Almost Too Far (Almost Bad Boys #3) (4 page)

His upper lip curls in a little sexy snarl. “You bet I will,” he assures me.
 

Holy smoke, Queen Vagina immediately insists on ditching the party, but thank heavens my brain is in control—which, honestly, is a rare occurrence—so I manage to ignore her demands for now.
 

Before I can comment back, a young woman with a baby in her arms says to me, “Would you mind holding her for a moment? I need to run to the bathroom.”

What? Me? A baby? I’ve never held a baby. Honest to God. Well, maybe once or twice, rather briefly. But she catches me by surprise and stuffs the tiny bundle in my arms. Large blue eyes peer at me from over a fluffy pink blanket, and a small, pudgy hand emerges, grasping a strand of my hair. The baby makes a cooing noise and gapes at me.
 

I can’t take my eyes away from those azure peepers. They hold me hostage, and I feel strangely relaxed. Colin gently strokes the baby’s head with the tips of his fingers, and she shifts to look at him. I follow her gaze to see Colin smile at her. He looks at me, while continuing to caress her head. Our eyes meet. There is something vulnerable and soft in his look; something that I know I’ve never seen before. I’m unable to tear my eyes off his when the young mother comes back and, thanking me for holding her baby, takes her away.

Colin pulls me to him and encircles me in his embrace. I wrap my arms around him and cuddle to his hard chest. He kisses the top of my head, and all I want is to stay like this—close to him, feeling the beat of his heart.
 

THREE

 
“You are only young once, but you can stay immature indefinitely”
 

Anonymous

Helga and her three friends squeeze through the crowd in our direction. When she sees us, she grins big and says to me, “Come outside with us. You too, Colin.”

We look at each other, shrug, smile, and then follow the elderly ladies. I notice that Melba moves rather quickly and steadily for someone who has a walker at her disposal.
 

Stella points to Melba, as if she heard my thoughts and, leaning close to my ear, says, “You would think she ought to use that walker, huh? She does when she wants some young guys to help her cross the street.” Stella laughs, and her laugh is contagious. “One time Melba was walking on the sidewalk, leaning on that stupid walker, when some asswipe grabbed her purse and tried to tug it out of her hand. But Melba is strong like a bull. She pulled the purse out of the guy’s grasp, threw the hot coffee from her walker holder in his face, and then beat him up with that walker.”

“Are you serious? Well, remind me to never try to steal her purse then.” I chuckle.
 

“No kidding. She can do some serious damage regardless of being eighty-one,” Stella adds.
 

I like Stella. She acts like a twenty-something would. She’s hilarious and so are her friends, Helga included.
 

We step outside into the backyard. Helga motions for all of us to sit down in the plastic patio chairs. There is a stack of blankets on one of the chairs, and everyone grabs one to fend off the evening chill. Colin wraps a large, thick blanket around my shoulders and then reaches to get his own.
 

Helga tells Colin to bring the whisky bottle and the glasses from the inside. She takes out a small, metal container from her pocket. It’s flat and ornately decorated. She opens it and passes it around. Each of the elderly ladies takes what looks like a joint. Holy Mother of Sweet Jesus. What else are the little old ladies about to reveal?
 

When the container makes its way to me, I politely decline, much to the elderly women’s disappointment. Colin comes back, carrying a tray with glasses and a bottle of whisky. He puts it down on the small table and asks me what I would like to drink.
 

“Nothing right now, thanks. But later maybe you can make me an appletini.” I squeeze his arm.
 

“Of course.” He kisses my cheek and declines the joint as well.
 

“He doesn’t smoke anything. Never has,” Helga explains, lighting up.
 

It’s really comical to watch this group drink and smoke and listen to them talk. They are as funny as hell.
 

Agatha pokes Stella, pointing to her joint, “Yours is crooked, just like your late husband’s dick was.”

“As if you knew his dick.” Stella snorts and takes a deep drag from her joint. “It was a good dick, no complaints here.”

“You told me it was crooked,” Agatha insists, waving her bony, wrinkled arm around.
 

“Maybe I was drunk. Hell, or maybe you’re making this shit up, girlfriend.” Stella shrugs, grinning. “Your late husband probably didn’t have a dick at all, since you were always so freakin’ whiny. Jeez, nothing would shut her up, remember, girls?” She turns to Melba.
 

“Don’t even remind me. She would bitch and bitch, and I told her to find another guy, but no! Not Agatha.” Melba shakes her head.
 

Helga laughs. “Remember when we took Agatha to the lake?”

They all burst out in laughter, hooting and clapping in delight. I look at Colin and smile. He grins back and whispers in my ear, “Just listen. This gets really good. I’ve heard these stories countless times.”

The women laugh so hard, they start wheezing and gasping for air, even Agatha who’s the subject of this funny tale.
 

Stella fans herself with her hand and chokes out, looking at me, “So, Agatha was complaining that her husband ignores her. We asked her what she wears to bed, and she said just some comfy flannel pajamas. Helga took her shopping and chose some naughty lingerie for her. We convinced Agatha to put the lingerie on when we go to have a picnic somewhere. We said it’s to get used to wearing it, so she wouldn’t feel self-conscious when the time comes to seduce her hubby. She put it on with a dress over it.”

Melba takes over retelling the story, “I wanted to have the picnic in the park by the lake, and so we persuaded Agatha to come along—wearing her new sexy underclothes. But we also arranged for some young guys from the shoe factory to come to the park and hide in the bushes.”

“We had to pay the suckers so they would do as told,” Helga explains in her thick German accent and then takes a sip of whisky, motioning to Melba to continue.

“We’re sitting on the blanket with the food and drinks nicely arranged in the center when Stella spills red wine all over Agatha’s dress,” Melba carries on.
 

“You’re all such bitches,” Agatha says, laughing.
 

“Sure, sure. Like you didn’t get a kick out of that little arrangement.” Stella waves her hand dismissively. “By the way, just so you know,” she looks at me and Colin, “that was many
many
years ago when Agatha was still curvy and hot.”

That earns Stella a smack from Agatha. “At least at some point I was curvy and hot while you’ve never experienced such luxury.”

“She’s never been curvy.” Melba shakes her head. “She’s just been less wrinkly, that’s all.”

“Listen, listen,” Helga attempts to quiet everyone, which isn’t easy since Melba, Stella, and Agatha howl in laughter. “This gets really good. When Stella spilled that wine, Agatha was livid because it was her favorite dress. She takes it off and says she needs to rinse it in the lake before the dye from wine sets in. She marches to the lake in her hot lingerie, and the factory guys jump out of the bushes, pretending to take pictures of her. You shoulda heard her scream while running off into the woods!”

By now the four of them are laughing so hard, I’m afraid they will get hurt. I can’t help but chuckle too, and I see a big grin on Colin’s face as well.
 

“We could tell you some funny stories from years ago,” Melba says, still giggling in her high-pitch voice.
 

“From years ago? Like there is nothing crazy going on almost every day with us?” Stella lights her joint again and raises her glass. “Happy birthday, Helga.”

Everyone follows Stella, and we all clink glasses—Colin and I have just water in ours. I look at the old ladies and realize they remind me so much of the group of my closest friends: Caroline, Ali, and Jena—and our newest addition, Svetlana. Are we gonna be still that close some fifty plus years from now? I can only hope so.
 

Helga stands up and says, “I’m going inside for a bit. I better mingle before all those guests forget it’s
my
birthday we’re celebrating today.”
 

Colin pulls me to my feet and wraps his arm possessively around my waist. “Come on. I want to show you the tree house.”

“The tree house?” I ask, surprised.
 

“My second husband built it for Colin when the kid was about eight. Ah, that man could do so much with his hands.” Helga sighs, opening the back door to the house. “Go, show her. I wish I could still climb up that tree. From what I remember, it was a great hide-a-way.”
 

FOUR

Life is too short for drama and petty things, so kiss slowly, laugh insanely, love truly, and forgive quickly.
 

Susan Chapman Melanson

Wrapped in our blankets, we walk to the large maple tree in the back. There are tiki torches and lights strewn all over the yard, so it’s not too dark to get there. I’m thankful I’m wearing flats though, because the ground is uneven and wet.
 

“How many husbands did Helga have?” I ask curiously.
 

“Three. But she never married my great-grandpa—Libby’s father. They lived together for years until he died when Libby was a teen. So, I could safely say four husbands.”
 

“Wow. That’s a lot of husbands.”

We stand in front of the giant tree. It must be way over a hundred years old. I look up to see its thick crown dark against the night sky. It’s majestic yet somehow feels foreboding. There, settled between the thick branches, is a small tree house. I want to see inside it.
 

“The ladder is on the other side of the trunk.” Colin points ahead, and I follow him. “I had to make a new one a few years ago, because it started to rot. Don’t worry, it’s stable and solid now.”

I grasp the ladder with both hands and stand on the first spoke. “Okay, but if I start falling, you promise to catch me, right?”

“Do you even need to ask, babe?” Colin snorts. “Go on, you’ll be fine. I’m right behind you. Or below you, to be exact.”

I climb up and hear Colin chuckle. “Great view from here.” I realize he’s talking about my ass. I’m wearing a knee-length skirt with garter belt and stockings.
 

“Careful, Mr. Hampton, or I will sit on the top of your head. By accident, of course.”

“Of course.”

When I’m close to the top of the ladder, I see a small door with a handle placed low enough for me to reach and open it. I peek inside, but it’s too dark to see what’s in there.

Colin says, “There is a flashlight and one of those battery-operated lanterns. Just climb inside.”