Isn't It Time (6 page)

“Because you still had your eye on that other guy?”

“Yes, of course.  I didn’t need his drunk ass sitting there
and cramping my style,” she said with a laugh.  “So, I tried my best to ignore
him, without being rude, and he looks at me and says, ‘God, you’re cute.’”

I grinned at that, because my dad sometimes still said that
to my mom.

“I politely thanked him for the compliment,” my mom went on.
“And then very pointedly turned my head away.  Any normal person would have
seen that I wasn’t interested and moved along.  But not your father.  About
every two minutes, he would repeat that.  ‘God, you’re cute.  God, you’re
cute.’  It was so irritating and I wanted him to knock it off so badly, that I
started to make small talk with him – just to see if he was actually capable of
saying anything else.”

“Obviously, he was,” I remarked.

“Not really.  All I managed to get out of him was the details
of what he had done that day and why he was so drunk.  He tried to tell me that
he didn’t usually drink so much, but I didn’t believe him.  I had him pegged as
a loser.  Eventually, I just excused myself and got up from the couch and went
to get another beer.”

“And he followed you,” I guessed.

“Nope.  I think he finally got the message and, thankfully,
he left with his friends shortly after that.”

Now I was confused.  “If you didn’t hook up that night, then
when did you actually get together?”

“Ah,” my mother said.  “That’s where fate stepped in.  About
a month later, your Uncle Tim, who had just graduated from college that year,
rented a house with two other guys.  He had a bit of a thing for my best friend
at the time, so he invited us both to a party he was having at the new house. 
We went, of course – and who do you think one of his roommates was?”

“Dad!” I replied, although I’m pretty sure her question was
rhetorical.

“Yep.  And sober as a judge.  I was surprised he even
remembered me, but he did.  When we were introduced, he said, ‘I know you – the
cute girl.’  I kind of rolled my eyes, I think, and then he apologized to me
for being, in his words, drunk and stupid, that night.  I found out he was
actually very nice and I enjoyed talking to him.”

“So then you hooked up?”

“No,” she said and laughed.

“Sheesh, Mom.  Why don’t you just get to the part where you
did
hook up?” 

“Okay, okay.  Long story short – I saw him quite a few times
after that because of him living with Uncle Tim and I eventually came to
realize that he wasn’t the loser I thought he was.  He was very sweet and he
could really make me laugh.  And he never pointed out that I was goofy, even
when I was.  He thought it was
cute
.”

I smiled at that because my mom could absolutely be goofy.  But
in a very charming way.

“When he finally got around to asking me out, about two
months later, I jumped on it.  And the rest, as they say, is history.”

“The things you don’t know,” I mused.  A thought popped into
my head. “I have one question.”

“What’s that?”

“That guy you were eyeing at that first party – did you
manage to get his attention?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said with a very self-satisfied smile.  “I
got his attention.  As I recall, there was some heavy making out later that
night and then I found out he had a girlfriend, so that was the end of that.”

She winked at me while we laughed and then wrapped it up.
“And the point of this story is that I almost threw away the right one for
someone who was totally wrong.  So pay close attention to who’s around you.”

I opened my mouth to question her about what exactly she
meant by that when we heard the front door open and my father called out, “I’m
home, Katie.”

“We’re in the kitchen, Mike,” she called back.

My dad strolled in the kitchen, headed over to me and, kissed
the top of my head. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

“Hey, Dad,” I replied with a smile.

He walked over to my mom, bent down and kissed her, too.
“Hey, gorgeous.”

My dad always kissed my mother hello and goodbye.  Always. 
And when it was “goodbye” it was followed up with an “I love you.”  He had told
me he did that in case something happened to him when they were apart - he
wanted to make sure those were the last words he ever said to her. I always
thought that was so romantic and hoped I would be lucky enough to find a man
who loved me that much.

“How are your teeth?” my mom asked him.

“Clean enough to eat off of,” he said with a grin.

Did I mention my dad was kind of goofy, too?

My mom smiled and shook her head and Dad went to the
refrigerator for a bottle of water then sat down at the table with us.

“So what’s new with you, kid?” he asked me.

Before I could open my mouth, my mother jumped in.  “Angie
and Jimmy broke up.  Definitely and for good.”

My dad looked at my mom and then at me.  “Good news,” he said. 
“I thought you’d never get rid of that idiot.”

“He broke up with her,” my mom supplied helpfully.

“You have got to be shitting me!” Dad said, swinging his
head back in my direction.

“I shit you not,” I responded, then brought him up to speed.
“It’s over and done with, I’m not upset about it, and Mom and I already had the
conversation about how I could do so much better, so you don’t have to bother.”

“Okay, good. Very good,” he said.  “I’ll just say I couldn’t
be happier to hear this and leave it at that.  So what else is new?”

“Jack promoted me yesterday,” I informed them both.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Mom squealed.  Then she paused for a
moment, frowned and looked baffled.  “Wait.  Promoted you to what, exactly?  Is
Frank retiring?”

I gave them the highlights of my recent conversations with
Jack, leaving out both the kiss (of course) and the embezzlement issue.  I also
didn’t mention Nate, although I had originally planned to.  Instead I decided
to wait and see where it was going, if anywhere, before I shared that
information.

We talked a little longer about the job, my parents both
agreeing that being Jack’s personal assistant would probably make me happier in
the long run than the work I was currently doing.

After a bit more small talk, I realized I was feeling like a
big, fat slug. The lasagna was sitting like a lead weight in my stomach and all
I wanted to do was take a nap.

I leaned back in my chair then stretched and groaned.  “I
have to go.  I need to get to the gym before I spend the rest of the day back
in my pajamas.”  As much as I wanted to blow off the gym entirely, I knew it
wasn’t a good habit to get into.

“Yeah, I think I’ll hit the treadmill, myself,” said my
dad.  “This weather has got me feeling a little lazy and I’ve got shit to do
today.”

“Well, you two go on with your healthy selves.  I’m going to
take a nap.”  This from my mom, who despised exercising.

We all laughed and exchanged hugs, then I took off for the
gym.

My trip to the gym had restored some of my flagging energy,
but the trip to the grocery store knocked it right back out of me. By the time
I got home and was done putting away the groceries, I had already decided the
rest of this day was going to be spent in my pajama pants, reading. 

My stomach was giving me not-so-subtle warnings that it
needed to be fed again - and soon. I lingered a bit in front of the
refrigerator until I decided an egg salad sandwich would hit the spot. I put
eight eggs into a pan of water - more than I needed, but enough in case Jack
stopped by - put it on the stove and lit a flame under it.

While I was waiting for the water to boil, I changed into my
favorite lavender pajama pants.  The ones with pictures of bright yellow
handbags all over them.  Yeah, they were ugly in and of themselves, but adding
an oversized black tee shirt and some silver and black striped lounging socks
really completed the look. 

I frowned briefly and cringed when I caught sight of myself
in the mirror. Nothing said “old maid” quite like wearing this get-up on a Saturday
night. It probably wouldn’t be long before I found myself with about ten cats. 
I sighed and returned to the kitchen to check on the status of my water.

Finding it boiling adequately, I turned off the heat, put a
lid on the pan and set my kitchen timer.  With twenty minutes to kill, I picked
up my Kindle and sat down in the living room to get my reading marathon
started.

I was just getting into the good part – the hero and heroine
were
finally
having sex – when I heard my storm door open, a loud trio of
knocks, and then Jack walked in.

“Hey,” I said, setting my Kindle down and standing up to
greet him.  “What’s up?”

“Hey.” He looked me over and frowned. “Isn’t that my
shirt?” 

“Used to be,” I said with a smirk.

He laughed then held up the covered plastic bowl he had in
his hands.  “My mom asked me to bring this to you.”

“Oh. What is it?” 

“Turkey chili.”

“Is it super-extra beany?” 

“Yeah, very beany.  I had some last night; you’ll like it,”
he said, sounding as if he didn’t.

Peggy was a fantastic cook and a nice side benefit of being
friends with Jack.  Especially since she sent her food offerings over quite
often and always made them the way she knew I liked them.  Hence the turkey and
the super-extra beany.

“Excellent.  I’ll have it for dinner tonight.”

The kitchen timer went off just as I took the bowl from him
and Jack’s head whipped around toward the kitchen.

“Are you cooking something?” he asked hopefully.

“Yeah, I’m making an egg salad sandwich.  Do you want one?”

“Yes. I’m starving,” he said.  “If I’d have had a spoon, I
would have eaten your chili on the way over.”

His mother’s care packages didn’t always make it to me, so I
was grateful my chili had been spared. He once turned over a pile of bones and
a lone thigh - all that remained of a plate of fried chicken his mother had
naively entrusted him to deliver. 

“Okay, it’ll just be a few minutes.” I heard the sound of
the television being turned on while I walked toward the kitchen and I smiled
at his predictability.

After stowing the chili in the refrigerator, I had just
finished firing off a thank you text to Peggy when I heard a loud, “Holy shit!”
coming from the living room.

I rushed in to see what was wrong and stopped dead in my
tracks when I saw Jack standing there with my Kindle in his hand. I mentally
groaned, knowing he was reading the sex scene.

He looked up at me with a grin. “Jesus. What are you
reading?”

“None of your business. Now give me that!” I demanded and
made a grab for my book.

Still wearing that annoying grin, he made a half turn away
from me, keeping the book from my grasp, and began reading theatrically.  “
He
licked her lady lips from bottom to top, stopping only to pay special attention
to the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden within her golden blonde curls
.”  

I felt myself turning red from my chest all the way up to my
hairline.  “Give me that!” I repeated - and added a punch to his back for
emphasis.

He ignored the punch, but moved a few steps further away. “
Hidden
within her curls
,” he quoted through his laughter

“Shut up, Jack,” I warned.

“And
sensitive bundle of nerves
?” he choked out. 
“Could that
be
any less sexy?”

“God dammit, Jack!”  An irrational fury overtook me and I
ran the few steps to where he was standing and launched myself onto his back. 
He barely flinched when I put a choke hold on his neck and wrapped my legs
around his waist - he just laughed harder.  “Give me my book!”

I took another stab at getting it out of his hands, but he
held it straight out in front of him, just beyond my reach. 

“And
lady lips
…oh my God.  That’s hilarious.”  He
leaned slightly forward in his laughter, taking me with him.  “What’s the point
of that? Why can’t they just say
vagina
?”

“Because, you ignorant ass - they’re not talking about her
vagina
!”
My voice rose several decibels on that last word and I accentuated it with
another punch, this time to his shoulder.

My screaming the word “vagina” while still attached to his
back like a huge, pissed-off tick was only increasing Jack’s amusement, so with
one more heartfelt slap to the side of his head, I gave up the fight and slid
off of him.

He gained control of his laughter and turned around to see
me giving him the death stare. He ignored it. “What else could lady lips
possibly mean except for vagina?”

“Oh, God,” I groaned, looking down and rubbing the heel of
my hand on my suddenly throbbing forehead.  “Please, I’m begging you.  Stop
saying vagina.”

The amped-up grin on his face belied his next words.  “No,
I’m serious.  If they’re not talking about her vagina, what
are
they talking
about?”

I closed my eyes briefly, prayed for strength, and haughtily
informed him, “If you must know, in that particular instance they were
technically referring to her vulva.”

“Another unsexy word,” he said with a frown. “What’s the
difference?”

“The difference is -” I said, not even believing I was
having a discussion about female anatomy
with Jack
.  “The vagina is on
the
inside
and the vulva is on the
outside
.” 

“Oh.  I didn’t know that.”  He looked like he was thinking
for a moment, which was never a good sign.  “So, if they wanted to encompass
that whole area,” he began, waving his hand in the general direction of my
crotch. “They could have just said
pussy
, right?”

“Oh, my God!” I snapped.  “This conversation is
over
.
And if you want me to make you that sandwich, you won’t say another word.”  I
shot him a warning glare, his pulled-in lips and wide eyes telling me he was
trying desperately not to laugh. 

“Not one more word, Jack!” I repeated, adding a pointing
finger to my command. Grabbing my Kindle (so he couldn’t use it to find more
fodder), I retreated indignantly to the kitchen, the sound of his laughter
ringing out behind me.

I let go of my anger as I was peeling the eggs.  I knew I
was only angry because I was embarrassed – but I also knew Jack was never going
to let me hear the end of this. If he discovered any ammunition that got me
riled up, he didn’t hesitate to fire it.

If only I had been reading one of the hundreds of really
great romances currently residing on my Kindle.  The ones with the smoking hot
sex scenes – so much better than the cheesy one I was currently involved in.

My thoughts drifted to the ill-fated kiss Jack and I had
shared the day before. I had pushed it out of my mind, as it seemed he had, and
there hadn’t been so much as a word about it between us.  We had done it,
decided it didn’t work and moved on.  And that was odd, really.

I started to wonder if I had been too nervous, if he had too
many things on his mind, if it was too
clinical
, for it to be an
accurate test.  I mean, I loved him and I adored kissing; I should have felt
something
. 
I had kissed many men, most far less attractive than Jack, and for whom I had
no feelings whatsoever, yet I had still always managed to get at least a little
turned on.

As I chopped the eggs, I considered whether it was a fear of
losing him that shut down any potential lust. I’d seen too many relationships
that had started off with a bang go south rather quickly once sex was added
into the equation.  It changed everything.  If we pushed our relationship into
a sexual direction and it didn’t work out, I would, without a doubt, lose what
I had with him now. And I cherished that so deeply, right down to my very soul,
that I suppose my subconscious wasn’t willing to let me risk it.

And who was I to argue with my subconscious?

I added mayonnaise to the eggs and let out a soft snort at
the thought of “lady lips.”  It really was stupidly funny – the kind of thing
that would have had me rolling my eyes right out of my head when I read it. 

My mind suddenly displayed a very graphic image of me, lying
arched and naked on my bed, hands overhead, grasping the headboard.  My legs
were hooked over Jack’s shoulders, his hands gripping my hips, and he was
rather hungrily going down on me. 

My internal muscles clenched and released twice in rapid
succession and I was instantly about ten degrees beyond turned on.

Oh my God. Where did that come from
?  I had never had
a sexual thought about Jack.  Never.  But those thoughts were coming at me fast
and furious now - flashes of Jack flipping and rolling me from one interesting
position to the next. 

Feeling myself flushing from my head all the way down to my
curling toes, with an extra dose of heat warming up the center of that range, I
forced myself to put those thoughts on immediate lockdown.   

This was all Jack’s fault. I cursed him for using the word
pussy
– a word I’d never heard him use before in that particular context.  Thinking
about him saying that word was making me see him in a different light. A very sexual
light. One little word, used casually, and my imagination was running wild. 
I’ll admit I’m a sucker for dirty talk.  It’s a weakness that I have never
confessed, but nothing shoots me closer to orgasm faster than having a man’s
rough, turned-on voice whispering deliciously sinful things in my ear while
he’s moving inside me.

Some men tossed a dirty word out here and there, but that’s
not the kind of thing that got me. It was the telling of a story, relaying a
fantasy – and using the filthiest words possible to do it - that pushed my
libido into overdrive.  I didn’t know why, and I didn’t examine it too
closely.  It was just there, and I enjoyed it on the rare occasion I was lucky
enough to get it. 

Jack’s creativity with the standard tall tale made me wonder
if that creativity extended to audio porn. I could almost feel his body pressed
to mine as I imagined him whispering in my ear.

Jesus
.  I had to get off of that train of thought
before I had a mini orgasm in the middle of my kitchen.

Giving myself a mental shake, I cleared my head of all
things sexual before I faced Jack again.  He was very good at reading me and in
this case, I wanted him illiterate.

I popped some bread into the toaster and walked out to the
living room to ask Jack whether or not he wanted his bread toasted - and found
him stretched out on my couch, fast asleep.

A fierce wave of affection rolled over me as I looked at
him.  When he was sleeping, he looked so deceptively innocent and, with his
weekend stubble adorning his face, even more handsome, if that was possible. A
smile spread across my face and I debated whether or not to wake him. He must
be totally wiped out if he was sleeping.  He wasn’t really much of a nap taker.

As I was standing there staring at him, with that inane
smile on my face, his eyes opened and he looked right at me.

“What?” he asked, looking a bit out of it.

“Nothing.  Just wondering if you wanted your bread toasted
or not.”

“Oh.”  He sat up and rubbed his eyes.  “Toasting takes too
long, so not.”

“Okay, then it’s just about ready,” I told him. He picked up
the remote, turned off the television and followed me back to the kitchen.

While I was finishing up the sandwiches (making him two,
because one would never do it for him), he grabbed a pitcher of iced tea out of
the refrigerator, poured a glass for each of us and sat down at his usual place
at the table. I slid his plate and a napkin in front of him, and anticipating
his next question, moved to the cupboard, grabbed some chips and set them on
the table next to him.

He ripped open the bag, helping himself to a couple handfuls
and depositing them on his plate. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I replied, taking my seat across from
him.  We ate in silence for a few minutes, while he scarfed down his first sandwich
and then slowed down a bit to eat some chips.

“So,” he said. “Have you been giving any thought to who our
embezzler might be?”

“Well, actually, I’m finding it hard to imagine anyone at
the office who would do something like that.”

“That’s because you like to believe that everyone is
basically good. And you can always justify any bad behavior as coming from good
intentions.”  He popped another chip in his mouth. “You’re going to have to
learn to be a little more suspicious of people’s motives and behavior.”

He was right about that.  I did believe that there was good
in everyone and you could find it if you looked hard enough.  True, you had to
look harder with some people, but you could always find it.  Even if the only
thing you could come up with was that they meant well or they were good to
their mother.