Page 67 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

We slip into easy conversation. I ask her about her day, and she tells me things have been great now that she’s delegating a few extra responsibilities to her team. She’s been able to work on her advertisement strategy and has already gotten three inquiries from new clients this week.

“Are you going to do the job at your ex-husband’s house?”

Audrey huffs. “Hell to the no. It was stupid of me to go over there in the first place. I’ve learned my lesson.”

I hadn’t realized I’d tensed up when I asked the question, but her response makes my muscles unknot. “Good,” I say.

A sunny smile is her response, and I fall a little bit harder for her. She takes a sip of cappuccino, giving herself a foam mustache. Her tongue darts out to lick it off, and I realize she’s the cutest, sexiest, most intelligent, funniest, brightest person I’ve ever met. I’m never letting her go.

“I’ve drafted an email to his new wife,” Audrey continues. “I’m going to give them a recommendation for another person to hire. I’m not setting foot in that house again, no matter how much they offer to pay me. It’s bad for my mental health.”

“I’m proud of you.” I stand and pull her out of her chair. With my arms wrapped around her, I kiss my woman until I’m sure she understands what she means to me. Her sighs are as soft as the curves of her body. She tastes like coffee and Audrey. When the kissing becomes too heated for the backyard, she leads me inside and up to her bedroom, and we make love.

I kiss the mole on her left breast. I stroke the softness of her lower belly. I grip her thighs and worship every inch of her. I’ve fallen for this woman hard, and right now, I have only my body to prove it to her. It’s only when she’s chanting my name and twisting her hands into the sheets, her body glistening with sweat, that I give in to the temptation to slake my own needs.

When it’s over, Audrey’s body is draped over mine. She sighs. “I guess we’d better get back to work.”

“No,” I complain, squeezing her closer.

She laughs, letting her fingers trace the edge of my jaw. Her touch is magic to me. Her smile makes my heart sing. “You need to buy a garage, and I need to tell my ex-husband to pound sand. We’ve got big moves to make.”

So, an hour later, I’m sitting in the garage’s office dialing Jeff’s number. His deep, rumbly voice answers on the second ring, and we come to an agreement.

I’m buying his garage—finally. The fear that had kept me from making any big decisions for the past three years is slowly being worn down to nothing, and I know I have Audrey to thank for that. She’s dragged me out of my shell, shown me how good life can be.

And my life won’t be complete without her in it.

The next day, a car I don’t recognize drives into the garage’s lot. I watch a man who looks to be between forty and fifty exit his car. His lip is curled in a slight snarl as he glances around the garage, but his expression clears when he sees me. He strides forward and shakes my hand.

“Terry Scott,” he introduces himself, pumping my fist firmly.

My brows jump. Is this the Terry? “Any relation to Audrey Scott?”

Terry’s eyes narrow for a brief second, then a genial smile graces his lips. “My ex-wife,” he says, then adds in a conspiratorial tone: “Dodged a bullet there.”

The muscles in my back go solid. “Oh?”

“The woman is a psycho. I just tried to hire her to help my wife out with the kitchen. Audrey comes over, acts totally unprofessional, then runs off and emails us that she can’t do the job. She didn’t even give a reason.”

It takes a conscious effort to uncurl the fingers of my hands, which had bunched into fists during Terry’s little speech.

“I’m sure she had her reasons,” I answer, then nod to his car, needing to get my feet onto steadier ground. “What can I do for you?” Besides kick you so hard you fly into orbit.

“It’s been making a weird clunking sound when I accelerate,” he says, striding back toward the vehicle. I briefly consider giving him the Audrey treatment and telling him I don’t want his business, but there’s some sick sense of curiosity that makes me want to keep talking to the man. Instead, I decide I’ll compromise and charge him an asshole fee, then use the extra money to take Audrey out this weekend. She deserves it.

I sweep my hand toward the office. “Let me give you a quote.”

TWENTY-FIVE

AUDREY

A week passes in a flash. After emailing Terry and Caroline that I won’t be able to complete the job at their home, I feel lighter than I have in years. I throw myself into work, and all my downtime is spent with Remy. Even Laurel calls on Sunday to complain that we haven’t had our weekly dinner since last month.

When I tell her I’m busy following her very clear directives, she laughs and gives me a pass.

Almost every dinner is eaten with both Remy and Danny. The times we spend together are full of laughter and light, but every time I go back to my house, alone, I worry that I’ve broken the cardinal rule of flings.

I’ve gotten too attached. But is that a bad thing?

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