psychologists. I’d have to pursue another profession.
“I like you too, Rose,” I say, my voice catching. The frog from the story seems to have leaped from the page into my throat. I clear it and keep reading.
“And the frog, free of the spell that had been cast upon him, turned into a handsome prince. He was the most beautiful man the princess had ever seen, and she was sorry that she had been so mean to him. The prince had loved the princess all along, watching her from afar in his home in the pond. He bent down on one knee before her and asked the princess to marry him. She said yes, and her father the King gave his blessing. They were married the next day, and they lived happily ever after. The end.”
I sigh at the cliché storybook ending. Totally unrealistic, but who doesn’t love a fairytale ending? I glance over and see that Rose has finally fallen asleep. I remember my mom reading princess stories to me when I was little too, and a ribbon of sadness whips through me at the thought of her—gone from my life.
It seems that Rose’s mother has gone away too, although I don’t know where or why. Her daddy seems to be her whole world. I look over at her little body curled up on the bed, a stuffed toy clutched to her chest. I hope I’ll have kids someday just like her. And I won’t be an absentee mom, either. I’ll love them with all my heart and soul and be there whenever they need me, like my own dad has done. Like Logan has done for Rose.
I smile and close the book. It’s been nearly two hours since Logan left, and after the first hour, I could see Rose turning grumpy and needing a nap. I’ve been around kids enough to know those signs, and the heat outside only made it worse, so I asked her to show me her room and find a book for me to read to her. Luckily the moving boxes were well-marked, and we quickly found a large hardcover collection of Grimm’s and other fairy tales.
It seems even hotter than yesterday, and it’s just two p.m. Things won’t be cooling off any until well after suppertime, and now I know why the siesta was invented. Who could even think straight in this heat? For a minute, I consider taking a nap myself, to escape the soaring temperature, but that wouldn’t be very responsible of me. And responsibility was something I took very seriously. Especially when trying to impress the new neighbor with my trustworthiness.
Secretly, I hope I’ve impressed him with more than that. I thought he was good-looking when I saw him from my bedroom window, but up close and personal he was nothing short of gorgeous with his acres of hardened, sculpted body and a brilliant, sexy smile gracing his classically handsome face. I figure all that construction work must have contributed to those bulging muscles that are bronzed to perfection. And when he winked at me, I felt a hot blush burn through me that had nothing to do with the temperature outside.
I open the window in Rose’s room a little wider, hoping for some breeze from the shaded backyard. I peer down to the lawn below and notice a couple of old folding chairs that must have been left behind by the last owners. They look a little rickety, but perhaps they’re still seaworthy, and I can catch a few minutes in the shade. The window is right above them, so I’ll hear Rose if she wakes up.
I sneak out of the bedroom and walk to the back door through the kitchen, which is still full of crates and boxes. If Logan’s going to be much longer, perhaps I could make myself useful and unpack some of the dishes and silverware. I’m sure he’d appreciate the extra hands even though he said he didn’t need help. But we exchanged phone numbers before he left, so I’m sure he must be on his way back if he hasn’t called to say otherwise by now. He probably just stopped at a supermarket to pick up some essentials. I’m in no hurry anyway, so I kick off my flip flops and step onto the cool grass. It feels great between my toes.
I pick the sturdiest of the two chairs and sit down carefully, in case the seat canvas might rip. It doesn’t, and I lean back to enjoy the delicious respite from the glaring sun. I lift the mane of my blonde hair off my neck to let what little air movement there is waft across it. It’s quiet aside from the birds, insects and occasional street noises. I couldn’t bear wearing a confining bra this morning while baking the muffins, and I feel the sweat trickle down between my breasts again. I undo a few buttons on my blouse and loosen the material in hopes of catching the same small breeze.
It helps, but the outdoor space is still far from refreshing despite the shade of the house and trees. I see shrubs and plants all around that are in need of attention since the place has been vacant all summer. They’re dry and overgrown, and I notice my previous neighbors have left an old garden hose coiled up and still attached to the outside tap. Perhaps that’s another way I can help out this handsome single dad; water his yard for him. You don’t know he’s single, I catch myself. Smarten up and do your homework, grad school girl.
Nevertheless, I wonder what else I can do for him. He’s no horny college boy, though, looking for a quickie in the school locker room like most I’ve met. Would Logan Brenner like things slow and sweet? Or would he like it fast and hot, our bodies slithering against each other under the shower?
A cold shower would feel so good right now. I swallow uncomfortably, my throat dry. If my panties weren’t already melting from the heat, Logan’s long stare as I stood on the porch surely would have done so. I pictured us under a waterfall on some tropical island, naked and fondling each other. The buzz of arousal stirs in my crotch, but I can hardly do anything about it here in my neighbor’s yard.
On a whim I reach over and turn the valve on the outdoor tap; it’s rusty but finally gives with a metallic squeak and allows the water through. I wait until the stale, warm liquid flows cool, then grab a few sips right from the hose. My parents never discouraged me from doing that as a kid. “It all comes from the same pipe,” they’d say, but I suspect it had more to do with saving my mom endless trips to the kitchen to get me a drink.
The water drips down my chin and onto my chest. Even my scalp is sweating beneath my thick hair, and since I’ll probably dry in less than two minutes in this heat anyway, I turn the hose on myself. First I run it over my head until I feel rivulets coursing between the strands of hair and stream off the ends. I splash a bit onto my shoulders and collarbone. The blessed liquid traces through the valley between my tits and soaks my loosened shirt, but I don’t care. My science brain affirms that the evaporation will cool my skin.
My unbridled nipples peak to attention with the onslaught of cold water. This isn’t helping my sexual urges, but the relief from the heat is worth it. I hold the hose against my shoulder with one hand, while the other slips down over the wet material barely covering my breasts as they tighten and throb. I rub them with my palm, hoping to press them back into submission, but it’s no use. I’m a horny, wet mess. My free hand glides from my breast down to the crotch of my jean shorts and back again, and I imagine Logan’s hands all over me instead of my own.
Suddenly I hear the screen door slam behind me. I whirl an about-face, flicking the hose in a wild arc, its stream of water nearly hitting the figure standing on the back porch.
Logan.
He flinches on reflex to avoid being splashed, but his eyes stay fixed on me and darken like those of a trapped animal. Even as my insides are shriveling with embarrassment, textbook quotes flash in my brain about reading body language and facial expressions. I don’t need any research to understand Logan’s look. I’ve seen it too many times on the faces of my arrogant, Alpha-type male classmates, and it’s not fear.
It’s pure, undisguised lust, and it’s the last thing I intended. I wanted to impress him but not this way. Not behaving like a floozy in a car wash commercial, soaking wet and fondling my own half-exposed tits. God, what
must he think of me now? I’ve made an impression alright, and it’s completely the wrong one. As I drop the hose and turn off the tap, I have a feeling I won’t be babysitting Rose Brenner again. Ever.
Chapter Four
Logan
Wet Dreams
“Sorry!” I mumble, the sound more like a growl than an apology as I abruptly turn away from the unexpected, and unexpectedly arousing, scene in my backyard. “I’ll get you a towel.”
I step inside, willing my swelling cock to stand down; ignore what I’ve just seen. But I can’t unsee it, no matter how many orders I issue to my treacherous body. The buxom blonde babysitter, all wet and glistening… Fondling her own gorgeous mounds through her shirt, her dark nipples clearly visible beneath the soaked cloth…
What a sight to come home to. With a stab of shame in my gut I realized that I’d rather it were my own hands squeezing those youthful, blossoming orbs, and my errant mind pictures wrestling her down onto the grass, ripping off those shorts and fucking her doggie style, pulling on the wet rope of her hair like a leash while I do it. Damn. I try to shake the obscene thoughts from my head as I search for a towel in the as-yet unpacked linens in the bathroom. I’ve got no business entertaining ideas like that, and especially not about a girl who’s at least twenty years my junior.
I’d checked in Rose’s room as soon as I got home, noting her napping peacefully when I went in search of Quinn. I’d meant to fix the air conditioning unit before we moved in but being so busy at work I just never got around to it. I should have called her when I knew I’d be longer than expected. If I had, she might have been reading a book on my couch instead of taking an outdoor shower to escape the sweltering heat inside the house.
At least I assume that’s what she was doing… unless… there’s more to it than just cooling off? Maybe she makes a habit of going sans bra and pleasuring herself; maybe she’s one of those bad college movie stereotypes, flaunting her own sexuality. Maybe she was even trying to attract me, give a little thrill to the lonely old neighbor who’s in need of some excitement.
Maybe. Not.
Get over yourself, middle-aged single dad with a history of unhealthy relationships. They never end well, and they always end. I find a towel and return to the back door, where Quinn is waiting on the entry mat with her back to me and her hair draping down over her shoulders in sexy wet tangles. I look away as I hand the towel to her. “Sorry I was late.”
“It’s alright,” she says in a small voice. “Is Rose still sleeping?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. Thanks for offering to stay with her.” I go back into the kitchen and start unpacking some of the boxes to keep my hands busy and not think about where else they might occupy themselves. Like in between Quinn’s shivering legs.
“You’re welcome,” she replies, toweling off. Even this innocent action sparks unholy visions in my head—peeling off those wet clothes, rubbing her down like a masseuse then watching her incredible ass jiggle as I snap that wet towel across it. “I’m sorry to make a mess of your backyard. It was just so hot…”
Yeah. It was. Seeing you like that. “I know. The air-conditioning’s not working. I should have called you. I’ll be more conscientious next time.” Next time? Who said there’d be a next time?
“Don’t worry about the yard. Looks like it needs watering anyway,” I say with a chuckle, hoping to lighten the moment and deflect my unsavory urges at the same time.
Quinn’s face turns beet red as she slips on her flip-flops and hands the towel back to me. “I have to go. Hope everything is okay at your work. Goodbye.” She doesn’t look at me as she hurries from the room toward the front door. She didn’t ask for her pay, and I’ve forgotten to stop at the ATM. God, she’s embarrassed as sin. I don’t think there’s a wanton sorority sister in there anywhere, and the sound of her goodbye pierces me like a shot from my nail gun. I don’t want her to leave like this.
“Wait. I haven’t paid you,” I call out.
She stops with her hand on the doorknob, her head down. “That’s okay. I’ve got to go.”
I follow her to the door. “I forgot to pick up some cash. And I just remembered, I have a business dinner to attend tomorrow night. Could you stay with Rose again? I’ll pay you two hundred dollars for both days. Sound fair?”
Quinn chances a glance at me over her shoulder. “Two hundred…?”
“Sure.” I know it’s a ridiculous offer, but I’m making it anyway, to atone for my thoughtlessness. And my own guilty conscience. A student could use the extra money, right?
She shakes her head and twists the knob. “Oh no, Mr. Brenner… I couldn’t take that… it’s way too much. And I have classes the rest of the week.”
Mr. Brenner? It sounded so cold and… subservient… coming from her lips. I didn’t like it. It made me sound like one of her professors at the University. I cringe at the idea I’m likely old enough to be one of them.
“Call me Logan,” I say, with a genuine smile. I want her to trust me, the same way I’m beginning to trust her. Most of all I want her to return tomorrow. “Just two hours, I promise. You’ll be home early. Please?”
Quinn chews her lip as she appears to think it over. The gesture nearly makes me hard again. It’s adorable and sexy at the same time. Please say yes.
“What time?” she asks.
“Uh… is six o’clock okay?”
“Okay,” she says with a curt nod. “Goodnight, Mr. Brenner.”
“Logan,” I remind her. She looks at me and flashes a tiny smile that makes my privates give an extra twitch.
“Okay, Logan.”
“Great,” I say, and exhale a relieved breath. Better. Much better. “See you then. Thanks.”
In a blink she’s gone, the door swinging closed behind her. I move to the window to watch her curvy form jog away from me and over to the large house next door. It occurs to me a student likely isn’t living on her own in a place like that. She must have roommates. If so, I hoped they all weren’t as much of a knockout as she is. I’d be a dead man in no time, having to jerk off every time one of them so much as looked over the fence.
But my hopeful cock retreats to stand-by mode as I consider the other likelihood—she’s still living with her parents. Now I really feel like a lecherous shit, practically bribing a young girl, luring her out from under the watchful eyes of Mom and Dad with a piece of candy. But I really do need a sitter tomorrow, and I don’t want to ask Lila. She won’t approve of where I’m going.
I’d told a white lie; it’s not a business dinner, but it does involve some unfinished business. And unlike Quinn, it’s with the last person I ever want to see again. The last person I ever want Rose to see again. I wonder if I’ll even recognize her after all this time. Four years could change a lot of things, but I doubted it had changed Jolene; at least not for the better. I’d closed my heart at the same moment she’d closed the door on me… on us. Me and Rose. And I never planned to open it again.
But no matter how thick the barrier, a sliver of light can still seep in. The warm sunny kind, like the light reflecting off Quinn’s crown of golden hair right now, that tricks you into thinking it’s springtime again; lures you into opening it just that little crack. Only to be met with the bitter wind of betrayal and loneliness. No. That door has to stay bolted and barred.
I’m no spring chicken. And I never want to experience another winter of being abandoned by the very people who should have been my shelter. First my mother, then the mother of my child. Hadn’t two killing touches of frost been enough to deaden the seeds of hope and trust? Bury them so deep no ray of sunshine or drop of moisture could reach them?
I can deny it all I want, but I’ve worked outdoors in the elements long enough to know I can’t fight nature. Maybe the old saying is true. Hope springs eternal.
Chapter Five
Quinn
Adventures in Babysitting
“God, I’m sure I flunked.”
Rochelle turns to me as we exi
t the lecture room, a look of incredulity on her dark-skinned face. “Oh, come on. You? Miss Study Hall? It’s the first quiz of the semester. We’ve barely covered anything. How could you possibly flunk?”
“I dunno, I just don’t feel good about how I did. I didn’t study as much as I should have,” I say, shaking my head. It’s true. Ever since that damn moving van pulled up next door, my concentration’s gone to shit.
“Why not?” Rochelle asks, her fro locks bouncing as we walk. “Don’t tell me you actually have something else on your mind. I can’t even pry you away from your books with the promise of free beer, for Christs’ sake.”
“You know I don’t even like beer,” I remind her.
“Hmf,” Rochelle snorts, fixing me with her narrowed, dark chocolate eyes. “You know you’re an abomination, don’t you, Quinnie? A college student who doesn’t drink beer, and is still a virgin. You’re a freak of nature.”
I wince, but I’ve learned to embrace Rochelle’s blunt but well-meaning insults. They’re all part of the exuberant, outspoken personality that’s my best friend, and she looks out for me in her own no-punches-pulled way. She’s brash, loud, overtly sexy, and no blushing virgin like me. I wished I could be more like her. At my age, my virgin state has almost become a liability. “As opposed to you, who’s just a regular freak?” I tease.
“Superfreak, if you don’t mind,” she says, poking me in the arm. “Seriously, what’s eatin’ you, girl?”
As we leave the building and stroll across the grassy common, I try to put my thoughts and feelings into words that won’t send her into fits of laughter. I’m still embarrassed by the events of yesterday, and even more embarrassed to speak of them, but I have to confide in someone. Who better to tell than my best friend?
I motion Rochelle off the path and under the shade of a big tree nearby. “I did something incredibly stupid yesterday,” I say, lowering my voice even though we’re out of earshot of the many students passing by. “Really embarrassing, and I don’t know what to do.”
