Page 21 of Midlife Crisis

“You are not.” She chuckles sarcastically. “You look miserable. You’ve been sweating all night, which leads me to think you’re either too warm or terribly nervous.” She stops, her eyes blinking. “Are you nervous?”

I swipe a hand down my face. “I’m not nervous. I’m just…” I don’t know what. Fuck it, I am nervous and overheated. I don’t date. I don’t know how to do these things. I twist as I struggle to remove my suitcoat.

“Much better,” Midge teases, her brown eyes shimmering lighter.

“Your eyes are so pretty.”

“You’re pretty,” she mutters, her focus on my chest. She leans over the console and loosens my tie enough to slip it from the collar.

“Midge?”

“Getting closer.” She unbuttons the top button of my shirt. Then the second button. Her fingers slip into the opening she’s created. Her fingertips tickle over coarse hair just under my collarbone. “I like this hint of hair.”

I reach for her hand and lift it to my lips, kissing her fingertips. I need a breath. My dick hardens with her touch, and I don’t want to wreck what we have going in the front seat. I like her talking to me.

She kicks off her heels, kneels in her seat, and reaches for my wrist. After unbuttoning the cuff, she then rolls back the white material, continuing to fold until the sleeve is short enough to press over my elbow. Stretching over my lap, she does the same thing to my other sleeve.

“You undressing me?” I exhale with a smile. She’s so close to me, nearly sitting on my lap. My fingers itch to outline her, and I reach for the neckline of her dress. Dipping my finger inside the lace, I trace over her collarbone. Her eyes flit up to mine, then she leans forward and kisses me. Sweet, gentle, sugary. Even without icing, she’s delicious, and I like how she takes her time to savor me. She outlines my lips, drawing them into hers as she sucks on the lower one and nips at the corners.

“I like how you kiss me,” I murmur against her lips, taking over, diving in with my tongue to bring her closer to me. My arms wrap around her, pulling her awkwardly to me. The console still separates us too much. Her little hand curls around my neck, her thumb slipping down to rub those chest hairs. Our mouths continue to meld together until I’m overheating for a new reason. “Keep this up and we won’t be leaving this car.”

She purrs in response against my mouth, not letting up on the kisses. I return my attention to her lead, allowing her to devour me, but my dick strains, and my leg twitches. I’m on the verge of breaking, ready to drag her into the back seat and turn this into a teenage thing. I want to do tonight right, though, which involves dinner first. Slowing the pressure to gentle kisses, she whimpers when I retreat.

“I promised you a date.” I pull back. “I don’t want to imply any other expectations.” Her head hangs, but I tip up her chin. Her brows pinch, but I don’t want strain there and I kiss the crease.

“I don’t need fancy dinners, Hank. I appreciate the gesture, I really do, but not if you’re uncomfortable with it.” She’s misunderstanding me, yet I can’t explain. I don’t know how to date someone like her.

“I want to be with you.” The words tumble forth before I can catch them. It’s true, but it sounds desperate. Maybe I am desperate. I want her to like me for me; although I can admit, I’m not much of a package. “How about a hamburger?”

A small smile graces her face with the invitation. She slowly sits back, righting her dress. My hand covers her knee, wanting to keep contact with her. Her skin is cool, smooth, and tempting, and my fingers spread, disappearing under the lacy edge.

“You keep that up, and we’re headed for the back seat.” Her head tilts to the side, and I break into laughter.

“God, little lady. You’re something.” She softly grunts, twisting in the seat to face the windshield again. I’m not certain she likes the compliment. “Don’t want to be something?”

“One day, I’d like to be somebody’s someone.” Her voice softens, sadness filling her tone, but wide eyes reveal her surprise at the personal honesty. “Forget I said that out loud. Yes, let’s go for a burger. There’s a diner near my house that’s pretty good.”

“A diner.” I swallow, my mouth already watering as I ignore the twist in my gut. Somebody’s someone. I like the sound of that, but I’ll admit I don’t want her to someone else’s somebody. I want her for me. There’s so much more I want to know about her. I’m hungry for everything about her, but I think we need to eat.

10

Diner dinners

[Midge]

“Tell me about the crisis center. Besides the fact crazy women call in and you try to calm them,” I joke although I don’t know why I’m laughing about it. We sit at the counter of the old diner, waiting on our hamburgers and fries. The 1950s rock ‘n’ roll décor projects us back in time with white subway tile walls and a red Formica countertop. We sit on two swivel stools padded in matching vinyl.

Hank gulps his water. I ordered a cola. He told me I could have whatever I wanted—the place serves beer—but I declined. I don’t want him any more uncomfortable than he already seems. My signals are so mixed with this man, and I feel like I’m the one on the verge of sexually molesting him. I need to rein it in, but I haven’t had this kind of attention in so long, I just want to swing for a home run when I might need to bunt instead.

“Not crazy women,” he interjects, snapping my thoughts away from how freaking sexy he looks, more relaxed in the rolled-up sleeves. His forearms redefine arm porn, especially with the tattoos. He’s so different from me, yet I feel a kindred spirit to him. Impossible, considering he looks like an aged rock star while I’m wearing lace and carrying a faux leather clutch.

“Desperate women?” I tease although there’s no humor in my chuckle.

“Look, we all need help sometimes. Someone to talk to about things. I don’t know what made you call, but some things, like birthdays, can be a trigger.” The answer is very textbook, but he’s not wrong. My birthday triggered a whole slew of disappointments in myself at forty-one. I thought I’d have my body back. I thought I’d be more advanced in my career. I thought I’d still be married.

“I’ve never done that before,” I mutter, crumpling the paper straw wrapper next to my glass.

“So you said. And it’s okay. Whether it was one time or two,” he teases, and I look up to find a playful gleam in those steel eyes.