10
Diner dinners
[Midge]
“Tell me about the crisis center. Besides the fact crazy women call in and you try to calm them,” I joke although I don’t know why I’m laughing about it. We sit at the counter of the old diner, waiting on our hamburgers and fries. The 1950s rock ‘n’ roll décor projects us back in time with white subway tile walls and a red Formica countertop. We sit on two swivel stools padded in matching vinyl.
Hank gulps his water. I ordered a cola. He told me I could have whatever I wanted—the place serves beer—but I declined. I don’t want him any more uncomfortable than he already seems. My signals are so mixed with this man, and I feel like I’m the one on the verge of sexually molesting him. I need to rein it in, but I haven’t had this kind of attention in so long, I just want to swing for a home run when I might need to bunt instead.
“Not crazy women,” he interjects, snapping my thoughts away from how freaking sexy he looks, more relaxed in the rolled-up sleeves. His forearms redefine arm porn, especially with the tattoos. He’s so different from me, yet I feel a kindred spirit to him. Impossible, considering he looks like an aged rock star while I’m wearing lace and carrying a faux leather clutch.
“Desperate women?” I tease although there’s no humor in my chuckle.
“Look, we all need help sometimes. Someone to talk to about things. I don’t know what made you call, but some things, like birthdays, can be a trigger.” The answer is very textbook, but he’s not wrong. My birthday triggered a whole slew of disappointments in myself at forty-one. I thought I’d have my body back. I thought I’d be more advanced in my career. I thought I’d still be married.
“I’ve never done that before,” I mutter, crumpling the paper straw wrapper next to my glass.
“So you said. And it’s okay. Whether it was one time or two,” he teases, and I look up to find a playful gleam in those steel eyes.
“The second time was more selfish.” One brow rises as he waits out my answer. “I wanted to talk to you.”
His eyes narrow as his smile grows. “I’m honored.” For some reason, I think he means it. He’s pleased to be a support for someone.
“You like helping people.” It’s more a question but comes out as a statement. A keen observation.
“I like feeling wanted, I guess.” He shrugs it off, but I can sense it’s not that simple for him.
“Tell me more.”
“There was a time I was too selfish. Drinking is a good example, though I had my reasons. I did things for me and only me until I hit the bottom. The only person I had left was me, and I missed…people. Once I turned myself around, I decided I’d try to be there for others even if they were random strangers.”
I nod as if I understand. And I think I do. He’s had a rough life. The lines by his eyes prove it, but his smile remains young. He’s full of spirit even if his heart weighs heavy with guilt.
“Well, I, for one, am thankful you were there for me.” I tap my cola glass against his water and drink.
“Really? What did I do for you?”
“You listened. And the second time, you spoke.” Heat rushes my cheeks as I remember him talking me into touching myself—twice.
“I’ll talk to you anytime you need.” He winks. “Or listen, if you want that, too.” I appreciate the offer.
“May I ask about the drinking? Was it about a girl?” For some reason, I want to know if he loved someone even though he said he was never married.
“It’s always about a girl.” He exhales, raising his water to his lips. His eyes shift to me, knowing I’m waiting. “The long and short of it is I loved a woman who never loved me. She had big dreams which didn’t involve me directly.” His voice turns bitter.
“But you weren’t married?”
“Fuck no.” He snorts. “She wouldn’t have me.” His voice lowers, sadness and heartbreak filling the normally smoky sound.
“I’m sorry, Hank.” I want to touch him, lay my fingers on those solid, strong forearms and give him some strength, some reassurance. I know what it’s like not to have love reciprocated. I thought Paul was the love of my life, but after years of therapy, I realized love isn’t one sided. It’s not selfish. And it isn’t always given if received. I gave. Paul took.
Hank shrugs, slipping his fingers through the condensation on his water glass. He stares at the ice in the bottom. My question ruins our playful mood, but then he surprises me. He sets down his glass, places his hand on my knee, and leans in to kiss me. Short, direct, but sweet. He pulls back without saying anything.
Thankfully, our burgers arrive.
“You gonna eat all that? You’re a little thing.” His lips curl, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s trying to get back to where we were, but I’m guessing my questions have caused lingering memories.
“Gotta keep up my girlish figure,” I tease, running a hand over the pooch of my belly. My dress isn’t snug. I bought it one size larger so it purposely wouldn’t pinch me in the wrong places. I also bought it in anticipation of this date—the first one I’ve had in a year. Dating has been difficult since the divorce, and after my first few attempts, I decided I’d just do it later. The boys grieved Paul’s and my separation, and they needed me. My job demanded more work hours out of me. I didn’t have time…for me. Dating became a someday thing on my to-do list.
“I like your girlish figure.” He winks again before biting into his burger. Hank’s sweet. I wish I felt secure enough to think he liked me, liked me, but I’m just not there yet. Hamburgers feel more like he’s placating me, but I’ll bite. He’s nice to be near.
+ + +
Two hours later, we arrive at the awkward how-to-end-the-night moment. I’ve enjoyed Hank’s company, and I appreciate his dry sense of humor. Not to mention, he’s nice to look at when he smiles. He told me stories about his brother and the shop, mentioned Lily has the hots for Brut, and Chopper makes Brut a single father.
“One day, he wakes up to a baby and a note on his doorstep. Happy Father’s Day, it read. No lie.”
I could never imagine giving up my children. Elston, Ronin, and Liam have been my rocks, and I tell Hank more about them. Elston, his obsession with girls, and my fear he’s gone too far too young. Ronin and my concern for him to fit in and find his place. Liam and my worry for my baby, learning he needs to be his own person, not the other two.
“My boys are a handful, but they are my everything.” Hank nods. He’s doesn’t offer thoughts on children. He already told me he doesn’t have any.
Like a gentleman, he walks me to the door. Only I’m not sure what to do here. Do we kiss on the front porch? Do I invite him in?
“Mind if I come in for a bit? You said the boys are at their dad’s, right?” I appreciate his remembering and smile with relief that he asked first.
“Please come in.” My voice shakes, a bit breathy. I sound anxious, and my eyes close for a second as I will myself to calm down.
“Don’t be afraid of me.” His tone drops, and my eyes open.
“I’m not frightened.” But it’s a lie. Hank Paige could break my heart, and I’m scared to death of anything like that happening again.
I lead Hank to the kitchen. This is my comfort spot in the house, a gathering place with a large island and open eating area.
“Got any coffee?”
“I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t. I have a coffeemaker, but I don’t think I have any beans.” I cannot stand the smell, and with Paul gone, I moved the maker to the pantry.
“Never mind. It would just keep me up all night.” Hank steps closer to me. “And I can think of other things I’d rather have keep me awake.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. He stands so close to me, my breasts brush against his dress shirt. My arousal piquing, I’m on the verge of ripping off his clothes. He cups my cheeks with his hands and his lips meet mine. Hank’s kisses are meant to get lost in. He kisses slowly but with purpose, not missing any part of my lips before seeking my tongue. There, he takes equal time—spinning, swirling, twirling—and I melt into him.
His hands release my face and grip my hips. He lifts me to perch on the island, and my knees spread, allowing him closer. His fingers touch the lace over my thighs, gathering it up my legs while his mouth continues to undress me of every anxiety. I like him too much, too quickly, but I’m savoring this moment.
My eager fingers reach for his shirt, untucking it with haste. He breaks our kiss to reach behind his neck and shrug the shirt off with one pull over his head. It sticks on his arms, but after a quick tug from me, he’s shirt free. I moan, and my palms cover the landscape of his body. Firm pecs, a smattering of salt-and-pepper chest hair, and solid abs. A trail leads to the treasure bulging in his pants. He cups my cheeks again and kisses me with more pressure, his mouth growing wilder as my hands rove his body—over the flat of his belly, up the hills of his chest, and around his shoulders, until I squeeze his shoulder blades.
“Fuck, I like your hands.” He groans against my mouth. His hands palm my backside.
“I like your body.” I exhale, my voice low as I struggle to speak.
“I’m gonna love your body, little lady,” he says, lifting me. “Bedroom.”
“Upstairs.” Carrying me to the stairway, he sets me down at the base. “This is where we stop. Lead the way if you want to continue.”
Taking his hand in mine, I walk backward up a step or two before turning to lead him the rest of the way.
“Thank fuck,” he mutters. If my smile grew any bigger, it would crack my face.
My room is average with a queen-size bed. I got rid of the king once Paul left. After repainting the room to a light yellow, I added more throw pillows than necessary to the new bedding. Feminine and delicate, this space is meant for the female head of household.
“Like pillows?” He chuckles, reaching for one and tossing it to the opposite side of the bed. He sits on the edge, then reaches for my hips, tugging me back to him. With him sitting, we’re closer in height, especially with my heels off. I lost them downstairs when I sat on the counter.
“Where was I? Oh, right, this dress.” His thick fingers find the zipper at my neck. Spinning me, he unzips the lace material to my waist. Soft kisses pepper up my back, and I shiver, catching the loose material against my front. My body hums with anticipation.
“Time to be wild. Let go,” he murmurs between my shoulder blades, and I realize he means for me to remove the dress. My arms slip to my sides, and his hands slide the delicate material from my body. I’m suddenly self-conscious standing in my room with only waist high underwear and a regular bra.
“I don’t own anything sexy,” I say by way of apology. “It seems impractical when you aren’t having sex.” He spins me to face him.
“You’d be sexy in a dishrag,” he mutters. “Besides, you think I give a fuck about your underwear? I don’t plan on you wearing any for what I have in mind.” His mouth returns to my skin, traveling just above my breasts. The ache between my thighs increases as a hand cups one heavy globe. I groan when he pinches me over the silk.
“Holy tits, lady.” He tugs the cup down and envelops me with an open mouth, sucking on me like a ripe peach. His tongue circles the sharp peak of my nipple, and I cry out when he nips me. “You’re big for a little thing,” he says, before trussing up my other breast and working it in the same manner. My hips rock forward, seeking friction despite the attention up top. Nimble fingers skate around my back and unclasp my bra with one snap. Tugging it forward, he teases me as he watches my breasts fall from the holder. “You’re so pretty, lady.”
I’m clutching his shoulders, my knees weak. Melting before he touches my needy area is a strong possibility. Dragging my palms from his shoulders to his neck, I lower to kiss him again, needing his mouth to assure me we are really doing this. My underwear drifts down my hips, and he taps an ankle for me to step out of them. Our lips don’t unlock, and I nearly split in two from sexual overdrive.
“I don’t want to disappoint you,” I mutter as he pulls back, eyes roving my body. He tilts his head, uncertain of my meaning. “You know, hot dog in a hallway and all that.” I snort. Literally. Could I be any more awkward with poor movie quotes and a nasal noise?
“What the fuck are you talking about?” His steel eyes blink.
“I don’t think I’ll be all tight and neat down there.” My awkwardness grows with each flap of my lips. I mean, every romance novel has the girls all tight and trim, but that’s hardly me. I’ve had babies.
“What the fuck?” Suddenly, he flips me, and I land flat on my back. Hovering beside me, he trails his fingers between my breasts and down to the hair at the apex of my legs. So close, I think, before he drags back up my middle. “What the hell you talking about, little lady?”
“I’m just not young. I’m probably stretched out, and—”
“Stop talking.” He interrupts, and I clamp my lips shut. Reaching for my hand, he yanks it to cover the bulge in his pants. “Feel this?”
I nod.
“I think he’ll fill you just fine, baby. Relax.” I take a deep breath, and tears prickle my eyes. He’s still partially dressed, and the hand on his excitement lifts for his belt.
“You first,” he says, trailing tickling fingertips down my skin.
“I want to feel you.” The boldness surprises me, but I want to touch him while he pleases me.
“Oh, you’re gonna feel me.” He stands, strips, and returns to his side next to me. Deft fingers find their way and gently impale me. I arch off the bed, relishing the intrusion.
“So wet, baby. Your body wants me.”
“So badly,” I whimper.
“Soon, lady.” He chuckles against my neck, sucking at my skin while his fingers work their magic—dipping, digging, dragging out an orgasm so fierce I drown in the length of it. Awash in sensation, my knees come together, drifting in a weightless haze. I’m gripping the sheets as Hank climbs over me.
“Condoms?” His asking almost brings another snort. Another unnecessary supply when not engaging in sexual promiscuity. I shake my head and he slips back for his pants on the floor and returns fully sheathed.
Lining up his solid length at my entrance, he watches as he slowly disappears inside me, taking his time to fill me as I stretch around him, welcoming him into me. Tears escape the corners of my eyes. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt anything like this. So full. So free. Hank pulls back, almost exiting me before thrusting forward again. My eyes roll back and more tears leak.
“You okay, baby?” I can’t respond, so I nod. He pauses, peering down at me as he balances most of his weight on his strong elbows. A thumb swipes at the corner of one eye.
“You must think I’m so inexperienced.” Now isn’t the time to share our sexual history, but it’s evident by the dance his body plays over mine that he knows more than I do.
“Not going there right now,” he commands. “I think you weren’t loved properly, and I’m gonna love this body.” He rests on one elbow as his other hand hooks under my leg, stretching me, opening me to him.
“Let go of the bed sheets, little lady,” he demands. “Touch me.” I’m still white knuckling the sheets at my sides as he slides forward again, the penetration reaching deep.
“I’m afraid to let go. I might float away.” I’m not certain all the words leave my mouth as I’m having an out-of-body experience, like I’m watching him fill me. The euphoric feeling makes me light-headed. He chuckles, jostling us both, his dick pulsing inside me.
“Hold on to me, baby. I’ll keep you grounded.”
I release the bedclothes and clap a hand to his shoulder blade. The other finds his ass, one firm globe of perfection, and I squeeze.
“Yeah, baby,” he spurs, rocking harder as I smooth over the fineness of his backside. The bed begins to squeak as he thrusts faster, penetrating deeper, teasing another orgasm out of me. As my head comes off the bed, I scream into his shoulder, tears spilling, as I hold him like I might fall off a cliff if I let go.
“Fuck, yeah, little lady,” he quips through strained breaths as he rocks harder. His pumps quickening before he stills. His neck muscles bulge as he pulses inside me, and his strain pleases me. An aftershock sends ripples vibrating through my body. Hank collapses, rolling us to our sides but still buried inside me.
“My sausage do okay in your hallway?” he jests. “Got the reference now. We’re the Millers.” He winks. I gasp before I chuckle.
“Did you just make a joke?” My giggling jiggles him inside me, and he pulses once again.
“I just want you to stop crying,” he whispers. He’s so close to my face, still hovering inside me.
“I’m not sad. I’m not hurt,” I reassure him. “Just...I can’t describe it. I’m overwhelmed fits the best.”
“No, I fit the best,” he teases, pressing up to kiss my shoulder before pulling out completely. Wet warmth pools between my thighs like the heat in my heart as I look at him.
Yes, you do, I think. You fit the best.