“Fine, I admit it,” I exhale. The dock and the lake beyond it come into view and I strip my shirt off over my head and toss it to the ground, my jeans coming off close behind. “But I had to sleep with her to get you into that class.”
“Thomas!” she chirps after me as I take off running toward the dock. She catches up to me and I pull her onto my back, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, her legs around my hips so I’m carrying her. We hit the surface of the warm water and it envelopes us, wraps us up. I swim out ahead of her. She pierces the surface and I catch a fast glance at the way her nipples press against her white triangle bikini top. The surface of the water tickles them and I turn to swim away, my cock harder than a rock in my boxers.
“You didn’t really fuck Ms. Weber, did you?” she shouts after me.
I feel a growl break in my chest at the word fuck. It’s not like her to talk like this. I shouldn’t be so fast to judge her words, her behavior. I have to keep this little running joke going, though. I feel like it’s the only thing keeping me from locking her legs around my hips and grabbing her ass.
“I did,” I tell her. “Had to. You think they let just anyone into those classes?”
She takes a big breath and turns away to swim back to the dock.
“Let’s go back,” she says without turning around. “The water’s too cold.”
I feel my lips pull into a straight line and I swim back to the dock, pulling my jeans and shirt on and shaking my head. By the time I walk up next to her she has her arms around her shoulders and I’m pulling my shirt off to wrap it around her. I shouldn’t have put it on after getting out of the lake. I should have just given it to her.
“Thanks Thomas,” she says softly. “I’ll wash it and give it back to you. Can I get my keys?”
I fish them out of my pocket and put them in her hand. She walks toward her house and I walk to mine. I wave when I get to my back porch and she does the same, pushing her screen door open. I watch intently but instead of going to the kitchen she goes upstairs. I go inside and throw my keys on the little table by the back door. They clink as they land, but it’s not with the comforting jingle, the sound of getting home. The sound just feels hollow in my ears.
5
Peach
My eyes scan over the schedule of classes pinned to the bulletin board.
I need a distraction.
I’ve only used my gym membership once. It’s less that I’m paying to use the gym and more that I’m donating money to keep the gym open for other people, people who actually utilize their memberships.
“What are you looking for?” the receptionist asks me sweetly.
“Something…different,” I say. I’ve never been one for working out. I get enough physical activity living in a house like mine. It always seems that I’m up on the roof laying some shingles or sweating out in the sun when I’m gardening. Swimming is probably my favorite physical activity. I look back fondly on the summer after senior year. Thomas and I practically lived at the lake. And aside from my grandmother’s old jazzercise tapes, I’m all set.
“Keep reading,” the receptionist says. I look at her over my shoulder and see her smiling mischievously.
Hm. I frown as I read the names of the classes. Cycling, aerobics. Nothing here is calling to me.
Then my eyes find something that makes my belly flip over and goosebumps plump over my arms. Yes. I’ve found the class I am going to be taking today, and it’s starting in five minutes.
Pole dancing. Hoo boy. A trickle of excitement runs up my spine and singes the hairs on the back of my neck. A shiver breaks through me and a crazy big smile spreads on my face.
I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect gift to fall into my lap at a more perfect time. I turn on my heels and walk past the front desk, the receptionist giving me a smile. She knows where I’m heading.
I am heading to Studio D, where the pole dancing class is taking place. I step inside and I’m met with a world of wonder in the form of mirrored walls, steel poles running the height of the studio, and ten or twelve women of all ages, colors, shapes and sizes ready to get their freak on in the safety of our neighborhood gym.
I guess it would be too much to ask for this studio to be located in the front of the gym where the windows are, and I don’t blame whoever chose this studio, tucked into a back corner, to hold this class. We can’t have people walking past here with their groceries or walking their dogs to get an eye-full of what’s going to happen in here.
Though I wish Thomas could get an eye-full. Oh, do I ever wish that I could show him some of the moves I’m going to be learning here today.
“Alright, class,” the instructor says, clapping her hands together. She is tall and thin, a far cry from my petite, curvy frame. I could work out from now until kingdom come and it wouldn’t change my proportions or the size of my bones, and I’m okay with it. This is mostly just for fun. Maybe a little bit to tone up and get fit for the summer, though I don’t expect just one class to change my entire life in the span of forty-five minutes.
I just need something to shake off this feeling inside me. I could go home and touch myself, but that’s not working as well as it used to. Maybe this class will douse some of the fire that’s growing inside me.
We each take our place at a pole. I’m nervous, not because people are going to see me in a vulnerable state, but because I’m going to be seeing myself in a vulnerable state. I’m a little bit shy about my body. Thomas reminds me all the time that I’m beautiful, but lately I’ve been feeling a little unsure in my skin. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t call me beautiful as much as he used to. I consider grabbing my gym bag and bolting for the door, but I resolve to keep my feet planted on the floor. They’re going to be doing all sorts of things in a few minutes, so for now I keep them where they are.
The instructor puts on some music and goes through a few standard stretches. I follow along. I took a Zumba class last year, so I’m right at home here. But then things start to heat up.
“We are going to start with some simple moves,” the instructor says, her hand wrapped around the poll as she walks around it in a wide circle. We go through a few steps. She instructs us to get up on our tip-toes and reach up with our dominant hand to grip the pole tight. We quickly go on to moves that are a little bit more involved. They include sliding our hands down various lengths, stepping on one foot or the other, and moving our hips slowly while we spot, catching our reflection in the mirror with each turn.
I start to loosen up.
I start to like what I’m seeing in the mirror.
I freaking love this.
The instructor makes the music a little louder and tells us all to keep going, play around, experiment with what we’ve learned. I can’t help but imagine what Thomas would say if he were here. I don’t know what he’d do. I have a pretty good idea that if he saw me like this, in a room full of people, he would tell me to quit what I’m doing and walk away with my hands up.
But what if I somehow got him alone in this room with me? Got down and dirty with him somewhere private, somewhere he could flirt and tease me and not have to worry about consequences? Oh, the idea is dazzling. I spin around the pole slowly, thinking of Thomas in here, his eyes drinking me up, every curve, ever arch, every spin designed to make him crazy. If he could be locked up in here with me, would I be able to make him do something to me?
I’ve tried. I’ve begged him to come down to the lake with me and gotten him to agree, only for him to spend all his time sitting on a rock and peering out over the lake as soon as soon as my pants come off. Yesterday was the only exception. Yesterday I got him to get a little closer to me, and I had to go and ruin it by getting into one of my bad moods and walking away. I’m going to have to try harder to get him to come out to the lake with me more often.
I let the restlessness inside me control my movements. He’s sitting against the mirrored wall, his knees bent, one on the floor and one tucked up against him with his e
lbow hooked on it. His broad, thick forearm is clenching and unclenching with every frustrating tick of his fingers, every fist he shows me. His eyes are narrowed on me and his jaw is clenched, and when I spin around the pole with my grip on it, I imagine running my fingers down its length, his eyes moving to follow me every little inch of the way.
He’s looking at me the way I want to be seen. He’s looking at me like a potential sexual partner. He’s looking at me the way a man looks at a woman who he needs, wants - hell, as a man looks at the woman he just can’t live without.
I can’t live without Thomas. It hurts to think he could live without me. And my inability to live without him encompasses every aspect of my life. In every way. I feel like he is my person.
Then why can’t I be his?
The song ends and the instructor tells us to take a five-minute break to grab some water. I brush my hands together and start to walk toward the mirror where I have my bag tucked into the corner, but my foot rolls onto its side and a pinch hits me in the ankle.
“Shoot,” I gasp, hopping onto my opposite foot. I look around to make sure no one saw me, but the instructor comes over with concern on her face. “It’s nothing,” I say, smiling to her, though I’m also wincing in pain.
I hop over to the mirror and try to step on my foot, testing it carefully by putting my toes on the ground to lower myself onto my heel. I shake my head and hiss out another gasp of pain, my brows knitting in the center.
“I am so sorry,” the instructor says as she helps me to the floor. A few of the other students rush over. I wanted attention, but this isn’t the kind I wanted, and I certainly didn’t want to be such a big bother.
“It’s nothing,” I say, “really, it’s nothing.”
But when I look down at my ankle, it’s already starting to swell. One of the students leaves the room and comes back moments later with an ice pack and a length of bandage.
“Thank you,” I say, taking them from her. I don’t know how to wrap a bandage, but I don’t think I need medical attention. I put the ice pack on my ankle and look up at my classmates with an embarrassed smile.
“Anyone I can call for you?” the instructor says as she appears with a cell phone and a piece of paper. She hands me the paper and I take it curiously.
“What’s this?” I ask. Across the top it reads Incident Report. Duh, it’s an Incident Report.
“Anyone who is injured at the gym needs to fill one of those out,” she replies.
“I’m not injured,” I reply, “it’s just a little sore.”
“It’s policy,” she replies. “In case you need any medical attention. I’m sure you’ll be better in no time, but we need to have this on file in case of an insurance claim. You can take it home with you and bring it back if you’d like.”
“Oh,” I say, folding it and reaching for my bag to store it until later. I’ll probably just mail it in. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to show my face here again. Ugh.
“Who can I call for you, honey?”
I look up at her and give her a shaky smile.
“Thomas,” I tell her, touching my ankle and making my lips pull into a thin line. “He’s my emergency contact. He’ll come and get me.”
6
Thomas
“It’s okay honey, just wait here for a second.” I climb out of my truck and grab her crutches from behind my seat, go around the front and open the door for her. She smiles up at me and I hook my arm around the small of her back. “There we go, nice and easy.”
She falters against my chest as I help her down from my truck and I tuck her arm under my shoulder. I nestle her crutches under my other arm and she hops along with me, one hand on my chest.
When we get to the stairs leading up to her front porch, I lean the crutches against the house and slip my hands under her knees to carry her in my arms.
“When are you ever going to get this porch finished?” I ask. I carry her up the stairs carefully and when we’re at her front door I keep her in my arms. I want to carry her all the way to the couch and she isn’t lifting a finger as long as I’m around to take care of her.
“I like having things unfinished,” she replies. I look around the porch and my lips pull into a tight line. There’s a bed of geraniums in their plastic trays and a bag of potting soil, and the banister looks like it’s been subject to some rot.
“Not if it’s a question of your safety,” I reply. “Reach into my pocket and grab my keys.”
Her gaze finds mine and her cheeks blush.
“My keys are in my purse,” she says.
I shake my head.
“I ain’t putting you down or letting you out of my sight, girl. Go into my pocket and get my keys.”
She nestles her hand into my pocket and roots around. If she takes any more time I might just find my dick getting hard. It’s a physiological response to having a beautiful woman in my arms. It’s nothing personal. What happened yesterday was just as much a little blip on my radar as having her in my arms now is. I just got caught up in the moment. It’s what I keep telling myself.
“Here we go,” she says, scrunching her nose up when she pulls the keys out. She puts them between us and I nod over to the doorknob. She unlocks and opens the door and I step inside, careful to bring her through the threshold without causing her foot to hit the frame. I carry her into the living room and sit her down on the couch.
“Thanks,” she says softly. “My own fault for taking a class that I -“
“What?” I put my hands on my hips. “I’m sorry, but I don’t take you for a girl ready to join a gym.”
“You hardly ever take me out to the lake anymore,” she fake-pouts.
She’s right. I don’t take her out to the lake much anymore. I’m supposed to protect her from prying eyes and leering glances. I can’t very well be the one undressing her with my eyes, now can I? Keeping her at a safe distance and remaining respectful of her newfound bombshell beauty has required that I not put myself into any compromising situations with her.
I glance behind my shoulder as I walk over to her kitchen. Her workout gear consists of these little tight pants that graze over every luscious curve of her ass and thighs, and a push-up sports bra that squeezes her breasts together and makes them look scrumptious. Two perfect hand-fulls.
Damn. Maybe that’s all the more reason for me to make sure she keeps wearing oversized hoodies and jeans like she always used to. I pull her refrigerator open as she grabs the remote from the coffee table, giving me a perfect view of the cleave between her breasts as she leans forward. I grab two beers and close the refrigerator with a clank.
“Here,” I say, putting the bottle down in front of her. I take a long pull from mine and sit on the couch - as far away from her as I can manage. She reaches out and claws the air for her bottle and then looks over and gives me an expectant smile. “Something wrong with your arms too, honey?” I throw over to her as I bend to grab the bottle for her. I put the bottle into her hand and watch as she bring the neck to her lips.
“Oh shoot,” she says, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb. When she pulls it away it causes a little tug in my chest. “I actually do need my bag.”
“I’m on it,” I say as I rise to my feet. I take a glance behind me as I start to leave.
I don’t know what I’ve got on my hands right now. I knew she would become the woman sitting ten feet behind me some day. I just didn’t know some day would finally come. I expected having to beat the boys away with a stick. I didn’t know I’d be the man who wants her most of all.
Our age difference is one thing. The fact of her grandfather trusting me to look after her is another. Add to all this the fact that she’s too good to stay in this town forever and you’ve got a situation that I just can’t get involved in.
I shake my head as I get to my truck and take the chance to adjust my cock, reaching inside to grab her tote bag. There’s a piece of paper laying on the top, and when I see it my heart leap
s into my throat and my cock grows a fucking inch around.
I grab the paper and pull it out of her bag, my fist clenched around the corner.
Incident report. Pole dancing class. I send a look over my shoulder and let out a deep breath. The picture of her in a little black thong, topless, hits my imagination.
Goddamn. I don’t know what to do with her. I can’t very well bring to her attention that I was snooping in her bag - which I wasn’t. I also can’t just pretend I never saw this. Either way, I’m seeing red.
She should be able to do what she wants. Hell, she is able to do what she wants, and I’m not going to step in the way of that. Still, like I said…
Yeah. I’m seeing red. I put my hand on the frame of window and look down, my eyes sealed tight. In my deepest thoughts she’s biting her lip while still giving me that big, gorgeous smile. She’s got a hand on the pole and she walks around it slowly, wearing sky-high fuck-me pumps, and when her ass swings into view she bends over to give me an eye-full of that sweet, smooth skin on the back of her legs and leading up to a heart-shaped, thick ass with her black thong pulled up between her cheeks and giving me a hot slice of pussy along with it.
She looks over her shoulder at me and flips her long, wavy blonde hair, inching one hand up the back of her scalp, and when she rakes her hand down her front and takes one pert, perky breast in her hand, that’s what does it.
I tear out of my seat, run onto the stage, and throw her over my shoulder. I beat my chest, which makes me laugh at myself a little. I’m like a fucking caveman.
I don’t want nobody else looking at her, I growl. She’s mine. She’s fucking mine.
Fuck. I turn around and plow a hand through my hair, only to see her looking through the window with an infuriatingly casual smile on her face. She wiggles her fingers and gives me a breathless look through her eyelashes. She looks like she’s about to put her finger in her mouth and giggle.
Mechanic Next Door Page 3
