Page 7 of Grumpy Girl and Amaryllis

My body rockets to life at the sweet, soft kiss we share. I keep my hands to myself, even though I crave and itch to map her body with my hands. But we’re in public.

Who’s to say one of my students won’t come walking by?

The kiss continues, and I can’t help myself. I wrap my arms around her and pull her in tight. She whimpers, and my body reacts.

Okay, I need to stop before I scare one of my students… or Mari.

I don’t remember a time I’ve gotten so hard from a simple kiss, but then again, I’ve never had a kiss from Mari.

It certainly won’t be the last.

Mari

We getcomfortable on my couch, and I can’t fathom how we got here. I must have been struck by lightning because I invited him back to my house.Wait, my house? Oh, crap, my house!

This isn’t a wise thing to do. He’s my children’s teacher. But I have needs and desires and he’s stoked some burning embers inside of me. A woman always has needs, and mine haven’t been met in a long time. Long before my marriage even ended.

The age gap is another concern—of the million I’m always facing. But right now, I’m a single mother with a younger man. Granted, how much younger… I don’t know. I haven’t had the guts to ask because I don’t want to be disappointed. And part of me doesn’t want him to be disappointed either.

He discusses little things, nothing in-depth, and I watch him talk, loving the feeling I get being with him. He makes me feel seen. And that’s something my ex never did. Just the way he looks at me, his gaze bouncing between my eyes, I’m desired. That’s a heady experience. One I’ve never had before.

Even with those feelings, I make a bargain with myself. If he is under 30, then it has to be a hard no. I’m 36, and it would just be creepy. Sipping the glass of wine I’d poured for us, I nearly choke thinking about it.

I can’t take it anymore, and I rudely disrupt him as he talks.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Croix, but I have to know. How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine,” he says like it’s tattooed on his forehead.

I gulp and back away on the couch. Figures. This is my luck. He’s too young for me.

He follows me and moves closer to me on the couch. His warm hands cup my cheeks, ensuring I don’t stop looking at him.

“I’ve lived a life already, but what’s age but a number, Mari? I’m thirty next month, Christmas Day, actually. I’m not as young as you were imagining.”

I blush. The calculations were going off in my head. “So, you’ll be thirty in less than thirty days?”

His head cocks to the side. “Does age matter to you that much?”

My shoulders slump, and I lean back into the couch cushions. “My ex left me for a twenty-one-year-old.”

The shame of admitting that engulfs me. He said that I was a has been hottie, that I’d outlived my looks. At thirty-six!

“Mari, I’m sorry he did that. You know that no matter what age she was, he was the jerk, right?”

“I do, and don’t get me wrong. You’re great, Croix, but I’m having some weird flashbacks.”

The pain that hit me when I realized my husband saw me as replaceable by someone who was closer to my children’s age than mine is a raw wound.

His hands reach my shoulders, and he turns me back to face him. “Maybe I can help you forget those thoughts.”

His long fingers massage my shoulders and scoop up my neck until they tangle in my bobbed hair. He works them over my scalp, and I sink into his hold. The touch is fantastic. I can’t remember the last time I was intimately touched. Zips and zings ricochet through my body, collecting in one place deep and low inside of me.

I close my eyes and moan at the attention. His breath hits my lips, and his soft lips connect to mine. He gives me a few pecks, then the tip of his tongue traces the seam.

I gasp, and he dives in, rolling his tongue around my mouth, seeking me out. Daring me to come out and play.

Letting the feelings take over, I move closer to him and let my hands roam over his taut body. He is so solid, hard. His large shoulders, ones I can grip onto make me giddy inside.

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