Another Younger Man (Tryst Series Book 2) Read online

  It was time to get back to my life. On a normal day, meaning not the type of day I had experienced over the past month when my life revolved around living at a hospital, I would do something productive. I would plan one of my lessons for class or write a blog post for any number of online sites that now asked me to contribute. But that was before I gave up teaching and barely touched my computer. Of late, productivity was reduced to taking a shower as quickly as possible so I could return to Cole’s bedside within an hour.

  Today, I felt like I was in the way. The doctors wanted to speak with him. The occupational therapist needed to assess his ability to take care of himself. The physical therapist showed him how to maneuver in his daily activities. For the first time in over a month, I had no reason to stay.

  I realized that I should go to the grocery store. Put on makeup. Go for a walk. What I shouldn’t do is think about the surprise in Cole’s eyes when he heard that I had been by his side for over a month. I couldn’t tell if that look meant he was happy to learn I never stopped caring or freaked out that I hung around like a love sick puppy.

  Now home and feeling alone, I flip on the television and find the Food Network. The Pioneer Woman is making something amazing, naturally. She’s going to hop in that cute pick-up and drive it to the ranch where her hungry rancher husband and boys will greet her with rumbling stomachs and show immense appreciation. It’s nice to feel needed. I know it’s ridiculous and somewhat awful that I’m feeling sad over no longer being needed, but my feelings are leftover from when Cole and I first broke up. If only I could convert them to the good kind of leftovers like the ones the Pioneer Women is reinventing like her post-Thanksgiving turkey stuffing sandwiches. I stared at the television wistfully; she always had a recipe up her sleeve that made every day feel better.

  Three days after Cole woke up and I returned home, I had made immense progress with my battle against time. I still hadn’t left the house, but I managed to keep busy and fill my mind with thoughts other than the way we used to be. I had finally tackled my dreaded household to-do list. It’s the kind of list that everyone keeps, but rarely has the time or inclination to pursue. It’s amazing what a broken heart can accomplish.

  I cleaned out The Drawer. It’s the one that is found in many kitchens. Mine is filled to the brim with coupons (most expired), restaurant offers (typically from less than stellar establishments), and bits of this and that like extra balls of string, those twisty tie white thingies that come with the plastic bags, and lone plastic lids long misplaced from their containers.

  After The Drawer, I retreated to my closet and organized my clothes by season. I moved onto the bathroom to sort out old makeup and throw away anything with a color from a previous decade. I thought about re-grouting a sink, but worried that I would only succeed in stripping away some of the stretchy stuff that lined the sink and the rest of it would remain stubbornly in place. I decided to buff the kitchen counter granite instead.

  The place looked cleaner and more organized than it had in years. I should be proud of my DIY skills, but as I sat on the couch, alternating between flipping channels and trying to read, I was struck by how much time I still had on my hands. I needed to distract myself in a more positive way, but as I laced up my tennis shoes in preparation for a run, the text message on my phone sounded.

  Cole. Even seeing his name appear on my phone made me jump a bit. I scanned the message. Damn my heart for starting to pump so madly in my chest. It’s just a text. As I read, I couldn’t even imagine how he thought I might not want to help him. I guess he was giving me an opening, but my poor heart was floating on a raft without a life preserver. There was no saving it from whatever was coming its way.

  I text back: Of course I’ll help you.

  Thank you is his response.

  I had two more days before Cole would be discharged. The house was already spotless, but I wanted to buy some decent groceries and if I were being honest, some sexy clothes. I needed the kind of clothes that one would lounge around the house in, but look amazing while doing it. Something that shouts: I didn’t lift a finger to look like this. I just naturally ooze sex appeal. Not that I was expecting anything to happen.

  I texted Luci, my best friend about a nanosecond after Cole texted. She reminded me not to have expectations. I understood. The only expectation I had was not to expect anything. Cole made it quite clear before his accident that we couldn’t be together. No situation could change our substantial age difference. I was prepared to just be his caretaker for two weeks, nothing more. Maybe in time, we would be friends, or at least that’s what I tell Luci.

  What I’m not prepared for is how our text messages begin to increase in the days leading up to my getting Cole from the hospital. I tell myself he’s probably bored. Maybe that’s all it is, but I can’t help reading into the messages. They’re sweet. He makes jokes. He tells me about the comings and goings of some of his friends I’ve heard him mention. It’s nice to talk with him again without all of the tension we brought upon ourselves before.

  Mainly our text conversations are benign, just the stuff between two friends. But every once in awhile they tiptoe into a more personal nature. He asks if I’m sure I wouldn’t like to sleep at his place, but I remind him that he doesn’t have a guest room. When his response is “and…” I send him the emoji with the rolling eyes. I analyze the nuances of what he says and imagine what our days and nights will be like.

  I begin to wonder about this more when there’s a pause in our texting, but those three little dots appear indicating he’s still on our text message window and contemplating what to write. I stare at my phone, and then stare at it in disbelief when his response finally arrives: I know it’s a bit inconvenient having me, but I have to admit, I’m looking forward to seeing you walk around in your lingerie.

  I answer back: Maybe I should go shopping.

  When I finally pick him up, I’m struck by how much he’s recovered in just the three days since I left the hospital. One shouldn’t underestimate the value of a hot shower. Bed baths aren’t the most effective method of personal grooming. Now that he’s up and about, he was quickly beginning to look like his old self. His beard is trimmed and he’s shaved. He smells like soap rather than antiseptic. He’s not as muscular as he was before the accident, but not as thin as he was even last week.

  Granted, he was an elite athlete and his recovery would be faster than most, but I still wasn’t expecting him to look quite so good for someone just being released from the hospital. His arms may have been a little smaller than when they used to circle my waist. His hair may have been a little longer. But those eyes… those eyes were still the same as the ones that bore into my soul when he would lie on top of me.

  I’m a bundle of nerves as we drive back to my place. We say very little, except the expected pleasantries. I look good. He looks good. Did you get lunch before I arrived? We determine that it would be best to stop off at his place to pick up some of his clothes and toiletries before heading back to mine.

  When we arrive, I take a seat on his couch as I had done so many times before. He heads toward his bedroom and calls out for me to turn on the television, if I like. I do as he suggests, but I can’t focus on the movie that pops up. It’s a comedy and way too slapstick for my current mood. Instead, I opt to scroll through my Instagram, but in truth, I can’t even focus on the images.

  It’s not like I expect anything to happen. He’s tired and weak. We broke up. But… there’s still something there. And, as if on cue, he comes back into the room and as he sits down next to me on the couch, he smiles and the world stops for the briefest of moments. It’s the first time we’ve been alone in months and it feels so right, even if my heart feels like it’s trying out for a percussion band.

  “I love this movie. Seen it way too many times,” he admits.

  I glance up and see “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” although it’s only October and being Los Angeles, the sun is shining. “An oldie b
ut a goodie,” I reply. “It’s a little like me!”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “Pshaw,” he says for emphasis.

  “Pshaw?” Who are you? My dad used to say that.”

  “Well, if you don’t sit here quietly watching one of the best movies ever, I’ll have to put you over my knee young lady.”

  It’s my turn to roll my eyes, both at his humor, his funny ways, and the way we’ve bounced back to our comforting mannerisms. “Promises, promises,” I tease, keeping up the same tone.

  I hug a pillow to my chest, cross my legs underneath me, and settle back onto his couch to watch the antics of Clark Griswold as he tries to keep his cool with a buxom shop assistant. Heading to my house and starting dinner for the two of us can wait. I figure he’s probably happy to be home and that will surely help with his recovery.

  As we sit together, similar to the way we used to, I suddenly begin to feel a well of emotions. It’s not really the way it used to be, but I wish for it. When Clark and his wife share their funny ways, I feel like I have to fight to hold back tears. There isn’t anything happening in the movie that warrants sadness, but they love each other and I’m a sentimental sap. Before, I would rest my head on Cole’s shoulder and he would no sooner wrap his arm around me and pull me in even closer. But it isn’t like that between us now, and I can’t expect it to be. That is, until I turn to see him watching me rather than the TV and he growls under his breath, “Damn, I want to kiss you.”

  He says it more to himself than me. It’s almost a whisper and sounds as if he’s angry at himself for merely thinking about kissing me… for feeling. Still, my heart soars.

  “Then why don’t you?” I whisper, scared to say the words too loudly as if the slightest sound could startle him and make him come to his senses. I look directly at Cole, but he doesn’t make a move — his brain obviously fighting with his other parts.

  My eyes smolder into his, commanding him to act on his feelings, but he’s fighting an internal battle. That is, until I see a new sign of defeat. His gaze drifts down to my breasts. The glance is practically involuntary, only for a split second before he catches himself. I see his Adam’s apple rise as if he’s swallowing desire, trying to banish it deep within himself.

  My eyes never leave his face and finally, when his own meet mine, I state, “Don’t just sit there.” I’m not big on being the aggressor. Unless role-playing, I’m never the one to make the first move, but I can’t stop myself. I reach for his collar and pull him toward me.

  That one move is enough to get Cole to take over. He places his hand behind my head and pulls me toward him with an urgency I didn’t expect. Our kiss is long and passionate, filled with months of emotions that collected while I waited for him to wake.

  We don’t so much as stop kissing as simply take a breath, and then as if he regretted stopping, he launches into me with even deeper passion. This time his mouth isn’t as urgent. It explores me, softly covering mine. His hands hold me tightly in place as if afraid the moment will slip away. But I’m not going anywhere. When Cole pulls away once more, I close my eyes. He bends his head to mine and inhales deeply before kissing my forehead and I can feel it. We’ve come to an impasse.

  To continue would mean we end up in bed. Instead, he remains sweet and tender, simply letting his lips stroll down to my cheek. I feel a tear release, perhaps running toward his mouth. My tears mirror my desire, running free without hesitation. I never want our kisses to end. He hears my breath catch and looks up at me, questioning the reaction.

  “I missed you.” It’s my way of an explanation.

  “I know,” comes his response. It’s not the reply I want, but I’m not entirely disappointed by it either. I know he has trouble getting close, and we’ve been through so much. Maybe this is a new beginning.

  At least I hope so.

  Chapter Three

  Cole

  That kiss…

  The way Kat felt in my arms. Her mouth softly accepting my advances. Her body folding onto my own like a puzzle piece falling into place. It felt so good to hold her once again. I wish it could have gone on forever, but that would be unwise. Regardless of what I wanted, I pulled away from her.

  It took all of my will power to do so, but it was the right thing to do. I can’t let us jump into a relationship again and with Kat there could be nothing less than putting everything on the line. She’s not a casual hook-up, never was and never will be. She loves with all of her heart and that’s what makes her so unique.

  The look she gave me when I put distance between the two of us nearly sent me right back to her. Actually, it did the first time and then I got a hold of myself once more. It was the only way. The last thing I want is to hurt her again. I knew she was wondering what went wrong.

  My first mistake was voicing that I wanted to kiss her. I didn’t even mean to say anything aloud. I just saw her sitting there and she looked so good, she smelled like daisies, and her laughter from earlier in the evening filled me with the hope that maybe I hadn’t completely damaged her soul. In that moment, I wanted to kiss her so damn badly that the sentiment just flew out of my mouth.

  The only good thing about feeling so weak from lying in a hospital bed for more than a month is that I had a built-in excuse for acting peculiar. I told her I was feeling tired and we should head to her place or I’d fall asleep on the couch. Maybe she bought it. After all, we were only going to stop at my place long enough for me to pack up some clothes.

  But the irony of the situation isn’t lost on me. The entire reason for staying at Kat’s was to avoid what happened here. She has more rooms, more beds, which means less chance of ending up in the same one. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself as I leave her on the couch and go to my room to retrieve my bag.

  I continue to throw items into a duffle bag, not really thinking about what to take. The only thing on my mind is needing a cold shower to change my current perspective on what I need. Or, I could opt for Kat in the shower with me and then I’d be much happier.

  “Damn!”

  “You okay?” Kat calls to me.

  “Yeah… just stubbed my toe against the bed.” My current state is not one where it’s safe to let myself wander aimlessly — neither mind or body. Now my toe is throbbing as much as… forget it, I tell myself. I go back to the task at hand with renewed focus. I grab some t-shirts and shorts, and then a few more for good measure that I’ll use for physical therapy.

  I stare at the bed, silently cursing it for mocking me, and then rest my eyes on the bedside table. The top drawer… every guy has a top drawer where the Johnny socks reside. I glance at the pack of condoms, toss it in the air and catch it one-handed before shaking my head. The internal debate wages on. Finally, I grab my bag, and shout down the hall to Kat that I’m ready.

  Kat is tending to one of my plants when I enter the room. She bends to pluck off dead leaves, her perfect ass on display. I take a deep breath not realizing how audible the sound becomes. Pathetic.

  She turns toward me. “It needed some love,” she motions to the plant. I can relate. I feel as if my favorite appendage might wilt and fall off from lack of attention too.

  “You ready?”

  She walks to the kitchen with a handful of dead leaves, and I watch her sashay away only to be even more appreciative at the sight of her coming back toward me. “Need any help?” she motions to the bag.

  I smile. “I’m not a complete invalid.”

  “I know. I didn’t mean to imply…”

  I can’t seem to get my manhood off my mind, and like an ass I feel the need to prove my point. I drop my bag and without a word look at her. In one sweeping motion, I reach my hand to her petite waist and pull her into me, silencing her with another kiss.

  It’s long and slow, meant to last. When I feel her sway slightly off balance, I know that I’ve delivered on my intention. The doctors may have insisted that I have a caregiver for a couple of weeks, but I’m strong enough for certain things. And st
rong enough to know when to stop. I pull my mouth away, but steady her with a hand on each of her arms.

  “I’m feeling better. You sure you’re okay?”

  “Fine,” she says with barely a whisper, her breathing still erratic.

  “We better get going. I’ve got physical therapy.” I pick up my bag once more, find my keys, and open the front door for Kat. She walks out, looking back at me once as if to ensure that this is all real, that I’m real and coming with her. If she only knew there was no place I’d rather be.

  Chapter Four

  Kat

  I woke up thinking of Cole and now, although the day was behind me, he remained on my mind. Even though I couldn’t sleep, I rationalized that there were worst things to think about at night. I could be kept awake with worry over a job or something boring and mundane like my taxes or what color to paint my bathroom. At least I try to tell myself that lie. Technically, this isn’t insomnia since I haven’t fallen asleep and then reawakened. I assume that would be worse because it would mean Cole had completely invaded my subconscious.

  Yet, given my circumstances, it’s hard not to think of him. Ridiculous, in fact. He’s in the very next room, and yet it might as well be another house. I pick up my phone from my bedside table and stare at it, willing it to buzz with a text. The damn device has been irritatingly silent all afternoon since leaving his house.

  With all my might, I pray we are back on track. The thought jars me further awake. If I were a guy, or even a woman secure in making a first move, I would march down the hall, knock on the door… scratch that, I’d open the fucking door… and then he’d invite me into his bed because just the sight of me would be irresistible. Instead, I’m acting like a complete whack job and if Cole were to lay eyes on me at this moment, he would probably Uber himself right back to the hospital for proper care.