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9
Amber was going through on-line ads for jobs, setting and resetting perimeters when her doorbell rang. Taking a quick swallow of her now lukewarm coffee, she headed to the window and peeked out. Mountain stood on her doorstep with a bouquet of fall flowers a mix of reds, oranges, and yellow from sunflowers and mums.
She quickly glanced at her reflection in a framed picture and decided no reason to hide the inevitable. He would seeall her mom on a Tuesday messed upglory. She hadn’t bothered to get ready for the day before taking the kids to school. Tossing on her sweat pants and a baggy t-shirt, the hat she’d pulled on last minute had covered her unbrushed hair through the drop off line. Now she snagged a binder, that may be Maisie’s if the sparkles were any indication, and threw her hair up enough it was out of her face.
Embarrassed, she opened the door slightly and peeked out. “Mountain, aren’t you a bit early? What can I do for you?”
“Oh hey Amber, I was just wondering if I could take you for a picnic?” he offered. “You this might be the last sunny day over fifty for a while.”
“I’m not ready,” she announced.
“Ready for food? Or ready for a ride on my bike? Or ready for round or two of scrabble in the afternoon?” he asked. “Just need to gauge exactly how off the mark I am.”
She pulled on her lips to tamp down the smile he was eliciting. “Ready to be seen in public or private for that matter. There is a fifty-fifty chance this t-shirt came from a dirty clothes hamper and not a dresser drawer.”
“Damn, I was hoping you were using the door as a shield because you were naked,” he joked.
At least she hoped he was joking. Widening the door to open it fully, she did a half curtsey and held her hands out like a spokesmodel.
“That is a letdown,” he said with a sigh. “Then again, it can get real cold on the back of my Harley if you’re naked.”
“Why do I have a feeling that isn’t conjecture?”
“Bets get made and lost all the time,” he said.
Her eyes bounced between his bike and him. Each time a layer of clothing slipping off until the visual complete and she wondered if his chest had hair? It must, soft, curls, not thick, but enough to run your fingers over the firm form underneath. Her fingers rubbed together imagining having her nails done so she could scratch along on his belly. Warm pooling between her legs as she pictured herself, sliding over his hips as the bike vibrated beneath them.
“Why do I feel like I need a fig leaf?” he asked.
She coughed, hoping to clear her mind of the lurid thoughts. Wasn’t she too old to be wanting a bad boy on a bike? She had two kids and a mortgage. “I can’t go with you,” she said though the words got caught in her throat as if a vacuum was trying to hold her back. “The kids, and the mortgage.”
“The mortgage?” he questioned.
“You’re some bad ass biker.” Her hand waved from head to toe.
“And you’re a MILF.”
She glanced down at her outfit thinking the man had gone insane. Amber had seen the girl on the back of his bike the day of the accident. In what way was her fuzzy sock wearing ass more tempting than her?
Mountain stepped closer the door. His eyes commanding in a way that made her breath catch. “I’ll wait, you go and get ready.” Mountain smiled, passing her the flowers. The upturn of his lips changing his whole demeanor. He was like a big giant teddy bear. Large on the outside and soft and squishy on the inside.
When the backs of his fingers brushed along her cheek, her knees began to buckle.
He leaned down, his beard a gentle caress to her skin as he whispered, “Come on, my little Nightingale.”
“Okay,” her voiced cracked a bit as the word drew out longer than it should. “Come on in. I’ll be right back.”
Once he was inside, she raced away and went to her bedroom.
Find a pair of skinny jeans that made her butt look nice and a tank top. She quickly put on a bra and pulled on the shirt then the jeans. Digging in the clothesbasket, she came up empty, but turned to find her favorite sweatshirt on the chair. With a zip over her belly, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and quickly decided to fix her hair.
Yanking out the sparkly binder, she combed through her short hair and then dug through her hair products. Opting for a gel because it set faster and held longer she squished it around and framed her face with her short hair. Rinsing her hands clean, she found a deep red lipstick and determined she was finally presentable.
Making her way down the stairs, she stopped on the bottom step.
Mountain stood in her living room, looking at her kids’ pictures that were on the mantel of the fireplace.
Amber cleared her throat, “They’re from their school pictures this year.”
