Page 46 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

She’s standing beside an ancient mower that’s at least fifty percent rust. She gives me a tight smile, then grabs the pull cord and gets herself in position. I shouldn’t be turned on by this woman bent over a lawn mower, but here we are. I’ve reverted to a baser version of myself, and all it took was a few tastes of her.

I watch her tug the cord—and stumble back when the string snaps in two. She gives out a cute little yelp and falls on her butt in the grass while Danny cackles like the evil child he is.

Maybe I’m a little bit evil, because a grin curls my lips too.

Audrey glares at the two of us, then swings those grass-green eyes to the mower. She stands up and kicks it, then huffs. With her hands on her hips, she faces me and Danny. “Either of you know a good lawn-mower repairman?”

“Not sure that hunk of rust is worth repairing,” I admit, “but I can mow your lawn for you.”

“Do you have any more brownies?” Danny asks hopefully.

Audrey’s shoulders drop. Her eyes sparkle as they meet mine, then swing to Danny. “No,” she says, “but I made falafels for dinner. There’s more than enough for the three of us; I just have to fry them up, but I was going to mow the lawn first.”

“What’s falafel?” Danny asks, uncertain. He frowns at me, then at Audrey. “Is it going to be gross?”

She grins. “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

“I’ll grab my mower,” I say, then ruffle Danny’s hair.

A little while later, after I’ve taken care of her lawn, I find Danny and Audrey in her kitchen. Danny’s sitting at her oval dining room table with a plate of fantastic-looking food. My stomach growls.

“Here,” Audrey says, sliding a plate across the counter toward me. “The falafels are homemade, but the tabbouleh and hummus are store-bought. I have still and sparkling water, or I could open a bottle of wine.”

The food looks incredible. I take the plate and thank Audrey, then accept the glass of wine she pours. She fixes her own plate and glass of wine, then joins Danny and me at the table.

“What do you think?” she asks my nephew, who has hummus smeared on the side of his lips.

He nods vigorously, tearing his eyes away from a piece of floral artwork Audrey has hanging on the kitchen wall. He looks at Audrey and swallows. “I like falafel.”

Audrey grins. “Good.” Her gaze lifts to mine, and her smile softens into something gentler. “Thank you for mowing my lawn, Remy. It looks great.”

“You need a new mower,” I tell her.

“I’ll add it to the list.” Her voice is wry when she adds, “Alternatively, I could make you dinner in exchange for you mowing it for me on the regular.”

I laugh. “I might be interested in taking that deal.”

This woman could convince me to walk over hot coals for her with a few bats of her eyelashes. And as we share a meal together, listening to Danny talk about his day at camp, some tight knot that has existed in my heart for years begins to unwind.

I like this, I realize. I like the ease of it. I like watching Danny steal covert glances at Audrey. I like watching her move around the kitchen. She thanks my nephew when he puts his dish in the dishwasher, then pulls open the freezer to show him the ice cream sandwiches she has stashed there. If I could bottle the delight on Danny’s face when he grabs one, I’d be a very rich man.

When dinner is done, we say goodbye to Audrey and I tell Danny to get ready for bed. While he’s brushing his teeth, I stand in the kitchen and look around, wondering if it always felt this empty.

SIXTEEN

AUDREY

After a weekend spent cackling with Laurel and stealing glances over the backyard fence, Monday rolls around. I have one month to enjoy this fling before it fizzles out. The week is busy, but instead of draining me, it fills me with energy. The company schedule is packed, with three kitchen jobs and one closet/bedroom reorganization. I dash from job to job, checking on my teams, making sure everything is up to standard.

In between, I text Remy. I think about Remy. I race home when he tells me he’s on his way.

We have sex every single day at lunchtime. He turns me inside out. I find myself itching for the moment his arms will wrap around me, wanting to feel the abrasiveness of his beard against my inner thigh. I love the darkness in his eyes when he enters me, the growl in his voice when he says my name.

I don’t remember ever being this horny in my life. Instead of sating me, every orgasm seems to stoke the flames inside me. Every day, I want him a little bit more.

On Thursday, I pick my van up from Remy’s garage. When I walk in, he’s got his torso under another vehicle, and I take a moment to admire his strong legs. There’s something serious wrong when legs clad in grease-covered overalls are turning me on.

He slides out and sees me. His lips curl into a smile. “Hey, you.”

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