The Curve (Swift Series Book 1)

by Leslie Pike

  I think quick and try to diffuse the situation. “I’m not a follower at all. But if I was I think this guy,” I imitate his pitched thumb, “…wouldn’t be a bad choice. Not at all.”

  3

  Atticus

  Okay, she’s impressive. That’s an understatement. Yesterday was a great day, not because of the setting and the cause, not just because all the kids were happy. It was the company I kept. It was the most fun I’ve ever had just talking with someone one on one. She’s interesting and complex. Her questions thoughtful. She listened intently to my stories, and when she talked about herself it felt genuine, like she was sharing things that had been hidden for years or buried with the passing of time. And not once did she look at her phone. She looked me in the eye. I could condense my impression into two words: Me likey.

  There was no posing or preening to get my attention. She had it. It was as if I was talking to my best friend. We clicked. She’s got a magnetic personality, if that’s a thing. I don’t think I’ve ever described a woman that way. And then there was the crushing sexual tension that hung around us. Never have I wanted a woman so much.

  I like the confidence she has. I guess when you’re alone you either get strong or wither. When you’re the mother, father and the grandparents to your child, it must be overwhelming. But I never got the sense she was crushed by the weight of the job.

  There’s a depth and sweetness to her and Mallory’s relationship that makes it feel whole. Whatever she’s done to raise her has been done well.

  When I tried to kiss her goodbye at the door she pulled back. That hadn’t happened before. She wasn’t about to change her original decision about how she sees our future. I’m not dating material according to her. Is this for real?

  Said she could only envision us as good friends. That way Mallory could keep me as her friend and wouldn’t have me coming in and out her life as a romantic interest might. And the fact she made a new friend in Paige complicates things further. Charlotte wants to preserve that connection.

  Another kind of man would think he’s screwed and move on. But that’s a quitter’s mindset. I’m not going to take no for an answer. She doesn’t know I’m as stubborn as she is. When something I want is in sight I go after it until it’s mine. Going after Charlotte will be my mission. Without even one kiss I know this woman is something unique. And if it takes me till next year, so be it, because every beat of my heart says I gotta have her.

  I’ve come up with this master plan to break her will. It almost makes me laugh thinking about it. Step one, thanks to Paige, was to call Mallory and get the information I wanted. When she and Paige exchanged numbers yesterday I had already started thinking about how I’d get her mother to see me differently. Although, I don’t really think that’s the problem. I sense she sees me that way already. A man can tell. I just need to chip away at her resolve. It was encouraging that when we talked, Mallory was on board and didn’t seem to mind the idea.

  It’s all swimming in my head as I drive toward my first appointment with Ms. Bay. She doesn’t know it because I used an alias. Jack Dawson, Leonardo DiCapprio’s character’s name from her favorite movie, Titanic. She wasn’t the only one listening yesterday. I’m her twelve o’clock haircut.

  There it is. I pull into the parking lot next to Corals Hair Salon, a small older looking building on the edge of downtown Memphis. Parking the car between a Ford Focus and an older Prius, I head for the front door. A tinkling bell sounds as I walk through. It’s a small room, with just four stylists chairs and a desk in front. Right away I spot Charlotte. Her back is to me, and she’s lining up her instruments. All the other eyes are on me. The two female hairdressers, their clients and the lone male who’s reading a magazine in the fourth chair. They recognize me. Maybe not the older woman having her hair sprayed, but the others.

  The middle aged woman with big red hair, orange lipstick and long nails points a finger at me. “Hi there honey. I’m Coral. And we all know who you are!”

  With that Charlotte turns. Her expression is priceless. Disbelief mixed with a little joy. She presses her lips together as if she’s trying to hold back a smile.

  “Want a haircut? I’ve got an opening,” the guy says tossing the magazine to the top of the teetering pile next to him.

  “Thanks, but I have an appointment with Charlotte.”

  She looks at her book and smiles. “Come on back, Mr. Dawson. I’m ready for you.”

  I head for her chair.

  “Before you leave, think we can get some pictures?” the blonde with braids says as I pass.

  “Sure. I think I’ve got some caps in the car. I could sign them for whoever wants one,” I offer.

  “Could I get one for my grandson, honey? You’re his favorite Maverick player,” Coral says through the Bobbi pins in her mouth.

  “No problem.”

  “When you gonna be back playin’?” the dude says.

  “Soon I hope.”

  “We’ll be watching.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  I take a seat in front of where Charlotte stands and watch her in the mirror.

  “Morning,” I say offering my best smile.

  “Morning to you. This is a surprise.” Her eyebrows lift for emphasis.

  She leans in and starts touching my hair. Running her hands over the back of my head, feeling the texture. Wow. When her fingers brush the skin on my neck my dick jumps.

  “Umm.” It’s an involuntary sound that escapes my lips, and it makes her take her hands away. Damn.

  “So what can I do for you today?” she says in a professional tone.

  I look at myself and turn my head to the side a little to check out the length. “Just a trim. I like the sides close and the top long. I don’t know, do what you want.”

  She surrounds me with a drape and turns my chair around. “Let’s get it washed first. Come on.”

  I follow her to the basin and assume the position. I don’t know, but this is a very sexy scene. Me laying back, legs spread, her standing over me, close and in charge, her breasts so near I could touch them with my tongue. I close my eyes to avoid the temptation. Then she starts the water. It’s warm and soothing, and she has a delicate touch.

  “Too hot?” she asks.

  “No. It feels great.”

  I open my eyes and find she’s looking directly in mine. Neither of us looks away but she continues to run the water over my hair. Not a drop gets on my face as she expertly moves her hand and spray across my hairline. Then she turns it off and pumps some shampoo in her hand. I feel her fingers massaging my scalp and gently washing it. More gently than I’ve ever had done before. It’s fucking sexy. Still her eyes haven’t left mine.

  “Go out with me,” I say softly.

  “No,” she whispers.

  “Come on. I know you want to.”

  She pauses for a moment while she gathers her thoughts.

  “That doesn’t matter,” she says rinsing off the shampoo.

  “Yes it matters. It’s the only thing that does.”

  She looks away, ignores my comment, and wraps a towel around my head. One tap on the shoulder prompts me to get up. At least she didn’t contradict me. I’ll take it. Baby steps.

  My next move is thanks to Mallory. She shared her mother’s schedule with me and that formed the plan. Good thing I’m not one to embarrass easily, because the jokes gonna be on me. I’m going to look like a fool I’m sure, but at least my hair looks good. But no matter. It’ll accomplish what I want. This is where I step it up, enlist others in my cause. Just don’t want Charlotte to get pissed. That’s the only risk to the plan.

  The Yoga For Life studio is tucked in a corner of the strip mall, and by the cars parked in the lot I’d say they’re popular. One woman with her mat is hurrying toward the door for the six p.m. class. It started five minutes ago. I park the Ferrari at the back of the lot, far away from the studio. In case she’s late I don’t want her to see my car and take off. Guess they’ll h
ave extra mats for walk-ins, so I make sure my phone’s turned off, lock the car and pocket my keys. Here we go.

  When I walk through the glass door no eyes turn toward me because they’re all closed. Everyone is in the zone. I grab a mat against the back wall and take a seat on the floor in the last row.

  “Let’s breathe in through the nose, and out through the mouth. Smell the roses, blow out the candles. Just be in this moment,” the teacher instructs in a soft monotone voice.

  I spot Charlotte as she sits cross legged, so still and peaceful. She’s at the front of the class. What’s she got on? Shit girl. I don’t get the complete picture because she’s sitting but what I can see is spectacular. She’s wearing black Lycra low slung leggings and a white and black sports bra kind of a top. It showcases full breasts that deserve a parade for their ability to make me want to cheer. And the abs. God. I can’t wait till she stands so I can see the whole package. That long braid falling down her back and the loose wisp of hair on her face isn’t hurting things either.

  I’ve got one eye open and the other closed. When the instructor spots me sitting cross legged and wearing a sling, she nods, but I’m not sure it’s because she recognized me.

  “Let’s begin. Everyone rise. Remember to breathe deeply as we go through our routine. And welcome to our new student.”

  With that everyone turns to find me. There’s whispered comments spreading through the room. Charlotte’s eyes widen and once again she presses her lips together holding back her smile. I give her a little wave and everyone can see it, then return the friendly expressions of the ladies with one of my own.

  But when I look at the ass on Charlotte I forget every other person in the room. Lord!! It’s high and round and solid, like she’s hiding a basketball in her pants. Christ, I hope my dick doesn’t decide to pop up. With that one look I know my masturbation fantasies just got richer.

  For the next hour the class is put through its paces. I’m only along for the ride with this wounded clavicle. Mostly I’m doing a lot of one-sided stretching and bending over. Once in a while one of the women giggles at my lame attempt to stand on one leg or bend like Gumby. But I’m a poor contestant in this contest. Every one of these women can out stretch, be more flexible and balance better than me. Who cares? I’m just here for the floor show.

  Every pose Charlotte does is an invitation to have mind-blowing sex. Downward Facing Dog, Tree, Bridge, Plank, all requiring flexibility and strength. The handstand has my heart racing. I can imagine going down on her on my knees while she sucks my cock. An impossible 69 to the second power.

  As the hour winds down, I decide to make my move. When the instructor dismisses the class, I speak up.

  “Excuse me, ladies!” I call.

  All heads turn toward me. Charlotte looks panicked.

  “May I add one more pose?”

  “Sure, Mr. Swift. Please,” the teacher says giving me the floor.

  Okay, obviously they know who I am. That’s working in my favor.

  “Please put your palms together, ladies.”

  All twenty women go along with my instructions. They’re finding it funny.

  “Perfect! Now everyone face Charlotte over there with the outstanding, distracting yoga outfit on.”

  The room fills with laughter and giggles. Charlotte’s face is turning red.

  “Now let’s all say the Atticus Prayer of Serenity. Center yourselves and repeat after me…Please Lord…”

  The voices raise. “Please Lord…” they say in unison.

  “Change Charlotte’s mind…”

  “Change Charlotte’s mind…” The voices get bigger.

  “And have her agree to go out with me…”

  There’s cat calls and whistles.

  “I’ll go out with you!” the busty blonde yells.

  “Are you insane, Charlotte? Go out with the man!” another says.

  “And have her agree to go out with me,” I repeat.

  “And have her agree to go out with me,” they all say.

  “Amen.”

  “Amen!!!”

  A round of applause punctuates the prayer. Women are watching me, watching Charlotte. They’re talking and laughing. She and I haven’t broken our stare. I crook my head, waiting for an answer. She starts nodding. Very slowly at first, then more certain.

  “Yes, alright. You win,” she calls across the room.

  We get a round of applause.

  “I’d say you won, girl!” calls the blonde.

  I make my way over to Charlotte as the class ends.

  “You’re not mad are you?”

  She punches me in the arm. But she’s smiling.

  “Hey, I’ve only got one good one, you know,” I tease.

  “You’re very persistent,” she says rolling her mat.

  “You’re worth the effort.”

  Her face. It’s hard to resist going in for a kiss. But this isn’t the place for a first kiss. Down boy.

  “I had a backup plan if this didn’t work,” I say.

  We walk to the back of the room and she picks up her duffle.

  “Really? And what was that?”

  “Come on,” I say holding the front door open for her to pass. “I was going to make an appointment with you to tailor some pants I have in my car. Brick said you’re a genius at that.”

  She starts laughing. “What? Did you think I’d melt when I got close to you?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You’re very sure of yourself, Mr. Swift.”

  “I thought maybe that’s what you liked about me. I know it’s one of the things I like about you.”

  We walk silently to her car, but I know both of us are rehashing the conversation in our minds. When we get to her door, I let her unlock it then hold it open.

  “I like a gentleman. Thank you.”

  “If you’re a male who grew up in the South, it’s part of your M.O.”

  Before she gets in the car, she looks over her shoulder and gazes up at me with those green beauties. “Why don’t you follow me to our place. Mallory and I are having a salmon dinner. Can I tempt you?”

  I chuckle. “You can and you have. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you girls.”

  “Bring your pants. I’ll measure you.”

  Now she’s the one chuckling. Is that a twinkle in her eye I detect?

  “What kind of a word is zoze? Never heard it,” I say.

  Mallory looks at me as if I’m an idiot. “You’re kidding? I use it all the time.”

  We’re in the middle of our Scrabble game on the coffee table in the living room, and she’s winning.

  “Yeah? Use it now,” I challenge.

  “Look at the plate of donuts. I’d like some of zoze.”

  She holds her straight face for just a few beats before she bursts out laughing.

  “Dork,” I say, throwing a tile at her.

  “Nerd,” she volleys with two tiles aimed at my head.

  “Dinner is almost ready. How about setting the table, you two?” Charlotte calls as she smooths the tablecloth.

  “Come on. Bet I can set a table faster than you,” I say to Mallory, laying down the gauntlet.

  “You’re on!”

  She races ahead of me to the dining table where Charlotte’s stacking the dishes, glasses and silverware. Mallory screams when I push her out of the way so I can get to it first.

  “Mom! Atticus is cheating!” she yells.

  “Too bad! Nobody said anything about playing fair,” I yell back.

  Charlotte doesn’t object to our contest or rough house playing. She smiles and lets us go at it. I grab all three plates, which makes Mallory snatch all the silverware and the napkins. We’re both laughing as we rush to set the table. I’m going one way around the table and she’s moving in the opposite direction. Three plates are down by the time we meet.

  “Give me some of zoze!” I order empty handed.

  “No! Nobody said I had to play fair!”

>   She lays down the settings as I set the purple glasses in front of each plate. It’s a tie as the last glass and napkin are placed.

  “I won!” I lie.

  She hits my right shoulder. “I won!”

  “Ow! My arm!”

  Her expression is priceless. With my sling off for the night she forgot. “Oh! I’m sorry! Oh my God, your hurt arm.”

  Now Charlotte weighs in. “He’s pulling your leg, Mallory. It’s only his left side that’s hurt.”

  I start laughing and pointing at her. She hits me again.

  “You’re awful. You scared me!”

  “Okay you two, take your seats. Dinner’s served.”

  Now I know she can cook, as evidenced by my clean plate. Not that it really matters. I could eat fried bologna sandwiches every night with her, or even be the cook myself. What interests me has nothing to do with food.

  “That was good, Mom,” Mallory says as she clears the dishes.

  “Thanks, honey.”

  “I’ll clean up,” I say standing and offering my services.

  “No. I’m going to take care of it all. Go have your wine or talk, whatever grownups do,” Mallory says with a tinge of embarrassment.

  “That’s good,” Charlotte says. “I’ll pin up your pants and take some measurements.”

  I know there’s no innuendo in her statement, but I think it’s only because Mallory’s still close by.

  ‘Yeah, sure. Lead the way.”

  “The mirror’s in my room. Grab your pants and I’ll give you a few minutes to put them on.”

  “Great.”

  This is a good development. I get to scan her bedroom, see what the inner sanctum looks like. Maybe there’ll be photographs.

  “Second door to the right,” she says.

  I head down the hall to door two. It’s open and not all what I expected. Closing the door behind me I toss the pants on the bed. This is inviting. It’s understated in color, everything in shades of ice blue and gray from dove to gunmetal. Classy, classic, cool.

  A three-way mirror stands in the corner with a solid round step in front. There’s not many items on the surfaces of the tables and drawers, but what is there is in silver metallic. The frames and the vase, even the base of the lamps, which are dimmed. You wouldn’t think a single woman slept here. It’s masculine. It makes me want to fall into the bed which is covered in down with a thin gray velvet blanket turned at the bottom. More than anything it’s sexy. Wonder how many guys have been here.