by Elle Aycart
Shit. Adrian got up and pulled on the shirt that was lying on the couch while Rachel walked to the door. Before she reached it, it was flung open, and a seven-foot-tall African American man, built like a tank, stepped in. Squeaking, Rachel ran at him and jumped, wrapping her arms around him, kissing him loudly all over his face and hugging him. “T-Bone. How did you know I was here?”
The guy was laughing. “Couldn’t track you with the cell, babe. Saw you through the window.”
“I got a new cell,” she explained as the giant put her down. She must have remembered Adrian then, because she turned to him. “Adrian, this is T-Bone, my little brother.”
Riiiight.
Her little brother was anything but little, especially as he walked to Adrian and loomed. “Who is he, and what is he doing half-naked at Wilma’s?”
Adrian wasn’t sure how to answer that, but Rachel had no issues. “He’s the sheriff. We were eating pizza and watching Netflix.”
T-Bone must not have required more explanation, because he offered Adrian his hand. “Nice to meet you.” He turned to the frozen image on the TV and then looked at Rachel. “You haven’t seen the new season yet? Shame on you. Got any pizza for me? I could watch it again. I’m just passing through, though, I have to split soon.”
“Of course. Right, Adrian?” she said, dashing to the kitchen. “Let me put another pizza in the oven and we’ll be set.”
T-Bone stared at Adrian. He was probably in his mid-twenties, a regular at the gym for sure. Without Rachel around, he looked even more intimidating, if that was possible. “You fuck with her, you deal with me.” His voice was low, making sure his sister didn’t hear.
Adrian was going to ask T-Bone to define “fuck”, but he decided to refrain. “Understood.”
T-Bone nodded and then sat in the middle of the couch, a manspread that didn’t leave room for interpretation; Rachel and Adrian had been chaperoned. What goes around comes around.
She walked into the living room, gave her bro a soda, and shooed him to sit in a corner. She sat in the middle of the couch, which was where she’d been before the interruption. “By the way, we would appreciate your discretion. We don’t want the OGs to know about… this,” she finished, pointing at Adrian and herself.
“What? You two hanging out together, in practically nothing more than your underwear?”
“Exactly,” Rachel replied and winked at Adrian, offering him a sweet smile that shot to his chest, squeezed it, and proceeded straight to his cock. Apparently, the motherfucker had lost any survival instincts whatsoever and was already growing from half-mast to full salute.
Thankfully, the siblings were engaged in other matters.
“And what’s in it for me, sis?” T-Bone asked, with true little-brother-bratty attitude.
“I won’t beat you? Now eat,” she ordered, putting a slice of pizza in his mouth. “You’re too skinny.”
Adrian begged to differ, but again remained silent. He had more pressing issues, like trying to get his dick to deflate enough so that Rachel’s seven-feet-little brother wouldn’t use him as a punching bag.
T-Bone grumbled something about her being a bossy pants but obeyed. “You’ve been stuffing me with food since I was little.”
“It didn’t take, obviously.”
She pressed play, and in no time the three of them were cursing at the screen. When the timer went off in the kitchen, Adrian got up, but Rachel wouldn’t have it. “You’re injured. Stay.”
T-Bone glanced at his walking boot. “Hurt in the line of duty, Sheriff?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that. Rachel again made the first move. “The OGs broke his foot and tased him.”
“Those sweet grannies? What did you do to them?” he asked, stunned.
“He arrested them,” Rachel offered, bringing in the piping-hot pizza. “And me.”
“You arrested my sister and my step-grandma?” T-Bone asked, deceptively sweet. “You’re lucky I don’t hit injured old men.”
Adrian choked on his beer. Rachel patted him on the back. “Please. I’ve seen the sheriff fight. Not sure you can take him, injured or otherwise.” Thank God someone was defending his honor, because he himself couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “Besides, we kind of deserved it. Breaking and entering, attempting to bribe an officer, disorderly conduct.”
T-Bone narrowed his eyes on his sister. “You’re returning to your old ways, I see.”
“Pfff. Give me a break. Last charge was mine. The rest were the OGs’,” she pointed out.
He didn’t seem convinced. “I’m going to start stopping by more often. You guys need supervision.”
Adrian couldn’t have agreed more, but she snorted and, ignoring them, pressed play again. They continued watching the show until both pizzas were gone.
T-Bone glanced at his watch and stood up. “I got to go. Rach, your phone.”
“Why? What?” she complained but grudgingly gave it to him.
After some typing, he returned it to her. “Tracking app is on again. I don’t like not knowing where you are. It makes me nervous.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll watch out for her,” Adrian offered, standing up himself.
For a long second, T-Bone said nothing. Then he nodded.
Rachel shook her head, annoyed. “I don’t need men watching out for me. And I’ve changed your diapers, T-Bone. Don’t forget about that.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he answered with an easy smile. He hugged his sister and offered his hand to Adrian. “A pleasure to meet you.”
After he left, Rachel smiled at Adrian. “He approves of you.”
“How can you tell?”
“No one is bleeding, and no one is being arrested.”
How comforting. “Damn difficult to imagine him sexting with Wilma’s cell.” Or Rachel changing his diapers, for that matter.
“I know, right? Wilma adores him, but he doesn’t visit often. Come on, there’re only two episodes left. I need to find out how it ends.”
He had a thousand questions about her life, but she didn’t seem too forthcoming, so he didn’t ask.
The two episodes came to an end on a motherfucking cliffhanger. They looked at each other, outraged.
“Fuck my life.”
“My sentiments exactly,” she muttered, gathering the empty plates. “I’ve waited months for this season. Can’t believe it. You hungry?”
He followed her to the kitchen, carrying dishes to the sink. “I could eat. What you got?”
“Let’s see,” she mused, opening the freezer. “Wilma left some food ready, but I’m not sure what it is. I’m not the greatest of cooks. Aside from frozen pizza and cheesy nachos, I’m kind of useless.”
“I’m a great cook,” he admitted. “The best spaghetti Bolognese you ever tried.”
She turned to him. Grinned. “I’m calling your bluff, mister. What do you need? We have spaghetti, meat loaf, tomato sauce, spices. Anything else?”
He cupped her neck and brought her to him for a kiss. Then he lifted her and, without breaking contact, walked to the counter and placed her there. “I’ll need my muse by my side.” He couldn’t believe he’d spent all day with a woman without being inside of her, and still had a blast.
“That I can do,” she whispered against his lips.
He put an apron on and grabbed produce from the fridge.
“Is the muse allowed to drink? I might not be able to take in all your sexiness sober.”
Man, she was funny. He grabbed two beers and handed her one. “She’s encouraged to.”
“So you love spaghetti. Any Italian in you?”
He chopped the onions and threw them in the pan. Then the meat loaf. “Nope, not that I know of. My brother loved spaghetti. He was a picky eater, and that was the only thing I could get into him without much effort.” Plus, it was the kind of recipe he could do without meat, and Ricky wouldn’t even notice.
“Short on money?” she asked, her tone not judgmental in the slightest. At h
is nod, she continued, “In my house, pasta was done with canned tuna and tomato sauce, if we were extremely lucky. That is, once a month. Pasta with just tomato sauce we got three or four times a month. Normally, it was just pasta with a pinch of butter. My mother used to say it was a voluntary choice to lose weight. And that was when she bothered to cook. Most days, we got a couple of dollars and she sent us to buy junk food. Nothing is cheaper than that.”
“True.” He’d lived his fair share of years on junk food. “What I don’t understand is how your little bro managed to grow that tall.”
“Tell me about it. He grew tall, I grew sideways.”
“Nonsense.” He opened cupboards until he found the tomato sauce. “Your mother and his father…”
“They split soon after T-Bone was born. A pity. He’s a good man. What about your brother?” she asked, watching as he dumped the sauce into the pan. “Do you have a picture of him?”
He tried not to, but he went serious. Reminiscing about Ricky always played tricks with his mood. “Not with me, no. I have some pics, but I only kept the ones before the drugs. We were always strapped for cash, so pictures were never a priority.” His grandfather probably had some from when they were small. “When did you move to Alden?” he asked, not wanting to talk about his past.
“Ten years ago. I needed a change. I don’t do well in the city. I… lose myself. Here, I like who I am; I’m grounded.”
“I like who you are too,” he said, filling a pot with water and putting it on the burner farthest from her. “What did your brother mean when he asked if you were returning to your old ways?”
She averted her gaze, looking uncomfortable. “I was quite unruly in my teenage years. But I’ve changed. I’m a model citizen now.”
“Ha. People don’t change, Grease Barbie. They just get better at hiding shit.” He lowered the heat under the pan and covered the sauce.
“Right. Are we done cooking?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.
It looked like neither of them liked talking about their past. Fine, there was other stuff to do.
He took the apron off, planted his palms on either side of her, and wedged between her legs. “The sauce needs to simmer for a while, and we’re most definitely not done.”
A mischievous smile broke over her face. She was on to him. “Really?” She pulled off his shirt and encircled his neck with her hands.
“You weren’t this handsy on the couch,” he pointed out.
Rachel cocked her head and studied him for a long second. “Were you expecting me to be? Wait—you thought I wanted to watch TV as a pretense for cuddling?” She cupped his face, her sexy pout making him even harder. “My poor baby. I don’t care much for pretenses. Too exhausting.”
She was totally made for him. “Who said anything about cuddling?”
“Exactly my thoughts, Boomer,” she said, reaching down and palming his cock.
“I’ve been dying to fuck you the whole day. You still sore?” She shook her head, lifting her arms as he got rid of her T-shirt. “That’s my girl.” He kissed her softly and then moved to her sweet boobs, pinching her nipples and sucking them. “Hold on to me,” he whispered, lifting her and pulling her shorts down. She was now sitting on the counter naked but for cotton panties, which were developing a wet spot. Sexier than any lingerie he’d ever seen.
She reached inside his tenting boxers, grabbed his cock, and squeezed it. “I love foreplay, but if I’m being honest, I want you inside of me right now. I want it rough and hard and at this very instant.”
Fine by him. More than fine. He’d been trying to hide his hard-on for the last four hours. And she was wet. He could work with that.
Suddenly, they heard a metallic sound coming from the front door. The lock was being opened. What the fuck? How many more visitors with keys were they going to have?
“Maybe we should have warned Mike or Rachel we were taking an earlier flight and asked one of them to come pick us up” came from the living room. It sounded like Rebecca.
“Nah, let the kids rest. Rachel’s car isn’t in the driveway, so she’s somewhere having fun.”
That was Wilma.
Adrian and Rachel looked at each other. He was naked except for the tented boxers. She was wearing only panties with a wet spot.
Fuck.
He grabbed Rachel and hid with her behind the kitchen island.
“Do you smell food?” Rebecca asked from the living room.
Adrian reached up and turned off the burner. Hopefully it was the right one, because he couldn’t risk lifting his head to check. Rachel was scrambling for her clothes.
“The happy pill’s got you a bit dizzy,” Wilma said.
“Could be,” Rebecca acknowledged. “Let’s drink some whiskey cream liqueur in the backyard?”
“Is the liqueur in the kitchen?” he mouthed to Rachel.
She opened the cabinet over the counter, grabbed a bottle and a pile of plastic glasses, and, running, plopped them on the kitchen table.
Then she rushed back behind the island, almost skidding.
The door of the kitchen opened, and both of them held their breaths.
“Oh, the bottle is ready. Rachel might have seen the pictures on Facebook and known we were on our way back.”
Then the chattering grew farther away.
“Thank fucking God,” he mumbled when they couldn’t hear any more sounds.
Rachel was giggling. “This is more our style, isn’t it?”
She was so right. “Why do you keep liqueur in the kitchen?” He’d lost ten years of his life right there.
He stood up and began gathering his clothes, wincing as he tried to wrestle his hard-on into his pants without injuring himself.
“It’s Wilma’s doing. She does it so she can insist that the liqueur evaporates from the heat of cooking and not because the OGs drink it.”
He chuckled. “Thank God she didn’t come in here to get the bottle from the cupboard. No amount of optical-nerve laziness would have saved us.”
“We’re not clear yet, Boomer,” she warned. “They have to pee every ten minutes, and that’s when they aren’t boozing. If we don’t get you out of here fast, you’ll run into them.”
After sneaking Adrian out and getting dressed, Rachel grabbed several quilts and her cell, and walked to the backyard. There were three chairs along the shore. Once she reached the OGs, she realized Rebecca and Greta were softly snoring, and only Wilma was awake.
“Being old is so unpleasant,” her grandma told her. “After nine o’clock, you can’t keep your eyes open. Then at four a.m., you can’t keep them closed, even if your life depends on it.”
“The liqueur might have helped,” Rachel whispered, giving a quilt to her grandmother and covering the other two grannies. She sat on the grass next to Wilma.
“The happy pills Elle gave us might have something to do with it too,” Wilma mumbled. “Greta was a bit apprehensive about flying, but it went perfectly. We’ll have to ask her for more.”
No, they didn’t have to. “It’s a bit chilly. Let me call Mike.”
“No Grady,” Wilma warned her.
“Don’t worry. No Grady.” Rachel disliked him as much as the OGs did; she wasn’t going to give him more fodder to use against his mother. She punched in Mike’s number. “Yo, the OGs returned a bit early. I have them passed out in Wilma’s backyard. Mind picking them up?” She couldn’t carry them to her car because her car wasn’t there. Wilma’s truck was too high for Rachel to manage by herself. And Greta lived next door to Mike and Kyra, so dropping her off was on his way.
She closed her cell. “He’s coming.”
Wilma smiled. “Mike is an angel. You know, if he hadn’t been in love with Kyra since they were kids, I would have tried to get you two together.”
Rachel snorted softly. “Please. I love him the same way I love Connor, like brothers-in-arms. By the way, how come you came back tonight instead of tomorrow?” As far as she could tell from the tex
t messages, the old ladies had been having a blast in Florida.
“Our morning flight was canceled. It was either return tomorrow evening or today. We decided today. It’s too damn hot and humid in Florida. No wonder everyone of a certain age carries oxygen tanks around.”
Rachel poured liqueur into Wilma’s glass and then some for herself in the glass Greta was still holding. “You should have called us. We would have picked you up.”
Wilma waved her away. “We can manage.”
“Did you have fun?” Rachel asked, taking the glass from Greta and downing the liquid.
“Yes, the resort was very entertaining.” Wilma took a sip. “We checked off several items on our LOLO list. We learned line dancing. Rebecca’s knee couldn’t deal with salsa nor Greta’s hips with hula. Bonsai trimming was a no-go; before we realized what was going on, we’d chopped them. No wonder the other seniors brought magnifying glasses. Watching exotically dressed young men palm climbing was eye-opening. We could have used magnifying glasses for that too. The buffet at the community building was very good. The pool was great. Never seen more wrinkled bodies in one place in my life, though. Violet, a friend of Nathan Bowen’s, told us there was a beach for nudists not far away, but it wasn’t clear if it was only for seniors, so we didn’t want to risk having a stroke. Or giving one.” Rachel chuckled and poured herself another shot. “Violet used to be a hairdresser. She’s responsible for Rebecca,” Wilma finished, pointing at her friend, who now looked like Marilyn Monroe would have if the sex icon had made it to her eighties.
“I see. Are you moving down there?”
Her grandma cupped her face. “Of course not, my dear. Besides, we have unfinished business in Alden.”
The sounds of footsteps reached them. Mike. “Holy fuck,” he muttered, stopping by their side. “What did you do to them, Rachel?”
“Me? I’m innocent. They were like this when I arrived.”
“Grandma?” he asked, patting Rebecca on the shoulder. No response. “She’s out.”
“Too many strong emotions,” Wilma explained. “And lack of oxygen. The air in Florida is thinner.”
Sure. The air was the guilty party, not the liqueur and the happy pills.
