Dirty Little Midlife Disaster: A Motorcycle Hottie Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 4)

by Lilian Monroe

  Today was the longest day of my life. By the time the kids are all picked up, I sink into a chair in my classroom and let out a long sigh.

  Katie’s a good kid. She was fearless, happy, and already has half a dozen best friends after just one day. I saw so much of her mother in her that it made it hard to focus on my work.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to date Trina. Maybe we could make it work…somehow. But if anyone found out and started treating Katie differently, I’d never forgive myself. Not to mention the fact that I could ruin my reputation for good. Letting out a long sigh, I lean back and stare at the ceiling tiles, trying to find some way out of this situation.

  The logical thing to do would be to tell Trina it’s inappropriate for us to see each other, and to break up. But even thinking of doing that makes me feel sick. I haven’t met a woman like Trina…ever. Thinking about how she flinched when her ex-husband hurled those insults at her makes me want to drive to her place right now just to make sure she’s safe and happy.

  I’ve never wanted to do that. I’ve never cared about a woman’s happiness, her safety, her mood the way I care about Trina’s.

  And after what happened Saturday in my studio, and Sunday in my bed, I know I want to be the man who gets to lay down beside her every night and wake up beside her in the morning.

  But am I really willing to give up my job for that? Am I willing to throw away all the years I’ve spent building my reputation at this school for a woman who just got out of a relationship? Do I actually want a relationship?

  I’ve always told myself I was better off on my own. After Belinda, I vowed to keep even casual sex as far away from my work as possible.

  My phone buzzes. I glance at the screen and see a message. Trina wants to talk.

  With a sigh, I send her a response. Is it bad that I still want to take her out to dinner? I’m still desperate to see her again. Touch her again.

  But Trina refuses dinner. Instead, she tells me she’ll meet me at my place once the kids are in bed. So for the next few hours, I find myself tidying my house, changing my clothes half a dozen times, throwing back a beer, and fidgeting constantly—all while trying to come up with some way to get around this situation. Trying to think of something that will let me be with Trina.

  But it all comes back to what happened with Belinda. The four years of awkwardness that followed our hookup, and all the ways I failed to be honest with her about how I felt.

  I respect Trina enough to not make that mistake again.

  I respect myself not to throw away the years of hard work that gave me a good name at that school. I can’t date parents.

  So when she texts me that she’s on her way, I find myself walking to the studio just to be somewhere that makes me calm—but then I take one look at the workbench and walk right out. I don’t feel calm when I think of what we did in there just a few nights ago. Not even a little bit. So, I head back into the main house and crack open another beer.

  I live in a three-bedroom bungalow on an acre plot. It’s secluded enough that I can do pottery late in the evening with music playing without disturbing the neighbors, but close enough that my commute during the school year is just twenty-five or thirty minutes. I’ve lived here for twenty years. Most of the furniture is from local artisans—what little of it there is. Apart from the multitude of hand-thrown pots, plates, and mugs, I’m mostly a minimalist.

  Still, I straighten the few cushions on my couch and let out a long sigh, feeling every second trickle by slower than the last.

  The sound of a struggling engine tells me Katrina’s clunker of a car is near. My heart thumps and I run my hands through my hair once again, pacing my kitchen until I hear the doorbell.

  And even though I’ve had hours to prepare myself, the sight of her standing on my threshold still nearly knocks me back. She’s changed into a knee-length black dress that clings to every perfect curve. Thin straps hold it up over her shoulders, with a colorful shawl hanging from her arms. A long silver pendant drops down her front, drawing my eyes to her chest. I close my eyes for a beat, trying to forget what it felt like to touch her perfect tear-shaped breasts, and I step aside to let her enter. She even smells amazing, and I fight the urge to throw all my convictions away just to tug her close and bury my face in her neck.

  Fuck the job. Fuck propriety. I’ll quit tomorrow if it means I get to stay with her tonight.

  As her heels click on my hardwood floors, her hand hitching her purse higher on her exposed shoulder, I remind myself of all the reasons we can’t be together.

  It would be unprofessional. Inappropriate. It could hurt Katie—either by upsetting her or opening her up to teasing. Other parents could get mad about preferential treatment. There would be whispers, questions, rumors. I’d never be taken seriously again.

  Trina finally takes a deep breath and turns to face me. “I wasn’t expecting this to happen.”

  A dry snort slips through my nose, and I rub the back of my neck just to stop myself from fidgeting. “Me neither.”

  She bites her lip, and I fight a groan. I’ve thought of that image of her on her knees in front of me every day since I met her. I barely got any prep work done Sunday night because I couldn’t get her out of my mind. My sheets still smell like her. Even now, when everything in my mind is screaming that we can’t be together, my cock is swelling with every second spent in her presence.

  Trina gulps. “Mac,” she starts. “Look. I… It’s been really nice getting to know you, but I don’t think I’m comfortable seeing you while you teach my daughter.”

  Even though I agree—even though I’ve spent the whole day convincing myself of the same thing—her words still hit me in the gut. I hide it with a nod. “Yeah. I agree.”

  She glances away from me and stares at the wall. “Right.” There’s tension in Trina’s shoulders, in the line of her neck, in the way her hands are clenched together in front of her.

  I fucking hate it. I hate seeing her turned away from me. I hate the fact that I can’t wrap my arms around her and tell her to forget it all and be with me.

  “Listen, Trina…” I take a deep breath. “I like you.” Understatement of the century. “But…” I grit my teeth, looking for the right words.

  “That woman,” Trina cuts in. “Was she the only one?” Her eyes lift to mine.

  I nod. “Until you.”

  Trina holds my gaze, then lets out a long breath. “So, what do we do?”

  A lump lodges itself in my throat. This is the moment where I tell her that up until Monday morning, I could see a future with her for the first time in my life. I could see myself actually wanting to let her in. Opening up. Letting her see all the vulnerable parts of me that have been locked up since I was a child.

  But my silence must wear her down, because Trina lets out a bitter huff. “Can we not do this? Can we not dance around it and try to let each other down easy? We’ve known each other a couple of weeks. We had fun. We hooked up. Now it’s over.”

  I flinch back. She wouldn’t even give me a few seconds to think of what I’m trying to say? She won’t let me untangle the mess in my mind? Figure out if these feelings are real or not?

  She’s just like everyone else. More than ready to walk away from me. Using the first excuse to run.

  I grit my teeth and nod. “Yeah. I don’t date students’ parents.” My words are hard, brittle. They taste bitter, but they feel good to say. Like I’m wrapping armor around myself, retreating into the safety of solitude.

  I don’t need Trina. I don’t need to open up to anyone. Haven’t I made it on my own? Haven’t I been perfectly happy up until now?

  She’s hot, and she was fun to fuck, but that’s as far as it goes with me. Always has been, always will be.

  So when I cross my arms and meet Trina’s gaze, my eyes are hard. All my emotions are tamped down, buried deep where they won’t come out to haunt me.

  Something flashes in Trina’s eyes. Some lingering sadness, a deep kind
of hurt. But it’s gone as quickly as I see it, and she just lifts her chin. “I understand. I won’t waste any more of your time.” She gives me a tight smile, then turns to leave.

  It’s the sight of her back that splinters something in my chest. The feeling of sand slipping through my fingers, of a scent on the wind that I can’t quite catch.

  I’m losing her.

  “Trina,” I start, but stop when I realize I don’t know what to say.

  The truth is, letting her leave is the right thing to do. Is she really worth losing my job over? Is she worth throwing away my reputation? All the years I’ve spent on my own, building my life just the way I want it—is Trina worth destroying all I’ve built?

  No matter which way I twist the questions around, the only answer is no.

  It’s not worth the risk. A relationship with Trina would be messy, and it would end in disaster. Just look at how easily she’s walking away now.

  So even though Trina’s eyes are glassy and it fucking kills me to clamp my mouth shut, I know there’s no other choice. She glances at me once more, pinches her lips and gives me a nod, then walks out the door and back to her car.

  Just like that, it’s over before it could really begin.

  And the worst part? I was right. She walked away, just like I knew she would.

  26

  Trina

  When faced with something that feels suspiciously like a broken heart, I do what any normal, rational woman would do: I pull over to the side of the road to cry, then wipe my cheeks and decide to do something drastic with my hair.

  That’s how I end up with kitchen scissors in my hand, hacking new bangs into existence across my forehead. Turning the wholly inappropriate and woefully dull scissors upright, I try to snip vertically to blend the bangs in the way I’ve seen hairdressers do it. Then I spend a while straightening and styling them just to prove to myself that I haven’t made a huge mistake.

  It’s not until the next morning, when I walk downstairs and see my mother’s brows arch high, that I start to regret my impulse.

  “When did that happen?” she asks, turning back to the cat food bowl as Mr. Fuzzles yowls impatiently.

  “What, my hair?”

  Mom throws me an amused glance. “Yes, honey. The hair. You haven’t hacked your hair off since you were six years old.”

  “That’s not true.” I pour myself a mug of black coffee. “I used to cut my hair all the time in college.”

  “Uh-huh.” She refreshes the water bowl but says nothing else.

  From there, the morning is swallowed up by kids and breakfast and backpacks and school runs. I drop them at the school gate and watch Katie sprint toward a group of children, already accepted into her new fold. Toby’s still in the back seat.

  I glance back. “You okay, honey?”

  “Why did you and Dad get a divorce?”

  Oh, dear. The question catches me off-guard, even though I’ve known it’s been coming. Ever since we moved out here, Toby hasn’t been himself. He brightened up when we adopted the cat, but now seems to be slipping back into a funk. The therapist we saw last week, a young, gentle woman named Andrea, told me it was normal, but it still makes my chest ache.

  Is everything in my life going to end in heartbreak? Can nothing just be easy, for once?

  I gulp past the growing lump in my throat and shift my gaze to the school gates. “We…” I pause, looking for the right words. I don’t want to lie to him or conceal the truth, but I don’t want to turn him against Kevin—no matter my own feelings about my ex. So, with a sigh, I do my best. “We had a grown-up problem, and decided that we didn’t want to be married anymore. It had nothing to do with you and Katie. Both your father and I still love you with all our hearts.”

  Toby’s lips pinch into a thin line, and he makes no move to leave the car. “It was Dad’s fault, wasn’t it? He did something that hurt you. I saw you crying before we moved here.”

  “I…” Ouch, my heart. I reach back to put my hand on Toby’s leg. “Honey, I’m fine. I was sad because I loved your father very much. But I’m happier now.”

  “I know.” He crosses his arms and juts his chin out at me. “Do I have to spend the weekend with Dad when he comes next time?”

  Another sigh slips through my lips, and I give my son a small nod. “Yeah, Toby. I’m sorry, but the courts said he gets the two of you for one weekend every month. If I keep you, I might get in trouble, no matter how much I might want to.”

  “What about what I want?”

  I squeeze my son’s thigh and give him a soft smile. “Let’s just give your father a chance, okay? And we can ask Andrea about it on Wednesday.”

  “Dad said therapy was useless.”

  “When did he say that?” My voice goes screechy. That dick!

  “When I told him about it on the phone last night.” Toby unlatches his seatbelt. “But I still want to go. Andrea’s nice.”

  The school bell rings, so Toby opens his door. To my surprise, instead of running off the way Katie did, Toby knocks on my window. I roll it down, and he reaches in to give me a hug through the opening. Then he says, “I like your new hair,” before flashing me a little grin and scampering off to school.

  All in all, I’m pretty proud of myself. I only cry for about twenty minutes when I get home.

  From there, routine sweeps me away. I start looking for work, sending out half a dozen applications every week. At the back of my mind, I wonder about the whole stylist business idea. But I can’t do that. I’m good at it, sure, but I can’t start my own business. No one would hire me. I’m not good enough. No way.

  So, I send application after application out, and get crickets back. The kids get signed up for all kinds of activities—soccer and karate for Toby, soccer and piano lessons for Katie—which require pick-ups and drop-offs. There are groceries to buy, rooms to clean, meals to prepare.

  I avoid going to Katie’s classroom, and she’s all too happy to leave me at the school gate. Toby goes to see the therapist, Andrea, even though his father gives both of us snide comments for it. I’m proud of my son for not caving to his father’s pressure.

  Mac and I don’t talk, and it’s for the best. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. And any time I feel weak and I want to pick up my phone, dial his number, and hear his deep, warm voice in my ear, I just remind myself of what he told me.

  He doesn’t date students’ parents.

  No softening the blow, no explanation, no indication that he ever had feelings for me. Just eyes that were hard and cold, and the latch of his door closing behind me.

  I try not to think of all the other mothers I’ve met at drop-offs who point to his motorcycle and talk about how sexy he is. I try to just be a mother to my children and forget about men altogether.

  Men are too much work, anyway. It’s not worth the pain.

  Even though some nights, when sleep evades me, I think of the way it felt to be on the back of Mac’s bike, flying over the asphalt with not a care in the world. I think of his kiss, the brand his hands left on my body…and I miss him.

  A few weeks pass. My existence becomes split into a series of upcoming milestones, because it’s easier to think about the future than it is to be present with my life the way it is. There are holidays to plan for, kids’ sporting events to train for, Kevin’s visits to brace for.

  His next visit is the last weekend of September. My ex-husband picks the kids up on the Saturday morning, and I hate to say it, but he looks good. He stands on the doorstep while the kids put their shoes on and gives me one of the smiles I fell in love with. “Don’t miss the kids too much while I’ve got them.”

  “Impossible.”

  Kevin’s eyes crinkle. “You always were a great mother.”

  Um, what? Is that…a compliment? Is he being nice to me right now? I frown, trying to figure out what his angle is.

  Kevin sees my expression and lets out a quiet sigh. “I mean it, Katrina. I couldn’t have done it without you
.”

  Gratitude? What alternate universe have I stepped into now?

  “Ready!” Katie cries, throwing her arms around my waist. “Bye, Mommy!”

  “Be good.” I give her a kiss, then reach for Toby. He gives his father a suspicious look, then accepts a hug from me. Then I watch my kids leave with my ex-husband, close the door, and wonder what the hell I’m doing with my life. I do a deep-clean of the house just to fight the feeling of emptiness. When my mother finds me scrubbing a toilet like my life depends on it, she takes the toilet brush from my hand and shoves me toward the tub with stern instructions to shower and get the hell out of the house.

  That’s how I find myself entering the Four Cups Café an hour later.

  Kevin’s there with the kids. Wonderful.

  I make to leave, but my ex-husband calls out my name. When I turn, he’s jogging toward me. He’s wearing one of those linen shirts he likes so much, and there’s a little splatter of paint on the sleeve. His jeans hang on his long, skinny legs, a rumpled sort of masculinity. He doesn’t have the brawn or the sheer sex appeal that Mac does, but I still know why I fell for him. It’s because of looks like he’s giving me now, when his whole, undivided attention is on me. When I just know he’s wondering how he’d paint me in this moment.

  Kevin blinks, and his eyes seem to focus on me. “Toby told me he has a big soccer game next week. The school’s main rivals, he said.”

  “He does,” I answer slowly. My eyes dart to the counter, where Fiona’s standing with her head angled toward us.

  “Well, I was wondering if you’d have any problem with me coming.”

  I frown. “You want to come to Toby’s soccer game?” Who is this man? “You’ve never gone to any of the kids’ activities.”

  Something like shame tugs Kevin’s lips down. “Maybe I’m realizing what a mistake that was.” He arches his brows. “So? Would you mind if I came? And maybe I could have the kids for a night next weekend to celebrate after the game?”

  I bite my lip. According to our custody agreement, no, he absolutely can’t have the kids one single night outside our agreed times. But what about my whole speech about effective co-parenting? What about giving Kevin a chance to be a good father to Toby when that’s what Toby needs most?