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Afterward, they went out for a bite to eat.
“Probably not the healthiest choice,” Joan said, finishing off her third slice of thin-crust margarita pizza, the muscles of her thighs and arms still twitching from the hour-long workout.
“Not the worst choice either,” Rick said, taking a bite of his second. “Pizza’s actually pretty nutritious when you don’t cover it with junk. Although it wouldn’t hurt for you to eat a little slower,” he advised, “take time to digest your food properly.”
“I can’t help it,” Joan said. “I’ve always been a fast eater.”
“Bet you hate red lights,” Rick observed, carefully chewing his food.
Joan laughed. “They make me crazy. How’d you know?”
He just smiled. “You’re pretty intense.”
“I am?”
“That was no easy workout I put you through.”
Joan smiled, feeling quite proud of herself for successfully mastering the series of squats, lifts, and other tortures he’d thrown her way. Pizza had been her reward to herself for not tossing in the towel after the first twenty minutes. “Thanks for joining me tonight,” she said.
“Thanks for inviting me.”
In truth, Joan had been surprised when he’d taken her up on her casual offer. She’d been expecting him to beg off, then disappear as quickly as possible. Did he have a thing for older women? she wondered now. Was he expecting more from the night than a few slices of margarita pizza?
What would she say—what would shedo—if he were to suggest going back to her apartment for a little “dessert”?
Her husband had been her only lover for the almost forty years they were married, and they’d gradually developed a form of erotic shorthand. He knew exactly where to touch her, how much pressure to apply, what she liked, and just as important, what she didn’t like. Could she adjust to another pair of hands—a muchyoungerpair of hands—caressing her body?
“You said your girlfriend canceled your date?” she said, trying to stop the sudden flood of images—naked flesh and disparate body parts—somersaulting through her brain.
“Yeah. She has this big test on Monday, so she has to study.”
“Really? What’s she studying?”
He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure.
“You don’t know what she’s studying?”
“To be honest,” he said, then hesitated again, as if deciding whether honest was what he really wanted to be, “she’s in summer school. Finishing off her high school diploma.” He produced a smile that could only be described as sheepish.
“High school? How old is she?” Joan bit down on her tongue. She hadn’t meant to sound so shocked, so judgmental.
Rick took another measured bite of his pizza, chewing it even more deliberately than before. “Nineteen.”
Joan almost burst into tears.I’m pathetic,she thought, her heart starting to race. A foolish old woman who’d let her ego-fueled fantasies trump her common sense. Just because a handsome young man was impressed that she’d managed a few deep knee bends without fainting didn’t mean he wanted to have sex with her. No—the only thing Rick had been interested in tonight was a free meal. She took a deep breath, weighing her next question carefully. “Can I ask you something?”
“I’m thirty-four,” he said.
“That wasn’t my question.”
Rick looked her in the eye. “Sorry. Guess I’m a little defensive on the subject. Some of the guys at the gym razz me about having a girlfriend fifteen years younger than I am.”
“My husband was ten years older than me,” Joan offered. “It was never an issue.” It never was when it was the man who was older, she thought.
Rick smiled. “So, what’s your question?”
It was Joan’s turn to hesitate. “I was just wondering…Do men your age…I mean…this is going to sound silly…”
