Page 40 of Midlife Crisis

“Got a seat for me?” All three of us look up at the same time to see Hank standing in a light gray crew neck sweater and dark jeans. Two bands of bracelets circle his wrist. He’s a vision of masculinity, and I just want to lick him. I’d purposely left an empty seat next to me although, secretly, I was afraid to believe he’d show. I motion for him to sit as I don’t trust myself to stand and greet him. I might tackle him in the aisle with my relief.

“Hank?” Edie states, a question in her voice as she looks over at me. Tommy leans over, and the two men shake hands.

“Surprised to see you here,” Tommy adds, inquiry lingering in his tone, but Hank sits back the second they release hands and glances over at me.

“You seem surprised, too,” he whispers.

“Not surprised, just…hesitant.”

“I like it better when you’re overwhelmed, lady.” The statement reminds me of our first night together, the one when I cried during sex. The memory embarrasses me, and I blush. In a classic Hank move, he leans forward and kisses me briefly. Sharp. Quick. Public.

“You look pretty,” he says, staring me directly in the eyes.

“Oh my,” Edie mutters beside me, and I hear the flapping of a program as a fan while a low whistle comes from Tommy. A tap on my shoulder opposite Hank turns my attention to Tommy. His firm finger presses on my shoulder.

“You’ve got some explaining to do.” The words aren’t too harsh, and I realize they aren’t directed at me. Tommy’s gaze goes past me to Hank. I spin to find Hank glaring back.

“So do you,” he mutters, before sitting back and reaching for my thigh. He squeezes and then leaves his hand there, making a statement to his old friend. Fortunately, the orchestra starts, and the play begins.

I embarrass myself once again as I cry while Fantine sings “I Dreamed a Dream.”

+ + +

Tommy and Edie stay long enough to congratulate Ronin. Hank lingers.

“Great job, man,” he says to my son, shaking hands with him. Ronin met Hank at the fundraiser, and I’m reminded of almost being caught by him in the bathroom with Hank afterward.

“Thanks.” It’s the best Ronin can offer as he flits off to hug more crew members and receive congratulations from other families.

“I’ll walk you out,” I offer, nodding away from the chaos of after-show greetings. His hands slip into his pockets as I lead him toward the front entrance of the school.

“So tomorrow night,” he says, and the holding breath feeling returns. I’m expecting him to say he’s decided not to attend or has made other plans. “I’ll see you then.” He hesitates, his head lowering as if he’s one of the teenagers from the play.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Relief washes over me, and I smile to reassure him when I feel like I’m the one craving reassurance. I’ve got to get this man out of my head and out of my heart, but when he leans forward for a brief kiss again, I melt.

+ + +

The next night, Hank carves out a permanent place for himself in my heart.

Ivy had to cancel at the last minute due to something with her husband, but she assured me she’d be at Liam’s game on Sunday. I don’t know why she’d come to watch him, but Liam is thrilled.

As we sit through the opening of the play a second time, Hank leans over and says, “Meet me in the hallway.” His voice is alluring and demanding, so I give him a few seconds lead before I stand to sneak out of the theater. I feel like a naughty teenager breaking some unspoken rule.

My heels tap down the wide, empty hall, echoing behind me as I make my way toward the bathroom, though I have no idea if that’s the general direction Hank went. Suddenly, two arms surround me, and I’m tugged into an alcove by a classroom door.

“Caught you sneaking out of class, Ms. Everette. There’s punishment for that.” He presses me into the corner and kisses me hard, taking his time to enforce his law by imprinting his mouth on mine. Too quickly, he pulls back, smiling to himself with his playful puns.

“In this school, they call them JUGs—Justice under God—if you get caught doing something, like sneaking out of class or kissing in the hallway.”

Hank chuckles. “Oh, yeah. Tell me more about the school.” He steps out of the alcove, still holding one of my hands and waves forward for a tour. At first, we walk silently through the emptiness.

“This place is large. Got a band room?” Hank asks.

“Of course.” I laugh. We’re here for the play we’re skipping out on, so music and theater is obviously an important part of the opportunity the school offers. I lead us down the stairs and around a corner to the enormous band room. It looks like a sound studio with golden wood paneling and rows of seats, music stands, and a kettle drum in the back. Hank releases my hand and walks right to the drum. His hand hovers over it as if he’s afraid to touch it.

Tonight, he wears a deep red crew sweater and black dress pants. The color reminds me of the giant car he’s working on for Mr. Pendelton. Minus the mechanic clothing, and despite the dressy appearance, something about the way he stands next to the drum hints at him belonging here.

“Did you play in the band during high school?” His head shoots up as if he forgot I was with him. Staring at me a moment, he draws back from his memory, then answers.