Page 54 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

Laughing, I thank her and hang up the phone. It takes me a while to figure out what to wear over these undergarments, but I settle on a fluttery wrap dress that’s red with small white flowers all over it. It’s summery and flirty, and it keeps the red of my bra from showing through.

The crotchless panties feel strange, but the thought of Remy seeing them convinces me to keep them on.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rings, setting my heart thumping.

Remy stands on my stoop wearing a white button-down paired with navy pants. His beard is trimmed and his hair is styled. When I hug him hello, I inhale the scent of cologne and Remy.

His hands coast down my sides. “You look beautiful,” he tells me, voice low.

Unlike my ex-husband, when Remy gives me that compliment, it warms me from head to toe. I smile, then grab my purse from the console table. “Where to?”

“How do you feel about Italian?”

“I feel good about Italian,” I tell him, smiling.

“Dolce Vita has a great wine list. Our reservation is in fifteen minutes, if you’re ready to go.”

I’m giddy and nervous as I lock my front door. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date. I follow Remy down the path and whistle when I see the Audi parked in front of my house. “Where’s the truck?”

“Jeff told me I couldn’t take a pretty lady out to a nice dinner in a busted-up Chevy,” he says with a grin. “He loaned me one of his.”

“I like Jeff,” I tell him, slipping into the passenger seat. Remy closes the door and circles the car, and I take a deep breath to try to get my heartbeat under control. The car smells of leather until Remy comes in, and then it smells like leather and him.

I’ve seen this man naked. I’ve had sex with him countless times. I shouldn’t be this nervous about having dinner with him.

But as Remy drives to the restaurant, he sets his hand on my thigh, and I realize I’m nervous because this is a new kind of intimacy. Sex is intimate, but it’s also a shield. If I open the door, and then a minute later I find myself being ravaged by this man, I don’t have to think about my feelings at all. I can hide them behind lust and desire, pretending they don’t exist. Then he leaves, and I can tell myself my feelings are exaggerated by the post-orgasmic glow.

Now there will be no hiding. We’ll sit across from each other in a candlelit restaurant, and I’ll have no choice but to let him get to know the real me.

The alternative is telling him to turn the car around and sleeping in my own bed tonight, alone. And that’s no alternative at all.

“I’m not sure this is within the bounds of our fling,” I say as he parks in front of the restaurant, trying to keep my voice light.

Remy shuts off the engine and turns to face me. His eyes are dark in the fading light of the evening, and he reaches over to touch my cheek with the backs of his fingers. His gaze flicks between my eyes, and I sense him trying to read my thoughts. “Do you want me to take you home? Are you uncomfortable with this?”

All of a sudden, tension drains out of me. I smile and lean toward Remy, pressing my lips to his. “No,” I tell him. “Not even a little bit.”

He leads me inside the restaurant, where we’re met by a hostess who smiles and brings us to our table. The light is low and romantic. The tables are covered in thick white tablecloths, with flickering candles in the center of each one. Couples murmur to each other at other tables, and low, delicate music thrums through the space.

I feel special and pretty and cherished. It’s a new feeling, and I like it very much.

Remy orders the wine, a full-bodied Syrah that dances on my tongue and warms my belly. “Not too rich?” he asks, watching my reaction to my first sip.

I arch a brow. “You’re a man of hidden talents, Remy. Mechanic, single dad, sommelier.”

He laughs, a quick slash of white teeth against the shadowed angles of his face. His eyes are dark across the table, full of carnal promise.

I rub my thighs together. The ridiculous panties I’m wearing feel like no barrier at all.

After we’ve ordered, Remy reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. He brushes his thumb over my knuckles, back and forth.

“Thank you for having dinner with me, Audrey,” he says quietly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to take a woman out to a nice meal, but I couldn’t think about anything else today.”

“Me too,” I admit.

“I tried to fill out the business loan paperwork for the garage and had to give up halfway through,” Remy admits with a self-deprecating smile. “I was nervous you’d call me and cancel.”

“I thought about it,” I admit, and before I can stop myself, the truth falls out: “I was worried going out with you tonight would make it that much harder when our fling ends.”

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