The Sex Education of M.E. (3 page)

Still fiddling with my phone, aimlessly clearing out my emails, I hardly noticed the person who took the seat next to me. The stool pulled back, so I looked up in curiosity. A man, I noted, and then returned to my phone. Quickly, I did a second take.

“Merek,” the bartender said, addressing him. “Long time, no see, you old bugger.”

I blinked. It was more than a man that sat next to me. It was that guy from the block party. My eyes roamed downward, assessing him: dress shirt rolled to the elbows, nice pants, and flip-flops. Dressy, but understated by the casual footwear, he certainly looked more pulled together than the cargo shorts and tight t-shirt from the street party. He turned to face me, and my breath hitched as his dark eyes captured my stare. I blushed, while he extended a hand to me.

“Merek Elliott,” he offered.

Wide-eyed, I took too long to respond, and he lowered his hand. He shifted toward the bartender, who took his order, and I spun away from him, returning my attention to my phone, frantically scrolling through emails though not reading a thing. My breathing was shallow and goosebumps rose on my skin. The damn air conditioning.
Was there a chill in here?

“You don’t remember me?” he asked, and my attention twisted back to him.

“I…well, how could I forget?” I scoffed. “You made a memorable impression.”

His eyebrows pinched but his face was full of mirth.

“Oh yeah? What did I say?” The crinkles by his eyes teased me. That sassy dimple peeked out.

The heat in my face racketed upward. “Something about Uber,” I muttered.

“Well, that certainly explains it.” He slipped his phone out of his pocket and shook it in my direction before setting it on the dark wooden bar.

“Explains what?” My eyebrows pinched as I glanced in the direction of the screen.

“You asked for a ride.” The curve of his lips while he smirked lit up his eyes. The call of that lickable dimple magnified under the end-of-the-day scruff, and his eyes sparked with specks of gold and green mixed among the dark streaks. There wasn’t enough air in the bar. I reached for the edge of my blouse and fanned it outward to cool myself.
Was it hot in here?

“I did no such thing.” My tone sounded like a child denying he stole a cookie before dinner. Sitting up straighter, I reached for his phone which he tapped. A text message conversation lit up the screen.

- Would love to take you up on that offer of a ride?

The speech bubble was green.

- Pardon me?

The response was gray.

- At the block party, you offered me a lift. (winky emoticon)

The reply was green, followed by a second green invitation.

- Say 7 pm at O’Malley’s.

Blinking rapidly, my heart raced. My throat dried and my stomach fluttered. It couldn’t be. I mean, I’d have to have his num…the thought faded away and a horrifying truth surfaced. I did have his number, but I hadn’t contacted him.

Gia
, my brain growled. Letting her touch my phone had obviously been dangerous. I felt foolish and more than embarrassed, like get-the-mop-ready-to-wipe-me-up-because-I-wanted-to-melt-on-the-spot, mortified.

“I’m so sorry,” I offered, “there’s been a terrible misunderstanding.”

“So you didn’t want to ride me?” The dimple toyed with me. His lips rolled to suppress his laughter.

“I…oh my God, you didn’t just say that to me,” I giggled. He smiled, a genuine, full-on smile, and another part of me needed a mopping. I crossed my legs. His eyes wandered to the motion, lingering as one knee climbed over the other. My skirt rode up, exposing more than my kneecaps. I tugged at material that wouldn’t go back down.

“I think there’s been a mistake,” I began again.

“You didn’t send this text?” He waved the phone at me. Well, it was my number, but it wasn’t me. How could I explain that this was a sick joke from my ex-best friend? I planned to disown her as soon as I escaped from this awkward situation.

“Actually, I didn’t,” I responded, but he cut me off.

“Yet, you’re here,” he said, raising an eyebrow over those teasing eyes. The dimple flashed again, blinding me with thoughts of tracing it with my tongue.
How would those lips taste?
I wondered. Blinking hard and turning away from him, I took a hearty gulp of my wine.

“I have a date.” I choked on the words. Merek gazed exaggeratedly over his shoulder, and then turned back to me.

“Well, don’t let me interrupt.” His lips puckered in distaste.

“Well, I mean, he’s coming.”

Those damn eyebrows rose again. The slight wrinkles by his eyes danced in delight.

“I mean…”

“I got it,” he smirked.

A thought suddenly occurred to me. “Why are you here?”

“Having a beer.” He jiggled the draft in his hand before taking a long swallow. I stared as his Adam’s apple rolled along his throat, and my mouth watered, my mind drifting to thoughts of kissing along that path. A shaky hand came to my forehead. I was a mess. I needed to get laid. No, correction, I just needed to get my mind out of the gutter.

“So, you didn’t come to meet me?” My eyes lowered, troubled by the thought.

“Guess not.” He shook his head. “So where’s your date?”

Could Gia have done this?
My brain was slow to compute that there was no date. There was no arrangement. Instead of setting me up with someone random from MatchMe, Gia had lied and set me up with someone more realistic. A friend of a friend in the neighborhood. This was suddenly worse. I didn’t need the neighbors knowing my business.

“I think there’s been a mistake.” Reaching for my clutch purse on the bar, I fumbled for some bills to cover my wine.

“How much?” I asked, but it came out like a holler at the young man serving me.

“That’s $7.50.”

I nearly choked. I wasn’t a recluse, but I didn’t go out much on my own to drinking establishments. For seven dollars and fifty cents I could have purchased a whole bottle of wine, stayed at home with a good book, and spared myself all this humiliation.

“Let me get it,” Merek offered, reaching for his back pocket.

“No,” I snapped. “I mean, no. Thank you.”

His eyes softened a little, the lines around them becoming more prominent. I was making a fool of myself, and I wanted nothing more than to walk away, while I still had a shred of pride left.

“I’ve made a terrible mistake,” I stated again. “He isn’t going to show, and I think I’m just going to go home.” I brushed off the idea that I might have purposely been set up with Merek. Standing from the stool, forced me into Merek’s space. My heel caught on the rung, and as I stumbled forward, Merek’s hand shot out to steady me at my waist. While the thought of his hands on me ignited wayward images through my brain, the idea that he just squeezed the flabby part of my waistline made me flinch. I was out of my mind thinking someone like him would touch me in pleasure, and I was out of control with the whole need-for-sex thing. Excusing myself, I walked toward the front door of O’Malley’s.

I watched her sweet ass walk away from me. Shaking my head, I turned toward Thomas O’Malley, the young son of the proprietor of this joint, and winked. I finished the rest of my beer and twisted toward the front door to see Emme trapped by four men. They obviously knew her, and she smiled politely in return to something one of them said. She nodded, laughed, and squeezed between them, continuing her exit of the bar. Each man took his turn to admire her backside as she passed by them, taking a moment too long, in my opinion, to follow the sashay of her black skirt exiting.

For some reason, this pissed me off. She had a nice shape, but there wasn’t anything else that stood out to me. She wasn’t my typical type. I’d gone after younger women. At first, the youthful twenty somethings were a decent age to conquer; full of spunk and discovery, but in recent years, the age group hit a little too close to home. I’d moved up to late twenties or early thirties. I found flirty-thirties were too needy, though. In the childbearing age, and wanting a little more than I was willing to offer, these women were confident and willful in experimentation. At forty-two, I was growing too old for their shenanigans for emotional entrapment. I refused to date for this very reason. I didn’t want to get too close to one woman again.

Strutting to the booth behind me, the men sat, and I lingered when I heard one of them say, “I’d tap that.” The others laughed heartily, and I returned my focus to Thomas across the bar. He watched the men over my shoulder. Preppy types, in basketball shorts and athletic shirts, the rowdy bunch showed their age. Paunch stomachs, bald heads, and reading glasses filled out their images. Their type was one I recognized all too well. Their wives were probably home alone reading about sex instead of having it because their husbands were assholes who went out with “the boys”. I shook my head and stood from the stool.

“Good to see ya, old man.” Thomas laughed as he took my ten. I waved before leaving the small local pub. I liked O’Malley’s, but I didn’t hang out there often. It was too close to home – literally. I knew Thomas’ dad from the old neighborhood by my parents’ house.

While I walked past the parking lot on the side of the building, I noticed Emme talking to another man: Mike Murphy. He was a city police officer, and I’d had some run-ins with him on occasion. He was an odd guy, and for some unknown reason, I never trusted him. Just had that gnawing suspicion about him. I don’t know what made me do it, but I stopped. Emme looked uncomfortable, despite the smile pressed across those pink lips. I’d been trying not to get caught staring at those lips while she spoke to me. They looked ripe for kissing. In fact, I think they needed a swift kiss. A breathtaking, heart-stopping, dick-straining kind of kiss. And I wanted to give her one while she stared at me all wide-eyed and horrified at the bar.

Her eyes flipped up and met mine across the lot. Her forced smile turned back to Mike and she stepped back. He followed. She was almost pressed up against her car.

Sauntering into the lot, I came close enough to hear Mike asking her if she’d like to go inside for a drink.

“I was just leaving,” she stated. “But thank you.”

He started talking again, but I cut him off.

“Emme, everything okay?”

Mike turned toward me, his mousy face pinching as his narrow eyes skimmed my face.

“Emme and I are just having a chat. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

I stepped closer to the two of them. Emme’s eyes weren’t leaving my face, but I couldn’t read her expression. She shook her head infinitesimally and I took another step. Mike had this nervous quality about him, almost jittery, and his hand shook as he addressed Emme again. “Well, if you ever want to have a burger, they have the best ones. Monday night, it’s the special.”

Something told me Emme did not want to be alone with Mike, and I refused to move. I easily stood six inches taller and at least fifty pounds heavier than the scrawny man before me. Mike’s eyes shifted sideways to me before he mumbled, “Nice to see you again, Emme.” He stepped away from her. Waiting until Mike was around the corner of the building, I turned on Emme.

“Mike Murphy? Really?”

“I…he…” Her voice fumbled before she stood up straighter. “Truthfully, he creeps me out. He used to see me at the gym and follow me around the track, as if we were old friends. I’d like to thank you for interrupting him. I think you scared him.”

“Me?” I laughed.

She smiled slowly and my breath hitched. Those lips again begged mine for connection. Her eyes were bright blue, and her hair practically glowed under the street lamp. She definitely wasn’t in her twenties, but there was something about the way she looked at me that made me feel like a young man again. I took another step closer to her.

“I didn’t mean to run you off from your date.” My voice lowered with the apology.

She waved a hand dismissing me. “It wasn’t a date. It was just an arrangement.” Her pretty eyes shifted away from me and she twirled the flat purse in her hands.

“An arrangement? Like a MatchMe thing?” I growled.

“Well, I thought so, but I don’t know.” Her eyes refused to meet mine.

“You thought so?”

“I mean, that’s what Gia told me. She set this all up for me, I guess.” Her shoulders drooped.

“Why MatchMe?”

Shaking her head, she refused to answer. My fingers tipped up her chin. Her skin was soft, slightly tan from the summer sun. When she smiled, her teeth gleamed pure white. She wasn’t smiling at the question I’d asked.

“Tell me.” I softened my tone, but refused to let go of her. My skin prickled where it touched her. I didn’t want the sensation to end.

“I just…I don’t need commitment,” she whispered. My eyes widened.

“What do you need?” My voice graveled, raspy and rough. I swallowed and my pants tightened at the nearness of her.

“I just…” She closed her eyes and shook her head despite my hold.

I waited her out. She’d tell me. I filled the gap between us and her lush breasts brushed against me. The tender ripple of that flimsy shirt against my crisp oxford made me hyperaware of her. She was shorter than me, my chin coming to her forehead. If I dipped lower, her lips were all I’d need. Cursing myself for such thoughts, I held my breath while I cupped her chin. Her ragged breathing forced her breasts to lightly skim up and down my chest, the sensation a teasing tickle of what lay beneath that sheer blouse. Her breasts were large, nipples peaked. I had a sudden suspicion about her needs.