Sweet Talking Man

by Liz Talley

  “Okay, good class, everyone. I’ve seen some real progress in the new drawings. What I’d like for you to do is to take the piece you’re working on home with you. Spend some time thinking about the techniques we discussed and see if you can’t apply them. No need to rush this process. Art is about passion and being in the moment, but it’s also about taking your time.”

  “Just like with a woman,” Mr. Cho said.

  Leif crooked an eyebrow before snagging his gaze on Abigail. Again. “I’d say that’s a good assessment, Mr. Cho.”

  The older man nodded, solemnly accepting the affirmation of the wisdom he’d dispensed. Nearly everyone in the class hid a smile.

  “All right, then. I’ll see you next Tuesday,” Leif said, swinging his hands, giving a brief clap of dismissal. “Have a good one.”

  The members of the class stood, shoving papers into their portfolios or bags. Abigail tried to help Birdie, but the child pulled her supplies away, pinning her mother with a glare.

  This thing he had going with Abigail wasn’t going to be easy. Birdie hadn’t declared war on them, but she wasn’t happy about them dating or hanging out or, the actual truth, having mind-blowing sex.

  “Give me a minute, Birdie,” Abigail said, turning toward him, trying not to look so interested. The color in her cheeks gave her away, though.

  Most of the class had already left; only a few stragglers remained.

  “I’m ready to go, Mom. You can talk to Mr. Lively on your next date,” Birdie huffed, slapping her pad shut and shoving her chair underneath the desk.

  Abigail froze, glancing at Alba and Peggy, who both stood wide-eyed.

  “That’s enough, Birdie,” Abigail said to her daughter.

  “It’s Brigitte,” the girl said as though her mother was the biggest dumb ass in Louisiana before tossing her dark hair over her shoulder and striding to the door. “I’ll wait in the car.”

  Peggy looked hard at Abigail and then glanced at the retreating child before saying, “Hey, hey, Brigitte.”

  Birdie’s steps slowed. She turned. “Ma’am?”

  “Isn’t she your mother?” Peggy asked, pointing a finger toward Abigail.

  “Ma’am?” Birdie asked again, looking confused. Leif glanced at Abigail, who still looked mortified at her daughter’s comment and ensuing behavior.

  “I said, ‘Isn’t that your mother?’” Peggy asked again.

  “Yeah, she’s my mother.”

  Peggy nodded, giving Birdie a big smile. “I thought so, but the way you just treated her made me think differently.”

  This time Birdie’s cheeks flooded with color. She darted a glance at her mother as if she didn’t know what to do.

  Well, what do you know? Ol’ Pegs wasn’t going to take crap from a kid who’d gotten too big for her britches. Leif bit his lower lip to prevent smiling and ducked his head to shift the class syllabus in his hand.

  “Uh, yes, ma’am,” Birdie stammered. Leif glanced up to find Birdie nearly the same shade of magenta she’d been the night she admitted she’d spied on him. “I’m sorry.”

  Peggy gave her a knowing smile. “It’s hard being your age. I remember my own girls and the way we butted heads, but your mama is your mama. Remember that, sweetheart.”

  Birdie nodded, her eyes wide. “Uh, good night, everyone. Sorry, Mom.”

  Then Birdie slipped through the door.

  Peggy laughed, looking at Abigail. “I don’t envy you. Raised three girls myself. Gets worse before it gets better.”

  “Oh, Lord, don’t tell me that,” Abigail said, shaking her head.

  “It will be fine,” Peggy said, brushing a hand toward Leif. “And don’t let her manipulate you. Our daughters have strings attached to our hearts and sometimes they pull them in the wrong direction.”

  Alba nodded her head. “Mmm-hmm. And that man looks like the right direction to me.” Then the older lady cackled, giving him a wink.

  Leif couldn’t resist a smile.

  “Hey, Peggy,” Alba said, snapping her canvas bag shut. “Come with me over to the student center. They got good coffee. We’ll let these young people chat.”

  “Sounds perfect.” Then the two older ladies headed out, debating the pros and cons of having fully caffeinated coffees at this hour.

  “I can’t believe she just called me young,” Abigail said, walking around and pushing in chairs while Leif gathered the stray papers peppering the tables.

  “Why not? You act like you’re ancient.”

  “Some days I feel like I’m ancient.” Abigail pushed in the final chair and regarded him with enigmatic eyes.

  “You’re embarrassed.”

  “Maybe a little. This feels a bit unreal.” She swiveled her head around, looking for anyone remaining in the hall. “It’s probably better if we’re not so obvious about what we’re doing.”

  “I’m hoping that means we’re doing it more than once,” he teased.

  Abigail nodded. “I’d like that. I won’t let Birdie manipulate me, but, like I said last night, I don’t want to flaunt an affair around town. It goes against who I am as a person…who I’ve always taught my daughter to be.”

  “Which is?”

  “Moral.”

  Leif stiffened. “So what we’re doing is wrong in the light of day but right when we’re beneath the covers?”

  “Look, I’m not trying to be a hypocrite. If waving the fact we’re getting busy together under everyone’s noses is what you want, then I can’t be with you.”

  “I may not be moral, but I’m honest.”

  Abigail swallowed. “So you don’t want me to come by later?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “This is what we agreed to—a little fun. I don’t want to hurt when you leave.” Her voice broke at the end of her statement.

  And like fingers snapping, Leif clearly saw the issue spread before him. Abigail wasn’t scared to let go and live a little. She was scared to hold on again.

  Because falling in love often ended with a splat.

  “You won’t. We’re good,” he said, electing to give her space. He didn’t understand his need to push her in the first place…or maybe what he didn’t understand was how much it hurt inside that she wanted him only under the cloak of secrecy. Why should he care? His ego wasn’t fragile, and there had been plenty of times he’d slept with a woman and never worried about what anyone else thought.

  He was probably still messed up over his mother’s death and the ensuing quest to find his father. Somehow his skin had thinned or long-seeded emotions had worked their way to the surface, messing with his head.

  Abigail was a friend and lover. Nothing more.

  “I might drop by tonight. Uh, that is if you want me to?” she asked, color once again flooding her face. He liked that she blushed. It was so Abigail.

  Leif walked over and tugged her to him. “That would be awesome, FWB.”

  She smiled before glancing around. Then she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him squarely on the chin. “This sneaking around is a bit of a turn-on.”

  “Yeah?” he asked, bunching up the hemline of her long-sleeved cotton T-shirt dress, brushing the backs of her thighs. Her breathing increased as his fingers walked toward the edge of her panties. “Next time you wear a dress, don’t wear underwear. Think you can do that, Ms. PTA?”

  “Seriously?”

  “If we’re going to do this sneaking around, let’s do it right. Next time you know you’re seeing me in public, ditch the panties.”

  She licked her lips, pupils dilated. Too tempting. He swooped and caught her mouth, tugging her bottom lip with his teeth so he could taste her. At the same time, he stroked her ass, making her wriggle against him.

  With a final slap on her butt, he broke the kiss. “You better go before the custodian shows up and catches us making out.”

  Abigail stepped back, shifting her dress into place. Through the material, he could see her hardened nipples. His gaze rose to those puffy ju
st-kissed lips before sliding up to eyes full of desire. He almost walked over and locked the classroom door. Yeah, kinky sex with Abigail on his metal desk could be the ultimate in naughty fantasy.

  “When Birdie goes to bed, I’ll come over so you can finish what you started, Mr. Lively.”

  “Don’t think you’re getting an A just because you’re putting out. You’re going to have to draw that damn apple better.”

  Abigail fluttered her eyelashes. “Maybe you can tutor me.”

  “Oh, I’ll tutor you,” he said, with another slap of her ass. Abigail gave a little squeak.

  Abigail’s response was a quick kiss before slipping out the door.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A SILENT DRIVE home wasn’t as bad as Abigail expected it to be. For some reason she needed only the hum of the tires on the road to accompany her mixed-up thoughts. Normally she would have lit into her kid about the way she’d acted earlier, but some sixth sense told her Birdie needed to think about it. So she let the issue go and focused instead on how she’d nearly screwed things up with Leif.

  I don’t want to hurt.

  Why had she let that cat out of the bag? Made her sound weak, like some clingy girl who might show up one day wearing a wedding dress, holding a piece of cake to toss into his face. She hated being vulnerable, hated letting any man, or person for that matter, have that much control over her emotions.

  She could tell herself she was over the pain of Cal’s betrayal. She could feed herself lines about being reasonable and taking relationships slow. But the fact was she was full of shit.

  Because she was afraid of what she could feel for Leif if she let herself go there.

  And he was so wrong for her. Why couldn’t she have chosen some regular Joe who had lived in Magnolia Bend his whole life…and never wanted to leave? Why the nutty, sexy art teacher? Why the guy who thought a good date was roasting hot dogs and skinny-dipping? Why the man who dared her not to wear underwear? Why the man who made her…laugh, wear short skirts and drink Scotch on moonlit porches?

  Because he was the yang to her yin.

  Maybe his being so not for her made him so for her.

  Maybe Leif Lively was perfect for her.

  But that messed everything up. Leif wasn’t staying in Louisiana. And his “love ’em and leave ’em” past proved as much. She couldn’t let herself think about something more than what they now had. She had to protect herself from falling in love.

  But maybe it was too late?

  Birdie sneezed, drawing her attention away from her total failure as a one-night stand. She hoped Birdie wasn’t getting a cold. The virus had swept through the lower grades of St. George’s last week, rendering a lot of absentees. When they got home, she’d look for an antihistamine for the girl. The motherly knot of concern nearly overshadowed the earlier disappointment she experienced at her daughter embarrassing her in front of Peggy and Alba.

  “Alice Ann said she had to run over to Neil’s to iron his suit for an interview. She said she’d be back later tonight, though. I forgot to tell you,” Birdie said as they crossed over the old mill pond road, still several miles away from Laurel Woods.

  “Oh? Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. We don’t have any guests tonight anyway,” Abigail said, a nugget of worry gnawing at her. Business had slowed since the holidays. The only bright spot was that Mardi Gras was a week away and she was booked solid for ten days straight. Then there would be only a few more slow days until the arts festival and tourist season launched in Louisiana. She hoped her business picked up soon.

  As she swung into the long driveway studded with twisting oaks, she caught sight of Cal’s new truck shining like a penny in her driveway.

  Great.

  “Daddy’s here,” Birdie said, straightening, her beleaguered expression melting into a smile. “He said he might stop by to see what I did in art class. I think I’m going to enter one of my drawings in the U15 category of the festival. Mr. Lively said he’d look at my portfolio and suggest the ones he thinks are the best. Can you take it to him when you go over there?”

  “I don’t know when I’ll go over.”

  Birdie smirked. “I bet you’ll go tonight.”

  Abigail felt as though her daughter had punched her. “I might go over for a drink.”

  “That’s what you call it?” Birdie muttered under her breath.

  Panic slammed into Abigail. How could Birdie know she’d slept with Leif? She couldn’t. Abigail let the smart-aleck remark slide. “Hey, are you upset I went over to his place for dinner? You didn’t act very nice to Mr. Lively tonight.”

  Birdie shrugged. “It’s your life, and I doubt he cares what I think.”

  “That’s not true. He’s always been one of your favorite teachers.”

  “Jeez, Mom, don’t worry, I’m not into him if that’s what you think. Spying on him was just a silly thing. That’s it. I’m not a pervert or anything.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Abigail said, slowing down so she had a little time before Cal invaded their world again.

  “I know you’re still mad at me for that whole spying thing. I embarrassed you.”

  “I’m not mad at you. I’m confused.”

  “Because I want to know things?” Birdie asked, her mouth thinning into mulishness.

  Abigail had no idea where the conversation was going. Mothering Birdie was like playing a game where you chose what was behind door one, two or three. Scary.

  “You know, I looked at those magazines because I wanted to know things. That’s all. You treat me like a baby, never talking about sex and stuff. You always act like a person’s body or sex is dirty. But it’s not. It’s natural.”

  Abigail felt her legs get weak at the accusation in her daughter’s tone. “I don’t think you’re a baby. Look, it’s hard being a mama. I want to protect you, and I probably messed up the whole ‘birds and bees’ talk. You’re right. Being interested in the differences between a man and woman or being interested in sex is normal for someone your age. And, honey, you can talk to me about sex or ask questions anytime you want.”

  Her daughter looked straight ahead even as she shifted on the seat, wiggling like a worm in hot ashes. Perhaps, when it came down to it, talking to her mom about sex didn’t seem like such a bright idea after all. But then Birdie stilled. Jutting her chin out, she glanced at Abigail. “So, I have a question.”

  Abigail parked the car behind the house. “Okay. Shoot.”

  “Are you having sex with Mr. Lively?”

  Abigail tried not to shrink away, but it was too late to keep her cool. “What?”

  “You said I can ask questions about sex, so I am. You told me not to have sex if I wasn’t married. So I want to know if you’ve had sex outside marriage.” Birdie crossed her arms and leveled a look at Abigail that would have made a detective proud.

  “Frankly, Birdie, that’s none of your business.”

  “That means yes,” Birdie said, opening the car door.

  “No, it doesn’t. It means there are lines in life and you just crossed one.”

  “But it’s okay for you to know everything about me? It’s okay for you to tell me what to do even if you don’t do the things you preach?” Birdie said, slamming the car door.

  “Hey, wait a minute, young lady,” Abigail said, trying like hell to find the right words…and not look guilty. After all, she told Leif she’d be over later…to have sex with him. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

  “I’m not being disrespectful. Besides you said I can ask you anything about sex. Remember?”

  “Do you really want to know about my sex life? Do you? Because I could make your hair curl with the sex I haven’t had because I’ve been busy raising a daughter. Is that what you wanted to hear? Or maybe you want all the details of the sex I’ve been having? It goes pretty much like this…” Abigail tilted her head.

  Birdie watched her, eyes wide, looking a bit frightened.

  After a few seconds, Abig
ail righted her head. “Did you hear it?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly, because when your father left, I ceased to have any sort of adult fun.” Abigail wanted to stop herself, wanted to be the mother she’d always aspired to be for Birdie—careful with her words—but she couldn’t stop this time. “You want to be treated like an adult? Well, that’s how the mop flops because being an adult means you don’t go off and do whatever feels good. You give it up because there’s something more important at stake. And for me, that was you. Up until this year, I felt like I was doing a helluva job, but maybe I wasn’t because lately you’ve been rude, disrespectful and selfish.”

  Cal came around the corner of the house, looking concerned. “Hey, what’s going on? Glad you don’t have any guests because it sounds like a hen party out here.”

  “It’s none of your concern, Cal. Your daughter is being difficult as usual,” Abigail said, brushing past him, heading inside. She needed to calm down before she said something else she’d regret. She’d already done a bang-up job. Things felt so outside her control. Never in a million years would she have expected to lose her cool that way. For heaven’s sake, she’d just talked about her sex life with her daughter.

  Okay, so she technically hadn’t, but she had essentially blamed Birdie for the drought in her love life, which wasn’t fair because Birdie had nothing to do with that. The fact that Abigail had used her daughter as the excuse to put off dating wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own.

  Exactly.

  And she’d remedied that last night.

  Abruptly, she changed directions.

  “Where are you going?” Cal shouted.

  “Out,” she said as she stomped toward the path she’d taken last night. “You’re her father. You deal with her.”

  Moments later, Abigail stood on Leif’s porch, breathing hard and wondering if this was a booty call.

  Of course not.

  They were friends, right? Nothing sexual even had to happen. She just needed someone to talk to…and she wasn’t going to think about how before art class she’d slipped into her second-best set of underthings and sprayed her favorite cologne between her breasts.