by Diane Nelson
“Let me crank the A/C up. Got a little hotter today than they called for. I don’t like to leave my boys here without the comforts of home.”
Jack set the box on the kitchen counter and disappeared down a hall to the left, I assumed it led back to the bedrooms. That gave me a few moments to be a voyeur. The space was surprisingly tidy, almost as if it wasn’t lived in. Of course, with his schedule—practices, games, travel—he might not be around much to make the mess you’d expect a single guy…
Oh crap. He was married. Or he had a live-in.
So much for those sexy, hard, smoky blue eyes. And those amazing thumbs. And the way he leaned in, close … interested.
Deflated, I flopped onto the sofa and waited. It didn’t take long. The grey long-haired presented himself first, then the tuxedo and finely a brownish striped short-hair. Wriggling my fingers elicited mild interest and no small measure of disdain.
I loved cats but Robert was allergic so we never had animals. I always thought it made a house less a home without them.
“That’s Reggie, the one kneading your, um, thigh.” I scooted back against the cushions, giving Reggie more real estate. “Max is the black and white, Ozzie’s the tiger-stripe.”
Apparently neither Ozzie or Max were impressed. They wandered away to tend to affairs of state while Reggie ensconced himself solidly on my lap.
“Big boy.” I was happy to have a safe topic to discuss. It took my mind off the man’s relationship status. Unfortunately it did not take my mind off the man.
“Yeah, last time he was to the vet’s he weighed in at sixteen pounds and change.”
I laughed, “And it’s all muscle and hair, I suppose?”
“Ya got that right.” He motioned to the sliding glass door at the rear of the living room. “I was going to suggest we eat outside but it’s kinda hot still. Once the A/C gets going, it’ll be nice enough inside. Do you mind?” He wandered off toward the kitchen.
“Can I help?”
“No, you jes sit, darlin’. You’ve got a job. It’s not for me to interfere.”
We chatted about pets while Jack set out paper plates, silverware and mugs for the beer.
“With it being so hot, I don’t think we’ll need to nuke the slices. You okay with that?” he slid next to me, so close Mr Reggie’s poofy tail wouldn’t fit between the gap.
Ignoring the plates, Jack pulled the box onto his lap and handed me a slice. We ate in companionable silence for a while until he exclaimed, “Oh shit, I forgot the beers. Be right back.”
Reggie grumbled, adjusted his spine, then decided visiting hours were over. Jack returned with frosted mugs and two bottles of beer.
“Hope you like Stella.”
“Um, never had it,” I took a sip and licked my upper lip. “This is go—” Jack was staring, transfixed, at my mouth.
Damn.
Then the light switch clicked and he scurried away, opening up a Grand Canyon’s worth of space between us.
Double damn.
Oh yeah. Wife. Remember the maybe mystery wife.
Stretching impossibly long legs on the worn coffee table, Jack launched into the sales portion of the evening. It made little sense why or how he’d be all that concerned about a middle-aged woman looking to re-invent her life. Surely the world was filled to the brim with twenty-somethings, lean of build and perky, who would make better candidates than someone with no job resume or life skills.
Other than a brief foray into assault and battery.
And look how well that went.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Uh, nothing, just thinking out loud.”
“So, Jes…” Yay! He used my name for the first time that evening, the Ma’am and Miz always on the tip of but not quite making it into my air space. “We have a spot open for a TA with one of our assistant coaches who also does double duty with the intramural squads. It would require twenty hours a week and pays a small stipend in addition to tuition…”
Basically my brain shut down at that point. Without the burden of tuition, I could afford to stretch my windfall over the two to three years necessary to complete the degree. After that, the sky was the limit, either in the academic or professional ranks.
Martin Luther King’s speech echoed in my head … I had a dream, a real dream. I could be the person I always wanted to be, not an accessory to an ego, a brainless vapid whore to an American Dream that had failed me at every turn.
I had a strong urge to kiss the man but decided that clenching my thighs together as tight as they’d go would be a reasonable alternative. The stiff seam made for a ridge along the length of the crotch. The urge to swivel my hips was almost overwhelming.
An urge that Jack Ryan, ole eagle eye, didn’t fail to notice. His head was bent at an angle but the quirk to his lips was unmistakable. He moved a hair’s breadth closer. I stopped breathing. Not long enough to turn blue, thank God.
And then the Republican Conservative cynic reared her ugly head.
“Mr. Ryan.” Prim, proper, legs still clenched in a vise grip, I decided to find out exactly how much this man knew about me, my situation, and why it mattered a rat’s ass to him.
I had a clue and the name of that clue was Tonia McMahon did it in the Boardroom with a very large donation to the Athletic Scholarship Fund.
I said as much. He didn’t deny it.
Man-whore.
Oh, so what. Grow up. He’s married. Or involved. Or something. If he wants to prostitute his position in the service of the greater good, so be it. At least some kid from the ghetto would get a chance at an education.
Big picture, woman. Don’t look at a gift horse…
Of course, that’s exactly what I did.
And he was rubbing his chin mindlessly, trying to follow whatever emotions flitted across my face. Everyone said I was an open book. Well, Mr. Nosy had just poked the bee hive. From the look on his face, he had to know the jig was up, that I was onto their little charade. And he obviously had been tasked to see to my compliance … or else. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out.
I’d watched the judicial system for far too long to not recognize a masterful game of let’s make a deal. But if I got what I wanted, who was I to complain? I could afford to cave this one last time.
It was likely the only time I’d ever come away with something tangible. An education. A start on a future that was under my control. A chance to be a woman, not a puppet. A woman with a destiny.
Church bells rang, choirs sang, I hummed …bitch i’m ballin out the gym…
With new resolve, I stood, my legs approximating jelly. Jack rose slowly, looming over me.
“Thank you for dinner, Mr. Ryan.”
He didn’t move, not noticeably, but he was definitely closer now. He had a good four inches on me. Over me.
Banking on the three, I said, “I accept. But not for the reasons you’ve been led to believe.” I wasn’t about to spill my guts to this man. My reasons were my own and he could think whatever he wanted.
In any case, he’d gotten the slam dunk, SCORE! I was a done deal.
Except … when he cupped my face in his hands and leaned in to brush my lips I felt the bottom drop out of my belly and land in a spot that hadn’t seen any action since … well, ever.
His lips, only his lips, so sensual, soft, then a probe, the tip of his tongue flicking past the barriers and exploring with such sweet gentleness my skin flushed with exquisite heat.
I could lose myself in that heat…
“Stay.”
The new me, the woman with a future and prospects, wanted desperately to say yes, but the rational woman, the one who never had a chance to choose, knew better.
I whispered, “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Why not, indeed?
I held up my left hand, the one with the half carat and the bruised knuckles. I tapped the ring with a forefinger.
“I’m still married.”
“You’re
getting a divorce.”
“Yes.” Even I could tell I was close, so very close.
“Take it off.”
Oh, if only it were that simple, but it wasn’t. I’d made a vow all those years ago. Yes, Robert had broken it, probably more than once. But I’d spent all those years being better than… I wasn’t ready to lower myself to that level.
“I can’t.” The squeak turned into a facsimile of resolve. I murmured, “Ninety days.”
“What?”
“Once I sign the papers, then it’s official in ninety days.” I backed away, hands clenched, begging him to understand. It was clear he didn’t. “Until then, Jack, I’m still married.”
With a small voice I said, “It’s a rule.”
He’d left his hands on my face, the thumbs working that magic over my lips. I don’t know where I got the strength of will to pull away but he finally released me, reluctantly.
“I’ll take you home.”
Blushing, I mumbled my thanks and bit my lip to keep from saying any more than that. Miserable, I settled against the door, leaning my head against the glass, watching the winking lights of evening whizz past.
Jack made small talk. Some of it registered, the bits about sending over the application and the details for the teaching assistantship. When he pulled in front of Etty and Chazz’s building, I slipped out and turned to thank him once more. In spite of everything, I was truly grateful for the opportunities fate presented.
But I’d run out of words and the temptation to stay was still strong. So I shut the door and stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Jes?”
Yes, of course yes sat on my lips.
“Monday, my office. Seven sharp.”
He winked and slowly pulled into traffic.
Chapter Five: Squaring Off
The A/C buzzed and clinked, a nice background hum to my racing thoughts. Sleep had been slow in coming, despite having the apartment to myself. Etty had opted to stay over at Chazz’s place, wherever that was.
I prayed it wasn’t one of those sports frat houses but the odds were pretty good it was.
The bathroom light was just bright enough to allow for a cringe-worthy stare in the mirror. I looked like I’d been rode hard, which was really annoying because I wasn’t ‘rode’ at all, and that dream of being put away wet had been one of the things keeping me awake half the night.
I slipped on Etty’s old sweat pants and a tank top. Even with the A/C going full blast my skin was sticky.
After a perfunctory attempt at tidying the bathroom I gave up in favor of pacing the small space. I was bored, annoyed, and frustrated. Not necessarily in that order.
The tap on the door came as a welcome relief. Etty and Chazz were social animals and had a constant stream of visitors. I’d gotten to enjoy their company, the youthful enthusiasm, gripes and complaints about classes, coaches, and room-mates.
It made me wonder why I’d never volunteered at a youth center, though in truth Robert wouldn’t have approved, citing safety concerns. At one time that flattered me, immensely. But after a while I came to realize it was more of a worry about his image and less about who I associated with. Youth groups in our area had rarely included any so-called middle class teens making poor life choices.
The tap became a knock.
Shuffling to the door I muttered, “I’m coming, don’t get your knic— Oh.”
The first thing I saw … actually the first two things were the Diner’s signature grilled sticky buns, steam wafting from the waxed paper wrapper into the chilled air, and two vente Starbucks to-be-sampled coffees.
“Mocha latte?”
He smiled and said, “White chocolate mocha latte.”
Sighing with pleasure I pressed my luck. “Whipped cream?”
“Yes’m.”
Mercy, he was stroking the bun wrapper with a thumb. How he did that and balanced the two Styrofoam cups attested to impressive skills with his hands—his very large hands. Hands that could cradle a basketball…
“Um, mind if I come in? These are hot.” He nodded at the coffee cups while I sputtered an ‘OK’ and managed to move myself and the door wide enough to allow his big body to enter.
His big, wide body.
I needed that coffee.
Moving through the apartment as if he’d been there many times before, Jack, my new boss, Ryan settled the buns on the kitchen counter, then placed the cups next to them, one on each side. The scent of grilled cinnamon and melted brown sugar over yeast-raised dough was almost more than I could handle—aside from the man gazing at me with more than a hint of humor and sly deviltry.
The kitchen was less a mystery than when I’d first appeared a few days before so I reached for the small mismatched Corelle Ware plates on the shelf above the sink. Jack beat me to it, our hands touching briefly. I might as well have stuck my fingers on a lit burner for all that I jerked back in pure unadulterated terror.
Whatever magic energy he carried in that massive frame, he surely knew how to use it to maximum advantage. My skin felt singed, in a most pleasant manner, the tingle spreading south, slamming up against some natural dam that trapped, then released a flood of moisture.
If I’d had my Kindle I’d have been tapping out notes to compare later with certain favorite ‘scenes of affection.’
“Kindle?”
Oh God, I needed to stop doing that, talking to myself. He was going to think I was a lunatic.
As if he could read my thoughts he asked, “You do that a lot, don’t you? I mean … talk to yourself.”
“Uh, not really, no.”
Grabbing the coffee and the plates I headed to the couch and arranged the place settings, buying time while I wondered what was missing.
“I’ve got them.” He held up a knife and fork for each of us and came to settle next to me, shoulders touching.
My mouth watering, I leaned forward to snatch a bun but he beat me to it.
Jack snorted, “You’re out of practice.”
Practice. Yeah I was, but how he knew that was … Oh, that kind of practice. Snatch and grab.
I laughed. “I’m just being polite. Next time, watch out.”
As we stuffed our faces with the sinful concoction, it finally occurred to me to ask why he was at my daughter’s apartment at … cripes, seven o’clock in the frigging morning.
“I’m an early riser. Figured you would be, too.”
He flicked the lid off the cup and took a deep draught, sighing with contentment. The remnants of the whipped cream left a line along his upper lip.
Dark bristles shadowed a deep cleft in his chin, the jaw strong and square, not jowly. He’d removed his glasses giving me an unfettered look at cobalt blue eyes, deep set, almost smoky, the corners framed in laugh lines that radiated out, giving him an almost feline appearance. Strong brows. High forehead, a slight widow’s peak.
The lips were thin, kissable, framed by the milky foam. My tongue swept my lower lip in anticipation.
I could almost taste the sinful, wicked…
“Go ahead.”
It was a whisper, sub-vocal, forcing me to lean in further.
“Wha—?”
“You know you want to.”
Oh God, he was teasing me. That demon! He knew exactly what he was doing. And before my tongue could trace a howdy-do on his upper lip, I snorted and parked my derriere against the far end of the couch.
“I’m not that easy.” Well, that wasn’t quite true but I managed to keep the tone light, giving as much as I got.
He gave me the are you sure about that look, then turned his attention to the remaining sticky bun. If I’d been alone or with Etty, there’d have been a pastry resting nicely on each hip. Apparently my new boss didn’t have any concerns about his own weight so he relieved me of that opportunity to impress.
My new boss…
Mumbling, “Tell me again why you’re here at this ungodly hour,” I rose to snag a couple of paper towels, ran them under the fau
cet to dampen the paper, and parked myself on the coffee table.
Jack nodded his thanks and cleaned the sugary mess off his mouth and fingers before explaining, “Well, the kids will be coming in and it’s a zoo right before the semester starts. You need to fill out the paperwork and look at the program before we send you off to…”
He madly did a brain google but came up empty.
“Matriculate?”
“Yeah, that. Anyway, since the gym will be free this morning, I thought you and I could shoot a few baskets, see what you’re gonna need to bring your skills up to par.”
There were so many things wrong with that idea that I couldn’t begin to list them.
Coach Ryan saved me the trouble.
“I know it’s probably been years and you’re not in shape, so now’s as good a time as any to get you into a program to bring that body of yours up-to-speed.”
Add to that: I’m fat as a house, I have nothing to wear, I’d need to wear my contacts, and … oh yeah, I’m fat…
“We’ve got plenty of uniforms that’ll fit. Um, do you have trainers or something you can use to make do?”
I nodded, numb from the eyeballs down. The prospect of making a total fool of myself, even if it was just the two of us, didn’t strike me as a good way to start the rest of my academic career.
But he was right. If I wanted to be a success, there were going to be sacrifices. The big one wasn’t reclaiming a facsimile of my twenty-year-old body. No, it was making what I had fit enough to get the job done.
Ryan patted my thigh and said, “Atta girl,” with no small amount of approval.
I really needed to get control over my face. Or else this man was a mind reader. I didn’t think that was the case, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep that possibility in mind.
He stood and asked, “Do you have a sports bra?”
He said that with a straight face. No uptick to the mouth, no glinty-eyed sparks from his crystalline blue eyes. But he was staring at my tank top.
The one showing cleavage. Complements of going au naturel first thing on an early Sunday morning when no one in their right mind had company bringing buns…
