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Hot and bothered only scratched the surface of what I was feeling. I plucked at my shirtfront and waved some cool air underneath. Please let it be menopause kicking into high gear, causing me to flush. I was burning up, prickly, and aware of my too tight skin like I’d never been before.
This had to be the fabled hot flash. I had a few night sweats, but nothing like this. Hot flash was the only explanation, right?
Wrong.
I was lying to myself. It was lust. Hot flashes didn’t make your nipples tighten and your knees weak, did they? Atley and I’d been inches from giving Annabelle and Harley a free X-ratedshow. If I wanted to blame menopause, I was a fool—or low on estrogen.
“Harley, you’ve got the punch list at that new ice cream store this afternoon. But I can move my 2 pm to tomorrow.” Annabelle added an item to her calendar on her phone with a flourish.
“No, please don’t rearrange your schedule. I’ll figure something out.” I had no clue what, but I’d call Lara. She must have alternatives to the single Uber driver in Elmer to get over-served patrons home from The Pub.
“I’ll drive you and pick you up after.” Atley wasn’t offering. He looked at the two other women as if daring them to argue.
“Are you sure?” I couldn’t look him in the eye, suddenly shy.
Sleeping together for recreational purposes didn’t mean he drove me places. That was a boyfriend job not a, a—fuck buddy job. I threw up a little in my mouth at the mental turn of phrase; it was so not me. Damn it, I needed a better name for Atley. Sex provider? Friend giving benefits? Itch scratcher?
Even in my twenties, I’d not been the fun sex kind of girl. Sadly; had I been a woman that reveled in the beauty, power, and fulfillment of my sexuality in my twenties or even in my thirties, there was no way I’d have ended up with Matthew. Now that I understood how good it could be between two people, I could hardly believe how long I settled for boring.
“Yes, ma’am. I am sure.” The growly way he uttered his favorite phrase about melted my panties on the spot.
“Now that you have a DD for bunco, let’s go look at the parking lot area, shall we?” Annabelle started walking; Atley gave me a scorching look and followed.
Reevaluating, I decided it had to be a hot flash. I’d never felt so ready to burst into flames before. I was horny and flustered all at the same time, and my body temp had to be about 101 degrees. If Atley looking at me was causing this kind of thermonuclearreaction without some hormonal involvement, I was in big, big trouble.
“Looks like that cowboy wants to take you for a ride.” Harley bumped my shoulder with hers as she walked after the others.
I choked on my laugh. Great, more gossip for Elmer’s busybodies. By the end of the month, they’d be placing bets on when we’d elope to Vegas.
Chapter 17
Rae
“Here you go, Rebecca.”Amaryllis passed me my fourth—or was it my fifth?—ranch water cocktail. For bunco, she was rocking some of her Elmer branded merchandise—an oversized bright blue tee shirt with the neck cut out à la Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, bedazzled with rhinestones and paired with white capri pants. The woman had style.
“Thank you.” I took a sip of the simple drink: silver tequila, lime, and this amazing extra bubbly mineral water from Mexico.
“Anyone else need a refill before this round starts and Rae and I make our comeback?” Amaryllis asked the group of about two dozen older women. Most sported either white hair, glasses, or both. All were hilarious. They threw themselves into bunco the way many Gen Xers had taken to pickleball—as a blood sport.
“All good, Mayor.” Wanda held her recently replenished cocktail high, and a few other ladies clinked their glasses with hers.
The bunco group had the most adorable vintage bar cart that they took turns manning between each game, making that day’s signature cocktail. The cart looked like something stolen from a Manhattan apartment circa 1968, down to the gold-leaf-rimmed highball glasses and matching ice tongs. Totally Mad Men. It seemed completely out of place in the semi-industrial blandness of the VFW hall that was more high school gymnasium than upper east side glamor.
I welcomed the slight numbing effect of the tequila. It was my friend today. My suspected hot flashes earlier were not menopause related. I had scientific proof that the inferno was one hundred thousand percent induced by Atley. The kiss he gave me when he dropped me off for bunco caused an even more radical thermodynamic response. I practically chugged my first ranch water, trying to douse the lingering flames.
It was better than the kiss you’d dreamed about getting in high school when a date dropped you home moments before curfew. Atley had leaned across the armrest of his truck, caught the back of my neck in his calloused palm, squeezed, and sealed our mouths together. He took his time exploring my lips before sweeping in with the perfect amount of tongue, stealing my breath and sending my internal thermostat into the red zone.
Had any boy I dated in high school pulled off something half so perfect, my virginity would never have lasted until my second semester of college.
And his parting comment, “Play nice or I’ll have to punish you,” had been repeating in my head almost constantly since he pulled out of the parking lot. Our drive to the VFW hall had been a strange mix of easy conversation about the breeds of cattle on the ranch and him turning to stone when I mentioned anythingabout the winery or The Stomp. Note to self: don’t talk about marketing wine until after I got my punishment—it sounded fun, and I didn’t want to miss out.
Thinking about our kiss two hours and four or five cocktails later still made me hot under the collar. I took a large gulp of my ranch water. The booze went down smooth as ice. Ah, tequila, my old friend.
The dice weren’t as friendly. Amaryllis and I were in second-to-last place after two games. I rattled my ice, enjoying the pretty sound it made in the fancy cocktail glass. “Maybe this is the one that will put me in the bunco zone.”
The mayor’s laugh was big, enveloping our corner of the hall, drawing eyes and smiles. She had a magnetic personality that made you want to know her. If I could have signed up to be her surrogate granddaughter, I would. I’d never know my dad’s parents, so it wasn’t like I was replacing anyone, only filling a void with the most awesome lady over eighty I’d ever met.
“Oh honey, bunco is just stupid luck. You win some, you lose some. What’s important is how you handle either success or failure.” The mayor pushed the bar cart out of the walkway. The wheels made a soft squeak as they rolled over the polished gray concrete floors.
