Page 12 of Midlife Crisis

“Oh, I recognize that look.” The intensity of his dark eyes holds me.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I do. I wore the same look about a year ago, and lucky me, look where it got me.” His head swivels toward his wife.

“You’re out of your mind.” I’m not getting married. There was only one woman for me, and she didn’t want my proposal. Besides, I only kissed Midge. I didn’t ask her to marry me.

The thought makes me stop because I did kiss her, and she was sweet in an untapped kind of way. In a—she could be wild, might want to be wild—if she only knew how sort of way. I remember seeing it in her eyes in Tommy’s bathroom. She would have given herself to me had Stephie not interrupted us.

My gaze drifts to Midge as she stands deep in discussion with Edie. I twist back to pick up the second pile of boxes.

“Whatever you do, stay away from that thing.” I look up and follow Tommy’s line of direction. His eyes seem focused on Midge’s short, stretchy skirt. I narrow my glare at him, not liking his implication.

“What are you talking about?”

“That thing. It’s a chick thing, and it’s complicated as fuck to get into.” My brows pinch, and I turn back to Midge.

“Are you talking about her skirt?”

“Skort, man. Whoever invented it was not a guy. It’s like shorts attached to a skirt. Sexy as fuck but hard to get into. Just get her out of it first.”

Holy shit. “Tommy, man.” I groan followed by a deep laugh. He’s still the same guy he always was even if he’s attached to one woman.

“Why aren’t you participating?” I ask, hoping to shift the subject far away from getting into Midge’s pants, or skort, or whatever the fuck. Since the moment her mouth touched mine, it’s all I can think about anyway. I need more than a sample of icing. I want the whole cake.

“I don’t partake in structured athletics,” he jests. He’s an avid runner, and by the size of his body, I know he purposely keeps in shape.

“You like yoga,” Edie adds as we near the women.

“Only with you, darlin’.” Her face brightens, and I don’t even want to know what Tommy’s referencing.

+ + +

Hours pass. The 5K ends. Kids celebrate the victory of money raised for a good cause. Ivy cries with the attention given to her school and her students, and I search for Midge every chance I get, feeling shaky whenever she’s out of my sight. She didn’t say a thing about kissing me on our ride back in the SUV. She chattered about the cupcakes, learned Brut was my brother, and rattled on about the fundraiser, but she didn’t mention our kiss. She’s deflecting, and while I thought I was fine with her ignoring what happened, as the time ticks by, I find I want her to address it. I want her to own it. I want her to give me another taste.

When I see her heading toward the school entrance, which is actually an old, renovated church, I follow. I lose sight of her inside the building, but then notice the swing of a bathroom door. Stepping inside the ladies’ room, I turn the lock. Midge stands before a singular porcelain sink, her hands balanced on the edges.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” I tease, but she closes her eyes.

“I just needed a minute.” I don’t know if it’s a hint to leave, but I have no desire to separate from her. Not liking our distance, I step forward to stand behind her. It’s similar to our first meeting, though the space isn’t quite as intimate. Daylight streams through the etched windows, and the fluorescent light isn’t the same as the glow of a candle.

“Talk to me,” I murmur, reminiscent of what I say on the crisis hotline.

“I can’t believe I pulled this off. I’ve been so stressed out about it. I just wanted it to be right for Ronin.” Ronin? One of her boys, right? I nod, meeting her eyes in the reflective glass. “He’s…he’s so complicated. Sweet Jesus, forgive me, but he’s the one I just can’t connect with sometimes.” I knew what she meant. Once upon a time, it was the same for me. I’d been the one my father couldn’t understand. A rock band hadn’t been his dream for his youngest son. “But I’m trying. I want to be there for him.”

Therein lay the difference. I recognize Midge is a good mother. I’d watched her—in a non-creepy way—interact with her sons throughout the afternoon. A tender touch. A sweet smile. They are her pride and joy.

“The day went great, Middy. You did good.” I grin at her through the mirror, and her eyes glisten back at me.

“What I’d say?” Tears border her eyes. Shit. I can’t handle when women cry.

“You’re very sweet.” She sniffles to will the tears away.

“You’re very pretty. I like the purple in your hair.” She watches me as she shakes her head, said hair tumbling in loose tendrils here and there from the bundle on her head. Her eyes reflect the sunlight bouncing in the mirror. “Your eyes are fucking gorgeous.”

The sharp tone of my voice catches her. She inhales, and my hands slip over her arms, stroking down to her wrists, and covering her hands at the edge of the sink pinning her against the porcelain.

“Did I mention earlier how glad I am to see you again?”