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“I already put in an application forThe Naked Stay-at-Home Girlfriends of Sin Valley,” Delores announces. “Those producers never got back to me. That’s age discrimination. You’re a lawyer. That’s age discrimination, right?”
My grandmother gently pats my wrist, whispering to me. “Don’t worry sweetheart. I’ll work on her.”
“The hell you will,” Delores mumbles.
We hear footsteps approaching and look up to find a thin man with a handlebar mustache, a felt beret and a red scarf tied daintily at his throat. He enters the room and sets down his French worksheets on a table.
“Bonjour, mes chers amis!” he exclaims with flair.
To which Delores promptly responds, “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” Her eyes sweep over him approvingly.
Granny smacks her friend’s thigh under the table. “Behave.”
Delores’s eyes give a naughty twinkle. “What? Isn’t that how the French say ‘hello’?” She pretends to check her class workbook.
The rest of class goes relatively smoothly. And by ‘relatively smoothly’, I mean the poor instructor hasn’t filed for a restraining order against any of the handsy women. I think he might even come back next week.
Not long afterward, I pull into a parking spot outside the local department store. Then, I’m slowly strolling toward the liquidation section with my Granny clinging to one arm and Delores clinging to the other.
While the local community center in their hometown, Reyfield, does offer a variety of stimulating activities for the senior population, I think that Granny and Delores really enjoy the glitz of coming out to Sin Valley, too.
My grandmother eyeballs me from behind the thick frames of her glasses. “So, Delores says she saw that football player—Maude’s grandson—walking you out to your car yesterday…” Her voice is so sweet, so innocent but I recognize the mischief on that deep brown face.
“Don’t start,” I grumble, refusing to acknowledge the faint crackle that sparks in my belly when the thought of Harry saunters into my brain.
“He really seems to like you.” Delores weakly elbows me in the ribs and tosses in a provocative eyebrow waggle for good measure. “You should see the way that man looks at you.”
“Harry’s too young for me,” I say, feeling those damn sparks all over again when I utter his name.
Ignoring the uncomfortable sensation, I lead the women toward a bin of comfy-looking satin support briefs on the discount table.
I really hate that I was so mean to him yesterday. I didn’t enjoy the dejected look on his face as I turned him down. Not one bit. But I didn’t feel like I had a choice. I had to be firm. With him. Withmyself.
Harry’s a good guy. At least that’s the sense I get. He seems genuine. And he’s very,veryattractive. Maybe if the age gap between us were three years or even four, and if I weren’t the lawyer for his football team, I’d consider it.
But guys his age tend to not know what they want. Especially the ones who have multi-million dollar professional football contracts.
I’ll never forget that file I was dragged onto during my first week of working for the Paragons. Our PR team was running around like the building was on fire, trying to kill a tabloid story about one of our star players being involved in a seven-person orgy in a church basement. The week after he proposed to his Brazilian bikini model girlfriend!
Well, I’m no bikini model. And Harry is definitely charming enough to initiate a seven-person orgy.
The guy may have good intentions. But as a pro footballer, there’s so much readily-available pussy for him to choose from. So much variety. Getting myself involved with Harry Westbrook would be setting myself up for failure.
I would never risk my career over someone so unpredictable, over something so uncertain. At this stage in my life, I need a sure thing. And Harry? He’s a wild card.
Delores hobbles around the table to a display of stringy rainbow-colored underwear. “Don’t discount the young’ns, girlie. My best marriage was with a young lad that was fifteen years younger than me.”
“Wow—fifteen years?” I glance at her, hunched over, rummaging through the panty display. “What happened to him?”
“Federal prison,” she informs me casually, checking the price tag on a lacy bedazzled thong. “Got twenty-something years for fraud and embezzlement.”
I literally gasp, clutching a hand over my chest. “Oh my god. That’s terrible, Delores.”
She shrugs a stiff shoulder. “Could have been worse. At least the money laundering charges didn’t stick.” She grabs a shopping basket and tosses the thong inside. “Life goes on. We’ll see if the spark is still there when he gets out. In the meantime, I’m keeping my options open.” She winks at me.
I’m stillshookby Delores’ story when Granny speaks up, placing a soft hand on my shoulder. “Harry’s a handsome man. Don’t you agree, dear?”
I release a loaded sigh. “He is Granny, but there are other…complications.”
