Page 8 of Mom-Com
I proceeded to bobble the can of lube like an inexperienced scientist when my gaze met hers for the first time. Her blond hair was a gorgeous tumble of beach-y curls, longer than most women wore their hair these days. And the curves didn’t stop there. I tried to keep my eyes on hers, but the lure of her generous breasts, tight waist, and flared hips were too much for my self-control. I did a quick scan—enough to tell me I was talking to one of the most attractive females I’d ever encountered—and then I gritted my teeth and forced my gaze to stay on hers.
She walked toward me, those hips shifting and swaying, taunting me. But then a smile split her face and I was entranced. Those lips were made to grin like that: wide, open, genuine.
When she was on the other side of my bike, close enough to touch, close enough to smell her flowery perfume, I forgot all about my experiment. Forgot completely that observing my subject and cataloguing all her features wasn’t a necessary part of testing my hypothesis. Because at that moment, it felt most definitely necessary. Maybe even imperative.
“Hello. I’m Lily-Marie.”
Her throaty voice washed over me, swirling with her perfume in teasing my senses. I reached out my right hand automatically, expecting a quick handshake as was customary when meeting someone for the first time. She glanced down at my hand, then back up at me, her smile slipping. A moment of awkward silence hung there before I also looked down and saw that I had a greasy can of lubricant in my hand. The hand that was outstretched, almost sullying Lily-Marie’s blouse.
“Oh! Sorry.” I quickly dropped the can, but jumped again when the impact of the can hitting the ground shot a stream of lube into the air, narrowly missing Lily-Marie’s boots.
I wasn’t a man to blush, but I felt the heat anyway, the burn of embarrassment creeping its way up my spine. I wasn’t one for crude innuendo, but nobody could have missed that obvious enactment. She finally slipped her hand into mine and gave it a firm shake.
“Wow, that was a narrow miss.” She laughed and I tried to follow suit. “So, Lance, what are you doing out here?”
My lips pinched together. “Who’s Lance?”
The smile was back, lighting up the conversation when it most badly needed it. “You, silly. Lance Armstrong? Famous bike rider?” When I still looked perplexed, she spelled it out for me. “You haven’t told me your name.”
Ah! She was telling a joke. I got it. I totally got it.“Good one!” I laughed again, amazing even myself when it came out sounding like one of my father’s wheezy guffaws. “It’s Jameson. Jameson MacMillan.” Great, now I sounded like James Bond.
“Nice to meet you, Jameson.” She was gracious enough to ignore all my ridiculous ramblings and fluid spraying. “Looks like you ride quite a bit, huh?”
Time to get this conversation back on the rails. I was competent enough to have a normal conversation, I was sure of it. And I had an experiment to complete. “Why yes. I ride all the time. I find it helps keep me in shape and there’s nothing quite like staying physically fit, you know?”
Her eyebrows rose up on her forehead. “Oh, for sure. I feel the same way.” She lifted her arm and flexed her bicep muscle, none of which I could see because of the little white sweater she was wearing over her blouse.
“You, uh, lived here long?” I had to keep her talking. I wanted her to feel comfortable around me, not only for my experiment, but because we were now neighbors.
Her hand spun the wheel of my bike absentmindedly. Somewhere in my chest there was an odd tugging sensation. I liked her touching my things.
“Yep, I’ve lived in this house almost my whole life. It was my parents’ house and they gave it to me when they moved to Arizona to retire about seven years ago. Now I’m raising my kids here.” Her eyes went soft and I noticed their slate blue color.
“Wow, that’s pretty amazing. Most people move more often than that around here. My son, Stein, and I moved in last weekend so I could start a new job. Before that, though, we’ve lived a couple other places already.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I guess it is a bit weird to still be in the same house, but I love it. Lots of history.” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “So, a new job, huh? What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a science professor at Pacific Coast College. You?” I shifted jerkily and my cleats scraped across the cement.Damn shoes.
Lily-Marie crossed her arms across her chest. “I work as an executive assistant at Disney.”
That got my attention. “That’s pretty cool. My son would love to hear that. He had a year or two where he was obsessed withCars. Now he’s too cool for any of that, but...” I shrugged.
“I hear you. My son, Clark, is eight. Said he met your son at school this week. He and my daughter, Mildred, are with their father this weekend, but we’ll swing by and formally introduce ourselves soon.”
I nodded. “That would be good.” I could continue my experiment. “I’d love to help Stein make friends. Might also help ease the guilt of moving my kid to a new school.”
She tapped the wheel of my bike. “Okay, well, have a nice ride. I’ll, ah, see you soon.”
I nodded again. “Yeah, sounds good. Have a good day.”
Jesus Christ, how many times could I offer a lukewarm “good” in my sentence? “Good” was like the carrot shreds in a salad. It was simply there, but had no purpose. No one actually wanted to eat carrot in their salad. No one said “you know what’s missing in this salad? What would really take the taste up a notch? Carrot shreds!” I wanted to be a deep-fried habanero pepper on top of her salad, not a limp shred of carrot to be pushed aside and forgotten.
She gave one last broad smile and then spun around and walked back to her house. When she got to the porch, she spun back around and caught me staring at her, trying to figure out how to be a different vegetable.
“Can I ask you for a favor?”
All thoughts of salads and word choices fled, leaving behind a renewed sense of confidence.
