Page 32 of Midlife Crisis

He reaches around me and lifts the pan. A flick of his wrist and the remaining combination flies, landing back in the pan, flipped and sizzling.

“How did you do that?” I mutter, his chest to my back.

“It’s all in the wrist.” His voice drops and so does a kiss to my neck. I tilt my head, allowing him access to more of me. I want his mouth all over my body. Forget the vegetables. He sucks the juncture of my neck and shoulder, and my knees quake once again. He laughs against my skin. “Having trouble staying on your feet, little lady?”

Yeah, well, that’s what he does to me.

I scoop the veggies into a bowl and take them out to the table. Horrified, I stare at the burned steak and charred tinfoil potatoes.

“Sweet cheese, I’ve made a mess of this.” I sigh. Now what?

“Sit. It will be fine.” We do sit, but it’s not fine. Hank jostles the entire table as he tries to cut his steak. I slice through the foil to find the potato still rock hard inside.

“This is awful,” I whisper.

“It’s good.” Hank takes a bite, chewing slowly, then struggles before swallowing. I clamp my lips, fighting a smile.

“You are such a good liar. Admit it, it’s not edible.”

“It’s just chewy.”

I burst out laughing at his reply. “It’s breaking your teeth.”

“Nah, I broke one once. It’s nothing like that.”

“Ouch.” I chuckle.

“Yeah.” He grins. “Tommy and I were…” His voice drifts, not filling in the words, but his smile grows. “He clocked me with—” He stops abruptly. There’s a whole story here, but he’s not sharing it. He chuckles to himself, but it’s obviously a private moment I’m not going to be let in on. “Anyway, yeah, it hurts. Nothing whiskey didn’t heal then, though.” He scoffs, the humor escaping him.

“Was it hard to give up?” I ask, curious about such an addiction. I’m becoming addicted to him, yet I know it’s not the same thing. Giving him up might be difficult, though.

“It’s hard to explain, but yes, it was. I mean, you tell yourself you don’t need it; you just want it. But somehow, your body craves it. Your mind believes it’s the only way through something. Sometimes, I think it was the only way I made it through certain patches of my life. Other times, I know it’s what caused those rough spots. Then one day, hopefully, you decide you have to live without it or it’s going to kill you.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

“Maybe. Not really. For me, it was more like someone else died, and it took me a while to wake up.”

The woman, I think but don’t want to ask. I nod, acknowledging I know who he means.

“You really loved her.” It makes me sad. Sad to know he loved someone who didn’t love him. Sad to believe he loved so strongly, so powerfully, so all-consuming. Sad to accept no one has ever loved me like that.

“I’m not certain I know what love is. When I look back on her, on us, and what we didn’t have, that couldn’t have been love, right? It was just sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.” He tries to tease, but sorrow seeps into his words. It would make sense. He seems like a wild child turned wilder man.

“Sounds like fun,” I joke, but I’m not certain I mean it.

“Really?”

“I guess not.” I sigh, running a finger around my wine glass, dinner forgotten. “I mean, who doesn’t want to be so carefree sometimes, but I’ve never been that loose.” My eyes leap up to his. I already admitted this morning I hadn’t ever had a one-night stand. “I never did drugs, and I like music, but not rock ’n’ roll.”

He gasps, pressing a hand over his heart. “Lady, I could have guessed on one and two, but three? Not liking rock ’n’ roll wounds me to my soul.”

“Why?” I still circle the rim, leaning on the table. I feel like a big reveal is coming.

“Because rock ’n’ roll is life.” He goes quiet, willing me to absorb his revelation.

“That’s it. I was expecting something more profound, earth shattering, and rock ’n’ roll is life is all you got?” I laugh again.

“Oh, you’re going to get something,” he warns. Standing quickly, he scoops me out of my chair and carries me inside over his shoulder, fireman style. I scream and squirm, but secretly I’m ecstatic with his teasing threat. He stomps through my house and drops me on my couch, then covers me, slipping his entire body between my open thighs. Brushing back my loose hair, he lowers to kiss me. I love his mouth. I love the feel of him over me; his weight covering my body. I feel safe under him. Fingers dip into my pulled back hair, unsettling it from the messy bun. My hands cup the back of his head and scratch his short hair before slipping into the back of his t-shirt.