If only she could count the ways he was delicious. There were too many to list. “Drew McPhee …” she murmured as if saying his name out loud would make what happened between them any less real.
Jasmine winked, rubbing her hands together. “So was it good? And don’t bother to play coy. It’s just us, and it’s okay to say it was good. In fact, say it a lot— out loud in the mirror.”
Mel swallowed a gulp of her wine for courage. “Is this the part where I own my sexuality? Because I’ve never done anything like this before in my life.”
“What exactly did you do, other than have sex for the first time since your divorce with a man who’s utterly gorgeous?” Maxine grinned, taking a crouton from the salad and popping it in her mouth.
Frankie shook her head of auburn curls and held up her hand.
“Forget all that, I just want to know if it was good?”
Mel let her head hang again. “Yes, yes, yes! It was good. It was the best sex I’ve ever had. Though, I’m not sure if I’m a good judge of the best sex ever because I’ve only slept with two people, last night being my second, but yes— okay? It was good. Great. More than great.”
“Then you’re one step ahead of millions of divorced women who have their first sexual encounter and it blows big, fat chunks. So I don’t get the problem unless it’s got something to do with the ground rules. Like he said this was strictly about the sex and you thought that meant flowers and candy, and now you’re hurt. Or is it that you’re worried it’ll never happen again,” Maxine offered with a grin, biting a cracker, her green eyes amused.
That shame she’d been feeling washed back over her again in a hot wave. “No! It can’t ever happen again.”
Jasmine crunched on a piece of lettuce. “Why the hell not?”
“Because I didn’t mean for it to happen in the first place.”
“So what you’re saying is, this was a one-time encounter and you’re not interested in anything but the sex? Because if that’s the case, go, you. I say you should try every variety of candy in the candy store and never settle for one piece unless you’re ready to,” Frankie provided on a chuckle.
Mel groaned, sliding down on her barstool. “I don’t know what I’m saying. The only thing I do know is I can’t believe I let myself get so carried away. It’s not like me to be so impulsive.”
Jasmine tapped her arm with a pink fingernail. “You know what, Mel? Maybe it is, and you just didn’t know it.”
“So I was always a closet slut?”
Jasmine’s laugh was dry and throaty. “Does sleeping with two whole men in your entire what, forty years, make you a slut? If that’s the case, call me head slut. This is what I’m saying. It’s okay to experience new men without feeling guilt. You got your groove on, and it was good. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. All those formative years, while you should have been out partying and being young, you were married. You didn’t date. You didn’t discover who you were as a person. I know that sounds hokey, but it’s the truth. What you thought was great at twenty, isn’t always what floats your boat at forty. If you ask me, having a casual encounter with a man here and there is all part of the discovery process. As long as the rules are clear, it’s all cake.”
“The rules … I think the rules are the problem,” she blurted out then shoved a piece of French bread in her mouth to shut it.
Maxine cocked her head and pursed her lips. “They weren’t outlined going in?”
“How can anything be outlined when you have your tongue shoved down someone’s throat after you behaved like a complete ass?”
Oh, Jesus. Had she just admitted that out loud?
“Ohhhhh,” Frankie cooed. “I bet it was angry sex.”
“What are you women, psychic?” Mel complained, her appetite taking a sudden turn for the better. She reached for a triangle of the Brie and stuffed it into her mouth.
“You act like you’re the only one who’s ever gone through this, Mel. I know it feels like that, but you’re one of millions, honey. Don’t go thinking you’ve got the market cornered.” Jasmine’s admonishment left Mel feeling less alone. “That’s why Maxine has all those support groups going on at Trophy. So you’ll be able to talk to others who have the same fears.”
“Damn, I’m good at this. I knew it was angry sex. So, tell us what the hell happened?” Frankie coaxed.
Mel relayed every tiny detail while consuming not one helping, but two of Jasmine’s Caesar salad. Clearly, one night stands left you starving. “Anyway, that’s what happened, and I don’t want it to happen again.” Maybe that was a lie. Fine. It was a lie.
“I call bullshit!” Jasmine cried, pointing her finger at Mel. “You do so want it to happen again. What you’re afraid of is becoming too deeply attached to someone again. I just don’t get the impression you’re the kind of woman who can leave her emotions out of the bedroom, but I’ve been wrong before. Either way, remember this: just because you had sex doesn’t mean you have to wear his high school ring, Mel. If you’ve discovered that, own it, baby. You had sex. It was good. You want to do it again, but you don’t want anything more than that.”
Mel shook her head with a sigh. “But that isn’t exactly how I feel. The problem is, I don’t know how I feel. One minute I’m embarrassed that I behaved so out of character, the next I’m grinning from ear to ear because … Look, here’s what I’m really afraid of. I clearly don’t know the difference between infatuation and true love. Lately, when I think of Stan, I almost wonder if what I felt for him was just an intense crush that would have passed if I’d let it play out instead of signing on for life. I didn’t know it at the time, because I was so blown away by the great choreographer Stanislov Cherkasov paying me so much attention, but when I began to examine it more closely after our divorce, I found that none of the things I wanted most in a relationship are the things Stan gave me. It never, ever occurred to me to look elsewhere. I stayed because I took vows. Period. I think that’s just who I am.” When she said those words, Mel realized, that was who she was. Her core was loyal, and she’d never break a promise if it killed her.
She let her head fall to her hands. “I was in awe of Stan, and I’m in lust with Drew. That can only lead to disaster if I’m not on the same page. Though, there is one thing I’m definitely sure of. I behaved like an idiot when all was said and done, and I stomped out of his apartment.”
Maxine sputtered on her wine. “Oh, I can identify with that. I was every kind of idiot come Sunday with Campbell. It happens to us all because most of us, Jasmine aside, hadn’t dated in forever. You don’t know the rules. You aren’t familiar with the lingo. It’s just as foreign as getting divorced.”
Frankie nodded her agreement while sipping her wine.
“So now the question is, what are you going to do about it?” Jasmine asked.
What was she going to do about it? “If you want honesty, sure, it would be great to do it again, but it’s pretty clear, I suck at leaving my emotions out of the bedroom. I don’t want to do the one-sided thing or go into it hoping I’ll be so magical I’ll change his mind and make him fall madly in love with me. I don’t even know that I want him or anyone to fall in love with me. I’m definitely honest enough with myself to know I’m not tough enough yet to be hurt again, and that’s exactly what will happen if this goes any further and his intentions end up different than mine turn out to be. Add in the complications of our working together and it’s just better to let it go.” Again, there was that twinge of sadness that had no business tweaking her heart.
Jasmine nodded, brushing her hair over her shoulder and popping another hunk of cheese in her mouth. “It’s like I said, maybe it is too soon for you, and maybe you’re right, maybe he does just want to have sex and nothing more. Though, the way he looked at you that night in the diner didn’t at all look like just lust, but you’ll never know unless you ask.”
“Couldn’t you ask him for me? I just don’t have the kind of Ring Dings you do,” M
el said on a nervous laugh. Jasmine’s confidence was daunting. Of course, she was gorgeous and probably didn’t have to ask questions. One could assume, if they had eyes in their head, no one turned Jasmine down.
Jasmine’s eyebrow arched. “If only it was that easy, kiddo. You’re a big girl. You have to take charge. That’s if you really want to know the answer. I don’t think you do. I think you’d much rather hide from such an intense attraction because it scared you. You behaved in a way that was what you think is out of character for you. So leave it alone and let’s focus on something else.”
“Like?”
Jasmine shot Maxine a secretive glance. “I think Mel’s the perfect guinea pig, don’t you?”
Frankie clapped her hands. “Oh, she definitely is!”
“Mel,” a male voice called, followed by the click of something Mel couldn’t place. “If I were you, when you hear the words ‘guinea’ and ‘pig’ from these three mouths, hit the ground running.”
Jasmine’s face lit up at his entry. This must be Simon, Jasmine’s husband. He certainly was big enough to be an ex-pro football player.
Big, blond, and handsome, he had an impish quality to him that made him appear as if life was just one big ride on a tilt ’o wheel he had no intention of getting off.
Jasmine wrapped an arm around his waist and he tucked her to him possessively. She pinched his chin, giving it a kiss. “Oh, honey. You’d hit the ground just because you’re blind. Now stop scaring the newb. Mel? This is my mouthy husband, Simon. Simon? Hold out your hand to the lady.”
Simon took Mel’s hand with an uncanny sense of direction and gave her a warm smile. “Nice to meet you. Now hurry,” he motioned with his cane over his shoulder, just missing Frankie’s head. “Run as fast as you can! I’ll cover you.”
Jasmine chuckled like he’d said the most clever thing ever, her eyes filled with such obvious affection, it left Mel with an acute lone-liness for all things couple-ish. “Didn’t I tell you, this is girls’ lunch? What are you doing out of your man-cave?”
His blue eyes twinkled when he plopped a kiss on the top of Jasmine’s head. “Call it like it is, wife. It’s my cage. That’s where all wives lock up their poor, blind husbands,” he teased, making his way to the fridge using his cane as a guide.
Jasmine swung back to face Maxine, her eyes shiny with excitement. “So whaddya think? I think Mel’s the perfect candidate.”
Mel narrowed her eyes at the women. “For?”
“I’m telling you, Mel, get out while you can,” Simon called.
Jasmine chuckled. “Oh, hush, or I’m moving the bottle of Tums and switching it for some Ex-Lax.” She winked at Mel who instantly felt at ease with their banter. “Just ignore him. He might not be able to see, but he makes up for it in mouth. So, Max?”
Max put her chin in her hands and perused Mel. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“Good, then it’s settled. Lemme get the laptop, and we’ll hook her up.” Jasmine floated out of the kitchen.
Frankie rubbed Mel’s shoulders and smiled. “I’m so excited, and remember, if this works out, it was my idea.”
Mel gave them a blank look. “Um, guinea pig here. Can someone please explain the experiment to the test subject?”
Jasmine breezed back in with the laptop and popped it open, typing in a URL. The page that popped up instantly made Mel give them each a questioning glance. Whatever TrophyMatch. com was, it couldn’t be good. “Is that what I think it is?”
Maxine’s eyes gleamed now, too. “Uh-huh. And you, my friend, are ripe for the picking!”
Mel let her head fall to her hands, still on the steering wheel of her father’s truck in the parking lot of Chester’s Bovine and Swine, careful not to muss her freshly styled hair. Because God forbid she should mess up her new hairdo in favor of banging her head against the car door.
She rolled down the window with the press of a button and took deep gulps of the cool autumn air.
A date.
She had a date.
At this particular moment in time, she wasn’t sure if a one-night stand with Drew had been easier. It had been sudden, and without warning, and there had certainly been less primping involved.
As far as she was concerned, Spanx were overrated, and the Kymaro was like a slingshot just waiting to unload her tightly bound breasts on some unsuspecting innocent.
Maxine had assured her that everything was on the up-and-up with this dating-site thing. The men were all carefully screened by retired therapists and psychologists, as were the women.
They went through rigorous testing and answered a million questions about everything from their hobbies to their sexual likes and dislikes. Everyone was screened and screened again. Maxine’s new site had everything but the goopy eHarmony-like commercial with a happily in love couple dancing around to Natalie Cole singing.
Businesswoman that Maxine was, a commercial with a happy-clappy couple like she and her husband, Campbell, probably wasn’t far down the pike.
And three weeks ago, when they’d suggested, nay, insisted Mel maybe find a different way to get her infatuation for Drew out of her system, she’d gone willingly like some lamb to slaughter.
Now this lamb had serious doubts she was going to find her mint jelly through this venue. Hold up. Maxine had said not to go into it like her life depended on it. It was just dinner.
Maxine said. Maxine this. Maxine that.
Unfortunately Maxine, who had an answer for everything, was usually right. So, in light of that, here Mel was, meeting Ronson “Everyone Just Calls Me Ron” Benedetto. A six-foot, two-hundred-ten-pound blond Sicilian who liked spur-of-the-moment road trips, animals, and the show Chuck, and who was just looking for someone to maybe see a movie with. Nothing serious. And he danced. When she’d read that in his profile, she’d silently sent Drew a neener, neener, neener.
Ron was an X-ray tech who had a full-time job and bennies he was very proud of. At least according to the six or seven e-mails they’d shared since he’d been chosen as one of her likeliest matches.
His picture had been nice enough— though he was no Drew.
That’s because he’s Ron, Mel.
Right. She’d do well to remember that and knock off the com-parisons. It had taken everything she had in her to avoid Drew at school and at the rec center when he picked up Myriam, whose ban from social events had been lifted.
So far, so good. The occasional glimpses she’d caught of him in the last couple of weeks were brief, making it clear to her, what she’d suspected his words meant all along were true. Drew had just wanted to have sex. Now that she’d discovered she wasn’t able to put sex in a compartment without involving the emotions tied to it, it was just as well she’d stomped out of his life.
Yay, discovery.
A sharp knock on the passenger window of the truck made her jump, cracking her head against the door. She rubbed the spot as she looked out the window.
“Mel?”
Mel’s eyes went to the right side of the truck where a petite woman with pink foam curlers poking out from beneath her orange-and-brown-polka-dotted scarf stood, her purse hanging from the crook in her elbow. Mel pressed the button to put the window down.
“Yes?” She squinted into the darkness to see if the woman was a senior from the Village, but it wasn’t anyone she recognized.
“You’re Mel? The Mel who’s supposed to meet my Ronnie?”
Mel cocked her head. “Do you mean Ron Benedetto?”
She grinned, patting her square purse to her body. “That’s my boy. Well, c’mon then, he’s in there waiting.”
Awesome. Maxine didn’t have instructions on what to do if your date showed up with his mother, now did she? Mel hesitated, scanning the parking lot. There had to be an escape route. If she backed up carefully, yet with precise haste, she’d probably only take out Ron’s mother’s toes. Who needed toes in this day and age?
“Well, hurry up. He’s ordering pigs in a pig blanket for
us— you know, those hot dogs wrapped in bacon— and they’ll get cold,” she chastised with a frown, pulling up the elastic waist on her jeans.
Bacon. Mel perked up. Everything was better with bacon.
But then she caught sight of Ron’s mother’s frown. Putting that much pressure on bacon was unfair.
Mel let a reluctant hand pop open the door, sliding out to put even more reluctant feet on the ground. Maxine would die for this. Painfully. Slowly.
“You pick out that dress?” Ron’s mother asked when she came around the front end of the truck to give Mel a critical eye.
Mel gave a quick glance to her red wrap dress with the black flecks and forced a smile to her lips as they began to walk toward Chester’s. “I did.”
“They have a different color?”
“I’m not sure, why?”
“Just think you’d look better in blue’s all.”
She’d have to remember that the next time she was due to date a man and his mother. Mel held the door to the restaurant open for Ron’s mother. The scent of brisket wafting to her nose might have been pleasant had it not been for the fact that she was sharing it with her date’s mother. Trailing behind her full-on assault into the crowded room, Mel asked, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Florence, but you can call me Mother.”
No-nonsense woman that she was, “Mother” headed straight for a table in a small alcove that was empty but for the pitcher of iced tea and three place settings. Mel went to the back of the table, figuring she should probably at least sit near Ron when she told him she only swung one way and it wasn’t Flo’s before she left like she was on fire.
But Florence clucked her tongue in admonishment. “You’re here.”
She pointed to the solitary chair.
Ah. Isolate the enemy. Mel bit the inside of her cheek and took her seat. “So where’s Ron?”
Waltz This Way (v1.1) Page 15
