Page 2 of Loving at 40

My nose explodes in pain and my eyes sting. “Frickety, frack, frack, frack.” Instantly, warm hands are on my shoulders, steadying me from behind.

“Where’re you goin’?” The seductive sound blurs with the pain radiating across my face, and tears fall.

My voice shakes as I speak. “Just let me go. Just let me get my girls, and I’ll get out of here.”

His hands peel free of my shoulders, but he doesn’t move. His presence overpowers me from behind. Heat wafts off his chest. I sense his strength, but fear no longer holds me in place. His breath tickles the fine hairs on the back of my neck. Would he kiss me there? It’s the most ridiculous thought I’ve ever had.

“Look, there’s no need to go anywhere. It’s the middle of the night. I’m sure this is my sister’s fuckup. It’s been a long night. I’ll just take the couch.”

I have no sense of what time it is. This morning, I’d left my hometown of Elk Lake City, roughly three hours north of Lakeside, and arrived midafternoon. That was hours ago. The girls and I needed a change of scenery, and Anna is a friend from college. When she moved here, we promised we’d get together more often.

“No, you should take your bed,” I say, spinning to face him, bumping into his firm chest, which remains too close to me. My nose throbs, and tears still prickle my eyes, but those nipples of mine ache as they tenderly scrape the inside of my thin tank top.

“You gonna join me again?” The teasing shift in such a rough voice doesn’t compute at first.

“I’ll just sleep with my girls.” I’m certain I won’t sleep after all, but I’m not in the right frame of mind to wake my daughters and carry them out of here. Plus, the time is somewhere past midnight, and the thought of crossing the driveway to wake Anna doesn’t feel right. She’s been so kind in offering this garage apartment for my two-week stay.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” I defend.

“It’s still my place,” Archer reminds me.

“Yes, but you weren’t supposed to be here,” I repeat as if that clarifies anything.

“Well, I am.” A large arm lifts, and I flinch at the raising of his paw, preparing for a strike. “What the fuck? Calm down, babe.” Our eyes meet, and his gaze searches mine for answers I cannot give.

“Do you need to keep saying that word?”

“What word?”

“The frickety-frack word.” It took years of training on my part to curb my vocabulary, so I don’t drop an f-bomb or two before my girls. I’m conditioned not to swear as I teach high school and need to keep a stern face when I call out kids for language. But I was no saint outside my classroom until I had children of my own. Even then, I’m still not perfect.

Thinking of my two little ones, I need to get out of this room and check on them. Taking a step to the side as Archer’s presence is just so . . . present, I kick the doorframe of the opening I still cannot seem to make it through.

“Frick.” I hiss as my heel collides with the edge in a fluky spot right where the two pieces of wood corner together. A definitive thud echoes in the quiet of the space.

He chuckles roughly again. “You’re kind of a hot mess.”

Don’t I know it. He doesn’t need to know it, though.

“I’m just gonna . . . and then tomorrow . . .” I can’t seem to collect words because I inhaled as my breath caught when I kicked the door, and sweet cherries, Archer smells good. I can’t distinguish any specific scent, but it’s strong and musky, and I lick my lower lip. Even in the dark, Archer’s eyes dip to watch the motion.

“Girls’ room,” he says, dropping his voice while focused on my mouth.

I don’t know if it’s a question or a command, but two hands come to my shoulders, shift me to the left, and spin me to face the wide door opening. I hardly take a step through the space when the door is closed at my back. I race across the living room, but not before bumping into the edge of the couch and then stubbing my toe on the coffee table as I’m unfamiliar with this layout in the dark. Hobbling to the bedroom where my girls sleep, I finally make it to their door and slip into their space, pressing my back against the barrier once I’ve closed it.

With my head tipped back and my eyes closed, I recall Archer’s heavy, thick hand over my breast. Maybe I moved, and it was all innocent. I did try to knee him in the balls, and squeezing my breast might have been more a gut reaction on his part. Still, I reach for the swell and tenderly place my hand over the heaviness, feeling my nipple erect and firm, peaking against the thin cotton of my shirt. Then I stifle a giggle, a ridiculous teenage-girl squeak, at the thought of that large, mysterious man purposely tweaking my breast.

“Oh my God, I need to get laid,” I quietly mutter to the heavens in the dark. My lids flutter open, and I lower my head to face two beds and the two little reasons it hasn’t happened in years. Taking a deep breath, I sigh with exhaustion and move to one bed, pressing Rosie’s little shoulder so she’ll roll over. For a tiny thing, she can take up a lot of space when her thin limbs spread in all directions. I won’t be getting a wink of sleep with her as she often climbs into my bed at home. I don’t mind it much, as the bed feels too large without Ryan, but Rosie has no concept of head on pillow and feet toward the foot of the bed. Eventually, little heels will be pressed into my back, and I’ll be forced to the edge of the mattress, hanging on to a sliver of the blanket.

Rosie shifts, and I settle into the bed, pulling the blanket to my throat as if it can hide me, as if it can protect me. My head rolls to the left, and I check the other bed. Talia sleeps soundly on her side, facing in my direction. Her little hands are tucked under her cheek, and her lips part, causing her to snore softly. With not a care in the world, not a fear in her dreams, my little worrier rests.

“Sweet dreams,” I say to the dark, wanting only quiet and peace in both my girls’ heads as they slumber.

For me, I’ll be lying here wide awake until morning when I can escape the apartment of one hot Archer McCaryn.

2

[Archer]