The Sex Education of M.E. Page 2

  “Here,” he suggested, holding out a hand for my phone. “I can delete your MatchMe account. I used to have one.”

  Reluctantly, I held my phone out for Merek. He pressed several buttons and pushed down the home key. The phone went to the main screen. Returning the phone to me, I pushed the home key, and the first window to open was my contacts.

  “What’s this?” I scoffed, holding out the phone for him to read.

  “My number. Think of me like Uber. You need a ride, I’m your man.” He winked. Gia snatched my phone from my hands and laughed as she glanced at the screen.

  “Oh my God.” Forgetting all about my phone, I turned and stalked toward my home on the other side of the park.

  Sitting at the bar, I stared at my phone. I didn’t know what else to do with myself. It had been years since I’d gone to a bar alone, and I felt like everyone was looking at me. Of course, they weren’t. Who would notice a forty-something woman with blonde-gray hair at a bar? Only men over sixty, which, no offense to that age category, but it didn’t describe me. Yet.

  I couldn’t believe Gia had talked me into this. After returning my phone the day after the party, she explained I already had a “connection” on MatchMe. It wasn’t even a date. It was simply a meeting of sorts. She showed me a few of the hits I had, which were unacceptable.

  You like me long time.

  Nope to the person who can’t speak English.

  U look hot 4 an older woman. MILF all the way. I’m in.

  Nope to the younger person who couldn’t seem to spell.

  I like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain.

  Nope to the guy who smoked a big one before sending out the message.

  She assured me the request for tonight was a good offer. This matchmaking thing seemed hopeless, and besides, I didn’t want to date. The idea of starting over, getting to know someone, trust them, and spend time coordinating my life with theirs just didn’t appeal to me. I recalled the awkward moments when I first dated Nate. We didn’t click immediately. It wasn’t love at first sight, but more like a slow progression of connection. He was smooth and patient. He wined and dined me, like I’d never experienced before. Intrigued by his interest in me, the quiet one of our bunch in college, I hesitated to form a relationship. In hindsight, it seemed like circumstance kept us together, moving us forward, until marriage was the natural next step at twenty-two years old.

  I was comfortable with myself. Not in my skin, but by myself, I was good. I didn’t mind going to a movie alone, just not on a Friday night. I had no problem eating alone at a corner deli with a good book as my date. At times, I wished for a companion, but I was so busy with work and the girls, I was okay alone. I was. Sitting at the bar was another story.

  I was self-conscious of my pencil skirt that might or might not be cutting off my circulation, and my heels that kept slipping into the rung of the stool. With the air conditioning on high, my skin chilled in the lightweight, flouncy, sheer blouse Gia encouraged me to wear.

  “Just wear your black bra,” she argued.

  “No. No way am I only wearing my bra and nothing else under this see-through material,” I countered. Besides, if my breasts were on full display, so was my stomach. A strappy tank camouflaged some of the lumps across my lower abdomen. Conscious of it rolling up a little, I tried to sit straighter on the stool.

  Everything was Gia’s fault. She’d accepted an invitation through MatchMe to meet someone. Assuring me she hadn’t picked someone too young or too old, too cheesy or too suave, I currently sat at the bar waiting for my “arrangement.” It wasn’t a date. It was a meeting. Fifteen minutes. If either of us decided we wanted more, we could go from there, but the initial in-person conversation arranged for only a drink.

  “You’re going to be fine,” Gia soothed as she smoothed back my hair like I was a child. “You can even time it if you wish.”

  Did people really do that? I wondered. I worked well with schedules, a trait I’d picked up from Nate over the years.

  “I’ll can even call you and fake an emergency, if you wish.”

  O’Malley’s was a nod to the Irish nature of our neighborhood. Old-world-pub-themed with dark wood, dim lighting, and banners of Irish bands decorated the small space. I’d been here a multitude of times with my late husband, with ladies from the area, and with my daughters. It was strange to sit here alone, and I worried that someone I knew would walk in and see me. On the other hand, Gia thought this was the best place to meet as I was close to home. This environment felt comfortable, and I had the protection of possibly seeing someone if I needed another excuse to end the meeting.

  Still fiddling with my phone, aimlessly clearing out my emails, I hardly noticed the person who took the seat next to me. The stool pulled back, so I looked up in curiosity. A man, I noted, and then returned to my phone. Quickly, I did a second take.

  “Merek,” the bartender said, addressing him. “Long time, no see, you old bugger.”

  I blinked. It was more than a man that sat next to me. It was that guy from the block party. My eyes roamed downward, assessing him: dress shirt rolled to the elbows, nice pants, and flip-flops. Dressy, but understated by the casual footwear, he certainly looked more pulled together than the cargo shorts and tight t-shirt from the street party. He turned to face me, and my breath hitched as his dark eyes captured my stare. I blushed, while he extended a hand to me.

  “Merek Elliott,” he offered.

  Wide-eyed, I took too long to respond, and he lowered his hand. He shifted toward the bartender, who took his order, and I spun away from him, returning my attention to my phone, frantically scrolling through emails though not reading a thing. My breathing was shallow and goosebumps rose on my skin. The damn air conditioning. Was there a chill in here?

  “You don’t remember me?” he asked, and my attention twisted back to him.

  “I…well, how could I forget?” I scoffed. “You made a memorable impression.”

  His eyebrows pinched but his face was full of mirth.

  “Oh yeah? What did I say?” The crinkles by his eyes teased me. That sassy dimple peeked out.

  The heat in my face racketed upward. “Something about Uber,” I muttered.

  “Well, that certainly explains it.” He slipped his phone out of his pocket and shook it in my direction before setting it on the dark wooden bar.

  “Explains what?” My eyebrows pinched as I glanced in the direction of the screen.

  “You asked for a ride.” The curve of his lips while he smirked lit up his eyes. The call of that lickable dimple magnified under the end-of-the-day scruff, and his eyes sparked with specks of gold and green mixed among the dark streaks. There wasn’t enough air in the bar. I reached for the edge of my blouse and fanned it outward to cool myself. Was it hot in here?

  “I did no such thing.” My tone sounded like a child denying he stole a cookie before dinner. Sitting up straighter, I reached for his phone which he tapped. A text message conversation lit up the screen.

  - Would love to take you up on that offer of a ride?

  The speech bubble was green.

  - Pardon me?

  The response was gray.

  - At the block party, you offered me a lift. (winky emoticon)

  The reply was green, followed by a second green invitation.

  - Say 7 pm at O’Malley’s.

  Blinking rapidly, my heart raced. My throat dried and my stomach fluttered. It couldn’t be. I mean, I’d have to have his num…the thought faded away and a horrifying truth surfaced. I did have his number, but I hadn’t contacted him.

  Gia, my brain growled. Letting her touch my phone had obviously been dangerous. I felt foolish and more than embarrassed, like get-the-mop-ready-to-wipe-me-up-because-I-wanted-to-melt-on-the-spot, mortified.

  “I’m so sorry,” I offered, “there’s been a terrible misunderstanding.”

  “So you didn’t want to ride me?” The dimple toyed with me. His lips rolled to suppress h
is laughter.

  “I…oh my God, you didn’t just say that to me,” I giggled. He smiled, a genuine, full-on smile, and another part of me needed a mopping. I crossed my legs. His eyes wandered to the motion, lingering as one knee climbed over the other. My skirt rode up, exposing more than my kneecaps. I tugged at material that wouldn’t go back down.

  “I think there’s been a mistake,” I began again.

  “You didn’t send this text?” He waved the phone at me. Well, it was my number, but it wasn’t me. How could I explain that this was a sick joke from my ex-best friend? I planned to disown her as soon as I escaped from this awkward situation.

  “Actually, I didn’t,” I responded, but he cut me off.

  “Yet, you’re here,” he said, raising an eyebrow over those teasing eyes. The dimple flashed again, blinding me with thoughts of tracing it with my tongue. How would those lips taste? I wondered. Blinking hard and turning away from him, I took a hearty gulp of my wine.

  “I have a date.” I choked on the words. Merek gazed exaggeratedly over his shoulder, and then turned back to me.

  “Well, don’t let me interrupt.” His lips puckered in distaste.

  “Well, I mean, he’s coming.”

  Those damn eyebrows rose again. The slight wrinkles by his eyes danced in delight.

  “I mean…”

  “I got it,” he smirked.

  A thought suddenly occurred to me. “Why are you here?”

  “Having a beer.” He jiggled the draft in his hand before taking a long swallow. I stared as his Adam’s apple rolled along his throat, and my mouth watered, my mind drifting to thoughts of kissing along that path. A shaky hand came to my forehead. I was a mess. I needed to get laid. No, correction, I just needed to get my mind out of the gutter.

  “So, you didn’t come to meet me?” My eyes lowered, troubled by the thought.

  “Guess not.” He shook his head. “So where’s your date?”

  Could Gia have done this? My brain was slow to compute that there was no date. There was no arrangement. Instead of setting me up with someone random from MatchMe, Gia had lied and set me up with someone more realistic. A friend of a friend in the neighborhood. This was suddenly worse. I didn’t need the neighbors knowing my business.

  “I think there’s been a mistake.” Reaching for my clutch purse on the bar, I fumbled for some bills to cover my wine.

  “How much?” I asked, but it came out like a holler at the young man serving me.

  “That’s $7.50.”

  I nearly choked. I wasn’t a recluse, but I didn’t go out much on my own to drinking establishments. For seven dollars and fifty cents I could have purchased a whole bottle of wine, stayed at home with a good book, and spared myself all this humiliation.

  “Let me get it,” Merek offered, reaching for his back pocket.

  “No,” I snapped. “I mean, no. Thank you.”

  His eyes softened a little, the lines around them becoming more prominent. I was making a fool of myself, and I wanted nothing more than to walk away, while I still had a shred of pride left.

  “I’ve made a terrible mistake,” I stated again. “He isn’t going to show, and I think I’m just going to go home.” I brushed off the idea that I might have purposely been set up with Merek. Standing from the stool, forced me into Merek’s space. My heel caught on the rung, and as I stumbled forward, Merek’s hand shot out to steady me at my waist. While the thought of his hands on me ignited wayward images through my brain, the idea that he just squeezed the flabby part of my waistline made me flinch. I was out of my mind thinking someone like him would touch me in pleasure, and I was out of control with the whole need-for-sex thing. Excusing myself, I walked toward the front door of O’Malley’s.

  I watched her sweet ass walk away from me. Shaking my head, I turned toward Thomas O’Malley, the young son of the proprietor of this joint, and winked. I finished the rest of my beer and twisted toward the front door to see Emme trapped by four men. They obviously knew her, and she smiled politely in return to something one of them said. She nodded, laughed, and squeezed between them, continuing her exit of the bar. Each man took his turn to admire her backside as she passed by them, taking a moment too long, in my opinion, to follow the sashay of her black skirt exiting.

  For some reason, this pissed me off. She had a nice shape, but there wasn’t anything else that stood out to me. She wasn’t my typical type. I’d gone after younger women. At first, the youthful twenty somethings were a decent age to conquer; full of spunk and discovery, but in recent years, the age group hit a little too close to home. I’d moved up to late twenties or early thirties. I found flirty-thirties were too needy, though. In the childbearing age, and wanting a little more than I was willing to offer, these women were confident and willful in experimentation. At forty-two, I was growing too old for their shenanigans for emotional entrapment. I refused to date for this very reason. I didn’t want to get too close to one woman again.

  Strutting to the booth behind me, the men sat, and I lingered when I heard one of them say, “I’d tap that.” The others laughed heartily, and I returned my focus to Thomas across the bar. He watched the men over my shoulder. Preppy types, in basketball shorts and athletic shirts, the rowdy bunch showed their age. Paunch stomachs, bald heads, and reading glasses filled out their images. Their type was one I recognized all too well. Their wives were probably home alone reading about sex instead of having it because their husbands were assholes who went out with “the boys”. I shook my head and stood from the stool.

  “Good to see ya, old man.” Thomas laughed as he took my ten. I waved before leaving the small local pub. I liked O’Malley’s, but I didn’t hang out there often. It was too close to home – literally. I knew Thomas’ dad from the old neighborhood by my parents’ house.

  While I walked past the parking lot on the side of the building, I noticed Emme talking to another man: Mike Murphy. He was a city police officer, and I’d had some run-ins with him on occasion. He was an odd guy, and for some unknown reason, I never trusted him. Just had that gnawing suspicion about him. I don’t know what made me do it, but I stopped. Emme looked uncomfortable, despite the smile pressed across those pink lips. I’d been trying not to get caught staring at those lips while she spoke to me. They looked ripe for kissing. In fact, I think they needed a swift kiss. A breathtaking, heart-stopping, dick-straining kind of kiss. And I wanted to give her one while she stared at me all wide-eyed and horrified at the bar.

  Her eyes flipped up and met mine across the lot. Her forced smile turned back to Mike and she stepped back. He followed. She was almost pressed up against her car.

  Sauntering into the lot, I came close enough to hear Mike asking her if she’d like to go inside for a drink.

  “I was just leaving,” she stated. “But thank you.”

  He started talking again, but I cut him off.

  “Emme, everything okay?”

  Mike turned toward me, his mousy face pinching as his narrow eyes skimmed my face.

  “Emme and I are just having a chat. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

  I stepped closer to the two of them. Emme’s eyes weren’t leaving my face, but I couldn’t read her expression. She shook her head infinitesimally and I took another step. Mike had this nervous quality about him, almost jittery, and his hand shook as he addressed Emme again. “Well, if you ever want to have a burger, they have the best ones. Monday night, it’s the special.”

  Something told me Emme did not want to be alone with Mike, and I refused to move. I easily stood six inches taller and at least fifty pounds heavier than the scrawny man before me. Mike’s eyes shifted sideways to me before he mumbled, “Nice to see you again, Emme.” He stepped away from her. Waiting until Mike was around the corner of the building, I turned on Emme.

  “Mike Murphy? Really?”

  “I…he…” Her voice fumbled before she stood up straighter. “Truthfully, he creeps me out. He used to see me at the gym a
nd follow me around the track, as if we were old friends. I’d like to thank you for interrupting him. I think you scared him.”

  “Me?” I laughed.

  She smiled slowly and my breath hitched. Those lips again begged mine for connection. Her eyes were bright blue, and her hair practically glowed under the street lamp. She definitely wasn’t in her twenties, but there was something about the way she looked at me that made me feel like a young man again. I took another step closer to her.

  “I didn’t mean to run you off from your date.” My voice lowered with the apology.

  She waved a hand dismissing me. “It wasn’t a date. It was just an arrangement.” Her pretty eyes shifted away from me and she twirled the flat purse in her hands.

  “An arrangement? Like a MatchMe thing?” I growled.

  “Well, I thought so, but I don’t know.” Her eyes refused to meet mine.

  “You thought so?”

  “I mean, that’s what Gia told me. She set this all up for me, I guess.” Her shoulders drooped.

  “Why MatchMe?”

  Shaking her head, she refused to answer. My fingers tipped up her chin. Her skin was soft, slightly tan from the summer sun. When she smiled, her teeth gleamed pure white. She wasn’t smiling at the question I’d asked.

  “Tell me.” I softened my tone, but refused to let go of her. My skin prickled where it touched her. I didn’t want the sensation to end.

  “I just…I don’t need commitment,” she whispered. My eyes widened.

  “What do you need?” My voice graveled, raspy and rough. I swallowed and my pants tightened at the nearness of her.

  “I just…” She closed her eyes and shook her head despite my hold.

  I waited her out. She’d tell me. I filled the gap between us and her lush breasts brushed against me. The tender ripple of that flimsy shirt against my crisp oxford made me hyperaware of her. She was shorter than me, my chin coming to her forehead. If I dipped lower, her lips were all I’d need. Cursing myself for such thoughts, I held my breath while I cupped her chin. Her ragged breathing forced her breasts to lightly skim up and down my chest, the sensation a teasing tickle of what lay beneath that sheer blouse. Her breasts were large, nipples peaked. I had a sudden suspicion about her needs.