Restored Dreams: more romance for the over 40 (#sexysilverfoxes) Read online

  “I think there’s been a mistake,” I say, clutching the towel to my chest. Brut stares, unblinking, and suddenly, I imagine him stepping forward to tug the damp cover off me and throw me on the large bed in the center of the room. Good, Lawd, I scold myself. Get a grip on the fantasies. It’s all a sign that it’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone.

  “Hank set this up for me. I have the lease papers with the address.” His voice remains monotone, stunned even. Instead of my daydream of being ravished by him, he goes for his bag on the floor by the bed. After removing the official lease papers, he walks to me. I briefly glance down, but his nearness distracts me. He smells fresh. Sunshine. Woodsy. Male.

  Brut has this wild white hair, having gone prematurely gray. He’s four years older than I am, making him forty-five. From the brief display of his abs—he wasn’t wearing a shirt in the bathroom—he’s built better than I remember. His abs stack like a pile of books, and I want to read every page. His eyes are still a playful blue, reminding me of our foolish summer days. We met when I was only nineteen, a girl on the eve of her sexuality. Now, I’m a woman of forty-one, and just looking at him revives the edgy sensation.

  “Here’s the address,” he says, interrupting my wayward thoughts of rubbing against him. I read the line where his long finger points, and I worry for a moment I’ve made a mistake and entered the wrong house. This would be my luck, but I had a key. Stepping to the dresser, I remove the contract I signed and find the matching address.

  “I’ve rented the same place.” I look at Brut, bewildered while my heart sinks.

  “How could we be in the same place during the same week?” Brut asks. He looks as frustrated as I suddenly feel. This can’t be happening. I can’t be in the same house as Brut. It’s bad enough we still live within proximity of one another. Every once in a while, I see him around Pasadena, where he lives, but it’s been a long, long time since we’ve spoken, other than a rare smile or head nod of acknowledgment. Been even longer since anything else has happened between us.

  “Midge found this place for me,” I offer. Brut chuckles, swiping a hand through his hair and making it lay back on his head. The white is a striking color, and with the matching stubble on his jaw, my mouth waters. His head shakes, and I’m missing something as a teasing smile crosses his face.

  “Damn Hank and Midge,” he mutters, slipping his hands into his shorts pockets. He’s returned his shirt to cover himself, and the blue material makes his eyes more intense. They drift to the bed, and he looks as though he wants to sit but thinks twice about it.

  “I guess I could leave,” I suggest although I really don’t want to go. I need this vacation. I’ve earned it, and after weeks of planning, I was in the mindset to be here. I don’t want to go somewhere else, yet I can’t stay here with Brut. Something definitely is not adding up.

  “Maybe I should go,” he offers without conviction, swiping awkwardly through his hair again. Little tunnels form in the white, making it stand up and look a little freshly rumpled as if he just rolled around in bed. Damn, he’s sexy, I think distractedly. I’ve kept up on Brut. I know he works hard and owns his own business like me. If his work ethic matches mine, he hasn’t had a vacation in years either and needs this time off like I do. “I could see if something else is open along the beach.”

  I snort. It’s an unattractive trait.

  “What was that?” He chortles.

  “What?” I say, dismissing the nasally noise.

  “That sound?” I ignore his teasing inquiry and wave a hand. The towel slips with my movement, and I instantly return my fingers to the wrap.

  “You’ll never find another place here. It’s the beach in August.” With his attention focused where my hand holds the wet terrycloth, I’m not certain he’s heard me. Speaking of the towel, the damp material grows uncomfortable against my skin, and I grab the dress off the bed. His eyes shift left, and I take the moment to tug the dress over my head. In one swift move, I drag the dress down my body while removing the towel from under the new covering. Deck change. Swiping the towel forward, it waves like a flag between us. Brut’s eyes widen at my skill, or maybe it’s that my breasts stand more erect, nipples pressing at the stretchy bathing suit-like material. His hand swipes through his hair again, and he turns his entire body away from me. The rejection stings.

  “I guess we could both stay here,” he offers weakly. He doesn’t sound convincing, but I’m reassured because if I know one thing about Brut, it’s that he isn’t interested in me. When I think about it, there shouldn’t be a problem with us remaining in the same place. I guess we could work around it. Maybe set some rules…

  “I mean, I’m sure we can work something out,” he says as if reading my thoughts. “I plan to do a lot of surfing, so I won’t really be in your way unless someone else is meeting you…” His voice fades, and he spins fully to face me again, resting his fists on his hips.

  “Is someone meeting you here?” The sharp question snaps at me like a rolled-up wet towel. His eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches.

  “No,” I squeak. “No, I have no plans like that…I’m alone…I mean…” Shut up, I warn myself. My eyes close, and I take a deep breath. The exhale lowers my shoulders, and one strap of my dress slips to my upper arm. Suddenly, fingers brush the strap upward and linger at my collarbone. I flinch, and my lids snap open.

  “Sorry,” Brut mumbles, retracting his hand after straightening my dress. He nods, steps back, and reaches for his bag. “We’ll figure this out,” he states brusquely before stepping around me. When the soft click of the door to the second bedroom echoes through the space, I realize I’ve been holding my breath. Sigh.

  Of course, we can work this out, I tell myself. I’m an adult. I’m over him, I mentally cheerlead. Only my heart plays devil’s advocate: Yeah, right.

  4

  Code 739

  [Brut]

  Lily fucking Warren. What are the odds? What is the chance? Then I realize, it’s neither. It’s all Hank. Damn him.

  I hustle to the second bedroom, contemplating a call to my younger brother to rip him a new one. He set this up on purpose, and I have a few choice words for him. But the moment I press his number, I just as quickly hit end call.

  Would it really be so bad to share the house with Lily? It’s only a week. We are adults. What happened between us seems like a lifetime ago. Water under a bridge and all that. But the drops of memory slowly fill a bucket as I keep hearing more and more about Lily lately. Ever since Hank told me he went to her cupcake place, I haven’t been able to stop thinking of her. However, I don’t know what to say to her.

  Hey Lil, I know it’s been twenty years but…

  Lily, we should talk sometime…

  Lily pad, can you ever forgive me…

  There was no easy way to start all the conversations we should have.

  Add in the little fact of seeing her naked, and I probably should leave the house. But I don’t want to. Not to mention, holy shit, aging has only enhanced Lily’s beauty. At nineteen, she was once a spitfire with long blonde hair and wild blue eyes. Ripe as a peach, she was ready to be tasted and savored for the first time. I was twenty-three back then and did the best I could to maintain her innocence, but she made it damn difficult to resist her. I’m hard once again, just at the thought of her. Her toned body and subtle curves, along with the delicacy tattooed on her hip. I don’t think I’ve been this stiff in a year; it’s as if my body recognizes where it longs to go—a place it’s never been—because I fucked that up.

  I throw my phone on the bed and fall to my back. Both hands dig into my hair, tugging gently. Can I do this? Can I stay here? I chuckle without humor. Karma, you fucking bitch. This would be my luck. A week forcing me to finally face Lily and all I did to her, to us. I’d like to dismiss it as a long time ago— youth, and alcohol, and all kinds of excuses—but the bottom line is: I made a mistake. A big one with a capital B. That mistake cost me…everything.

&n
bsp; I sigh as I sit up, and my head tilts to take in the bright late afternoon sunshine reflecting off the ocean. Fuck it. I’m not leaving, and neither is she.

  I find Lily in the kitchen unpacking groceries, something I hadn’t yet considered purchasing. I’d most likely eat out all week, and that’s the decision I make at the moment.

  “I called the rental agent,” I lied, but I don’t let guilt touch me on this one. “You’re right. I won’t find anything else this week along the beach.” It’s August, it’s California, and it’s a week before schools return to session. The beach is packed with visitors. “So maybe we can just figure something out.”

  “Sure,” she agrees too eagerly. She isn’t looking at me, but my eyes focus on her body. She’s wearing some kind of athletic dress—form fitting, brightly colored, top shaped like a bathing suit. Fuck me when she changed in front of me. Throwing caution to the wind, she almost found herself on the bed and me between her thighs, taking that dress back off her. Yet there’s no chance in hell Lily would ever want me to touch her again.

  Don’t touch me. The sound of her voice rings through my head from twenty plus years ago. It was a far cry from all her other requests. Touch me, Brut. Taste me.

  I need to get out of here.

  “I’m heading out for something to eat,” I say although my feet stay planted and my hands come to rest on the kitchen island.

  “Okay.” Her answer comes too quick as if she wants me to leave, and I once again consider the possibility of her meeting someone here. She said no one was joining her, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to hook up with someone. The thought makes my stomach sick.

  “Since we’ll be roommates for the week, maybe we should work something out in regards to…umm…you know, if you want someone here…” I’m scratching at the back of my head, not able to put into words what I’m suggesting. What the hell am I doing? I don’t want to give her an out. I don’t want her to bring some random guy here. I don’t want her to do anything with another guy.

  She stops from her busy movements of opening cabinets and filling the refrigerator. Pausing with her eyes aimed at a cupboard, she speaks. “You mean you want a code or something in case you want to bring someone back here? Like a sock on the door or something?”

  Her words tease, but her voice strains. Did her eyes close with what she just suggested? I lean to the side and tip my head, hoping to get a better look at her face. We don’t need a freaking sock.

  “I don’t need to bring anyone here,” I offer. “I can always go…” other places. I swallow back the remaining suggestion. What the fuck am I saying? The words run together, screaming in my head like a freight train. Now, I’m thinking of Lily going other places, with other men, and doing other things with them. I’m not liking this image any better.

  “I guess we could exchange phone numbers, and you could text me. Like a 411 or S-E-X, which would be 7…”

  Did she just spell out sex?

  “3…”

  Her finger dials in the air.

  “9,” she says hesitantly. “I think.”

  What the hell?

  “We could use that as a code.” She’s looking at me, bright blue eyes smacking me in the cheek with the innocence of her suggestion. Fuck no.

  “Yeah, umm, I think we’ll be good. You can use the code with me if you need to, you know…” I don’t know why I’m stammering or why I’m offering for her the use the 739 option. I don’t need her texting me that she’s having sex, or wanting sex, unless it’s with me. Never gonna happen, pal.

  “Oh.” Her hands flutter in the air. “Oh, I’m all set.” Her face pinks. “I mean, I have other means…” The blossoming pink deepens to sunburn red as her breath hitches. “I just…I’m all good on my end.” She exhales sharply and returns to opening and closing cabinets although I notice she’s no longer placing anything inside them.

  “Okay, well. I’ll see you later.” My knuckles rap on the island counter before I spin for the side exit. “Don’t wait up,” I throw over my shoulder and then want to punch myself in the face for being so snarky.

  5

  Seashells by the seashore

  [Brut]

  The next day starts early although I purposely returned to the house late. There’s no sign of Lily, and I panic for a moment, thinking she decided to leave after all. My heart drops with the possibility. I was such an ass yesterday.

  Then I find small traces of her presence. An open book on the arm of the overstuffed chair. A glass in the sink. Leftovers in the fridge from the dinner she must have made the previous night. When I see her Jeep still parked next to my SUV in the drive, I exhale in relief. Removing my board from the back of the truck, I remind myself I’m the reason for her vanishing act all those years ago, but she doesn’t have an excuse to disappear from here.

  I promised her we’d work out this arrangement, and I mean it. The fact she even spoke to me is huge progress. Her smile gives me hope she’s forgiven me.

  Fat chance, pal, I scold myself. I’ll never deserve her forgiveness.

  As I stroll down the beach, carrying my board under my arm, Lily appears before me but doesn’t notice me. She’s walking funny, knees bent outward and open a bit too wide for a normal stance. She looks like she has crab legs. Her hips shimmy as if she’s doing a convoluted dance. She’s definitely quirky.

  “What the hell?” I mutter with laughter, recalling the sound she made while standing in her bedroom yesterday. She snorted—nasally, cute, and eccentric. I hate that I don’t recognize her noises. At one time, I knew all her nuances—her purr, her moans, her sighs.

  As we grow closer to one another, I notice her hands are curled in fists as though she’s holding something. Her full fingers don’t allow her to grab the shirt tied at her waist, so she’s trying to use her elbows to hitch up the material. Slowly, I understand the shirt must be coming loose with her movements, and she’s trying to catch it before it falls to the sand. Her knees bend farther outward as if she can stop the slipping with her awkward crab-like walk.

  “Can I help you?” My voice carries, and her head shoots up. Her expression shows I startled her, and something falls from her fisted fingers. She reaches forward as if to catch it, but whatever it is drops at her feet. She bends to pick it up with her occupied fingers, and the shirt at her waist releases as she stands. I’m not quite fast enough to grab it, having to stake my board in the sand before reaching her. Her hands go for the fallen clothing, catching it with her wrists at her knees while more items release from her palms. She looks awkwardly ridiculous and stunningly adorable. A soft giggle of frustration escapes her.

  “Here,” I offer, stepping to her. She blinks up at me, and I grab the arms of the shirt, readjusting the material and tightening it around her toned waist as she stands upright. She’s wearing a body-hugging workout shirt which cuts over her boobs like a bikini. Tight triangular material barely contains the heavy globes and my tongue thickens, wanting to lick the space between them. Get a hold of yourself, man. Khaki shorts, frayed at the hem, rest underneath the shirt. Her feet are bare, toes wiggling against the sand. I’m close—too close—and the fresh salty air mingles with the scent of her—sunshine, tropical fruit, and morning.

  My hands pause on the tied shirt, and I look up to find her eyes watching me. Brilliant and blue like the heavens above us, the color hasn’t changed one bit in twenty years. If only she still looked at me like she did twenty years ago, I might feel complete. Instead, I feel like a puzzle poured out of the box for the first time. Pieces scattering, nothing matching, waiting to be assembled.

  “Thank you,” she says, her voice hardly more than a whisper. She licks her lip before biting at a corner, and I swallow back the desire to lean forward, wondering if she tastes the same. A wayward hair blows across her face in the morning breeze, and she raises her wrist to swipe at the strands. Her hair is more a caramel color than the brilliant blonde from when she was a teen. Cut short—just above her shoulders�
�she has it pulled back in two pigtails, one behind each ear.

  “What’s in your hands?” I chuckle, seeing her struggle with the loose pieces from her pigtails. My fingers act of their own accord and sweep back the tendrils, tucking them behind her ear. They’re too short, so they immediately fall loose again, and I repeat the motion, lingering at her ear a moment before my fingers skitter down her neck and release her.

  “Seashells.” Her voice croaks. She coughs to clear it and holds up her full fists. Another shell falls free, and when I bend, I see several near her feet. As I pick them up, my eyes travel over her bare, tan toes wiggling in the sand. I continue my journey up her shins, dripping with droplets of the sea spray. Her thighs clamp together as my view climbs, and I take note of how short her shorts are on her toned legs. I stand slowly, remaining in her space. Holding out the three dropped shells, I notice she doesn’t really have any more room in her small hands to carry them.

  “What are you doing with all these?” I smile as I ask, positioning the shells in my open palm.

  “I don’t really know yet, but they were too pretty to pass up.”

  Too pretty to pass up. The words catch in the wind and swirl around my chest. This is Lily. She’s so pretty, and I don’t think I can pass her up again. I slip the three shells into my pocket instead of returning them to her.

  “Is this where you were this morning?” I nod, implying the beach. The words release harsher than I intended, but the question mixes with my relief she didn’t leave. Another thought strikes me. She could have met someone for coffee and enjoyed a little morning delight, and I hate that I’m guiltily projecting on her what I want to do with her.

  “I was up early and went for a walk.” Her eyes narrow in the blazing sun.

  “I thought you left. Maybe reconsidered staying.”