Page 39 of Riding the Edge

Chapter Eleven

Dinner was amazing, and I don’t just mean the food. While everything was delicious, it was the company I enjoyed most. Al was attentive and like he promised he would, he gave me his undivided attention which compelled me to give more of myself than I had given any other man.

“I feel like this whole evening has been about me,” I say as we walk hand in hand along the streets of Downtown Brooklyn. After he paid the bill, he suggested we walk a few blocks down to Junior’s for a slice of cheesecake and cappuccino. By the time we reached our destination, neither of us had much of an appetite for anything other than each other and so, we continued walking aimlessly, holding hands like two teenagers and not the experienced adults we both claimed to be.

Pulling me closer to his side, he glances at me.

“I’m not understanding the problem,” he says.

Coming to a pause, I step in front of him and tip my head back to stare into his eyes.

“I want to know about you too, Al,” I tell him, splaying a hand against his chest. “How’d you get here?”

“Still trying to figure that out,” he replies, reaching out to touch my cheek. Turning into his touch, I close my eyes for the briefest moment before pulling it away from my face.

Spotting a bench, I use both hands to pull him towards it. We take a seat and he drapes an arm over the back of the bench as our thighs brush. After he revealed he was taking a break from the club, I had questions. However, it was obvious he was struggling with that bit of information and didn’t want to share more. Respecting that, I decided to focus on the other aspects of his life.

“I told you about my marriage, why don’t you tell me about all of yours,” I suggest.

“Lady, if we go down that road we’ll be sitting on this bench until the sun comes up,” he mutters as his hand falls onto my shoulder, drawing circles against my skin with his fingers.

“Patty and you seem to get along well,” I prod.

“I get along with all three of my ex-wives now that we’re divorced,” he admits. “I guess at the end of the day, I just wasn’t husband material.”

He squeezes my shoulder, forcing my eyes to him.

“What about you? You said you swore off marriage but judging by what that creep Lenny was saying last night, you didn’t swear of men.”

“Are you asking me how many men I’ve been with or are you asking about me and Lenny?”

“I’ll take whatever you feel like giving.”

“After Carmine left, I didn’t so much as glance at another man for years. I was so busy with the kids that I never got a chance to process what came next for me. There would be days I missed having a man, but I realized you can also miss something without wanting it back. When I finally decided to put myself out there and date, I had already given up on happy endings, therefore, I never gave any man much of a chance.”

“But you gave Lenny a shot,” he points out.

“Lenny was a thing of convenience that wound up being another mistake,” I admit.

It sounds better than telling him I woke up one day and decided I wanted to remember what it felt like to be touched by a man, to wake up and not be alone.

“Any other Lenny’s?” he asks.

“I’m forty-eight years old, Al. There were a few Lenny’s.”

“And now?”

Placing my hand on his denim cover thigh, I turn my head and meet his narrowed eyes.

“Now, I’m sitting on a bench with you.”

His gaze darts to my mouth and like a magnet, I’m drawn to him, slowly inching closer. Sliding a finger under my tank top, he toys with the thin strap of my bra, sliding it down. My breath hitches as he continues to stroke my shoulder gently. The soft touch drives me crazy and heightens my senses. Suddenly, I find myself trying to make sense of my attraction towards him and why I’m silently willing him to put his mouth on me. Squeezing my shoulder, he pulls me closer and bends his head, touching his forehead to mine.

“Like your scent, Lady,” he murmurs. “Like it a fuck of a lot,” he growls. His beard brushes across my skin and before I can stop it a moan slips past my lips. “Want more of it.”

“Al,” I rasp.

“Right here,” he says, pushing his free hand through my hair. Holding the back of my head steady, he stares at me. “Tell me what you want.”

---