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At six o’clock I pick up Thai takeout and head home. I take a quick shower when I get home to wash off the workday. I slide into my favorite pair of jeans and pull on a white button-down shirt, rolling up the sleeves.
There’s a knock on the door at 6:30 and my heart jumps. I swing open the door and pull her inside, wrapping my arms around her and kissing her hard.
Sasha is tall and I love kissing her. No bending down. No neck pains.
We head into the kitchen and begin plating the shrimp pad Thai and Massaman curry.
“Ooh, you got my favorites!” she exclaims.
“Oh, good, I wasn’t sure what you liked from there, but I order these two a lot.”
“So, how was your day?” she asks, grabbing forks and napkins for us.
“Just what I expected. So busy I barely had time to breathe,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Oh my God, mine too.” She goes on to tell me about a new client, a woman who’s in her fifties and prefers much younger men. “I’m talking much younger… she capped her age range at thirty-five and says she really prefers under thirty,” she says, giggling.
I shrug. “Maybe she finds the older guys can’t keep up with her sexually?”
She laughs again, harder this time. “She didn’t mention that, but you might be on to something.”
We devour dinner and sprawl out on the couch.
She reaches down and begins massaging her left foot. “My feet are aching. I wore new shoes today and walked too many blocks in them to grab lunch.”
“Hmm… give to me,” I say, holding my hands out for her foot.
She raises her eyebrows and plops her foot in my lap. “You do foot rubs, huh? You should have included that in your dating profile, Mr. Sullivan. No woman can refuse a good foot rub.”
I take her sock off, revealing a gorgeous foot with deep red toenails. I begin kneading her foot and she moans, her eyes rolling back in her head.
“Oh, damn… that feels amazing.”
I continue with that foot and when I feel I’ve given it sufficient attention and worked through all the tightness, I ask her for the other foot. She smiles dreamily and happily offers me her right foot.
“I’ve got to run by my sister’s place in an hour or so to see my niece, Annabelle. It’s her birthday and I promised I’d come by with her gift,” she says, her eyes closed.
“How old is she?” I ask.
“Three. But she thinks she’s twenty-three,” she says, opening her eyes now. “You should see her little outfits. Perfectly put together. And she always carries a purse too. It’s adorable. I feel bad for my sister though when she hits her teenage years. She’s going to bleed her dry with her taste in clothes.”
“Sounds like you two are close…”
“Oh my God, yes. I adore her.”
I nod, focusing on her tight arch.
“How about you? Do you have nephews or nieces?” she asks.
“Not yet. My brother, Shawn, has been seeing a woman for the last couple of years, but no kids yet.”
She smiles and moans again as I massage up her calf.
“So, do you see yourself as a mother at some point?” I ask, my throat tightening up.
“Without a doubt. I’ve known since I was little that I wanted kids. I started babysitting as soon as I was old enough. Took a little first aid course and let everyone know I was available on weekends. Made some pretty decent money too for a thirteen-year-old.”
My phone dings and I pause the foot rub to see who’s texting me. Damn broker again.
