“We should talk about this later...when Olive isn’t in the car,” Charlotte says, looking back at Olive with a smile.
No kidding. Not sure why she even broached the issue with Olive still in the car. What the hell is she thinking? I pull in to the school parking lot and park the truck. “I’ll just be a minute,” I tell Charlotte.
I grab Olive from her booster seat and jog, hand-in-hand with her, into the school, handing her off to the administrator who is eyeballing me warily. “Good morning, Olive,” she says, returning Olive’s smile, then glancing at her watch, before peering at me with raised brows. “Good morning, Mr. Cole.”
“Good morning,” I say, returning her greeting, while also feeling like a five-year-old in trouble as I lean down to give Olive a kiss on the head. “Take the bus home, I’ll be waiting for you at the bus stop, okay?” I add, as I sign her in to school.
“Okay,” she sings. “Have fun with Charlotte today.” She giggles and plops down on the plastic blue chair behind us.
“Yes, Mr. Cole, do have fun with Charlotte today,” the administrator says, crossing her arms over her large chest. Her glasses slip down the bridge of her nose and she squints one eye. “These children greatly depend on their education. It’s important to make sure Olive’s here on time in the morning.”Really?I have never made her late before.Cut me some slack, will ya, old lady.
Feeling like I’m doing the parental walk-of-shame down the empty hall, I make my way back to the truck eagerly, with a need for an explanation of Charlotte’s accusations.
I hop back into the truck where Charlotte is patiently waiting, scrolling through her messages on her phone. “You’re late for work,” I tell her, “but I want to talk if you have time.”
“Yeah, we need to talk,” she says, placing her phone down on her lap. “How about we start with the letters....and the woman in the garden.”Oh shit.Olive...my little blabbermouth. Now I’m beginning to understand where Charlotte’s anger is coming from.
A groaning noise rumbles in the back of my throat, a habit I have when I can’t think of a proper response. I scratch at my head for a minute as I sink back into the driver’s seat. “Those letters have been a secret for a very long time, and not just from you, but from my entire family, as well. It’s something between Ellie and me, I guess. There really isn’t any other explanation for me hiding it, other than it’s just something I’ve chosen to keep private.”
“A woman is writing letters to you every week or so. I can’t help but wonder if there was something more going on.”
“No,” I say. “I don’t even know her. They’re just letters and it’s not something I wanted to share with anyone, I guess.”
“I should have just asked you last night instead of assuming the worst,” she says, fingering a loose thread on the tear in her jeans.
Only a slight tinge of guilt finds me when I think about the way I was looking at Ari in the gardens, but I might not have looked at her that way if I wasn’t angry at Charlotte for what I assumed she did with AJ. “Should I remind you of the secret you kept from me about AJ?” I end my question with a cunning grin, trying to call a truce to the argument.
“Fair enough,” she says, releasing a relieving sigh.
“I’m not seeing anyone else, or sleeping with anyone else for that matter,” I confirm.
“And I probably never would have come to that conclusion if Olive hadn’t told me about your rendezvous with a ‘Disney Princess,’” she air quotes, “at the gardens.”
This one is a little tougher to explain since I don’t know much about Ari other than the fact that we share a common interest in a place we both visit.Olive has dug me a nice little hole here.
“There is a woman who I ran into a couple times at the gardens when I was visiting Ellie. She seemed like she was going through something and I chatted with her for a few minutes. I don’t know much about her.” I feel like I’m on the defense, trying to justify my actions when in reality, I haven’t done anything wrong besides notice an attractive woman. It’s not a crime—even happily married men do that.
“I understand,” Charlotte says. “I do. But I’m sure you can understand my sudden concern, or questions, rather.”
“I do. If this all bothers you, I understand, but there are certain things I need to remain constant in my life, for my own sanity—like the letters, and I can’t bend on that. I don’t want to tell you that you have to be okay with it, but this is just the baggage that comes along with me.”
“I get that. And I still want this,” she says, placing her hand over mine. “I got angry last night because I really, really want this. You. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page and I second guessed that.”
I look over at her, turning my hand over and squeezing her fingers. “I want this too.”
She unhinges her seatbelt and drops her phone into the cup holder. I don’t know how she’s managing to maneuver herself the way she is, but she’s climbing over the middle console, resting one knee on each side of me. Before I have a second to interject, her lips are on mine. Her hands are slipping up the front of my shirt, and shit, we’re still sitting in the middle of the school parking lot. I pull away. “Are you out of your mind?” I laugh. “We could probably get put away for like, pedophilia or something, for making out here.”
She laughs and removes her hand from the inside of my shirt. Burying her head into my shoulder she mutters, “Crap, you’re right. How fast can you get home?”
“Fast enough,” I say.
We’re halfway home when her hand crawls up my leg. “Charlotte, I’m going to get us killed if you keep going.” She doesn’t stop, though. Her hand continues up until she reaches my cock. With a gentle squeeze, she slowly starts moving her hand back and forth over my suddenly insane hardness. I’m going to bust through my goddamn pants in a minute.Guess it’s not dead.
By the time we peel into her driveway, I feel like my pitched tent is seconds from blowing away. She runs ahead of me, unlocking her door and pushing her way inside. Her shirt is off before I even cross the threshold.Christ, those things cannot be real. Her pants go next and then she’s standing before me in a black thong and a black lacy bra that leaves nothing to the imagination. I lift her up and her legs tangle around my body as I carry her up the stairs and into her bedroom—a room I have yet to step foot into since I’ve known her. I place her down onto the bed and pull my shirt off as she works on my belt, my fly, my button. Pants are gone. Boxers are gone. Her bra is now gone and her panties are hanging off the corner of the bedpost.
I climb onto her bed, hovering over her, leaning down and taking one of her dusty-rose colored nipples between my teeth. It’s all it takes for her to start moaning and for my need to grow more intense. My hand travels down the length of her body, reaching between her legs where I’m pleasantly welcomed with wetness. I guess foreplay isn’t needed by the feel of her readiness, but I’m not done exploring. I slip two fingers inside of her, feeling her tighten around me, making my poor not-so-dead cock jealous. Her moans grow louder as her movements become greater. Without wanting her to finish before me, I pull my fingers out, giving her the freedom to reach over and pull out a condom from her nightstand.
After unrolling it over my throbbing hardness, she wraps her fingers around me and guides me into her. My thoughts go blurry; becoming lost within the sensations my body is gratefully experiencing. I close my eyes and thrust into her, finding that she likes it hard and rough according to her shouting words. I pin her arms above her head as I ride her like I realize I’ve wanted to for quite a while. Her legs tighten around me—everything tightens around me as she screams louder than I’ve ever imagined a chick yelling. Her tremors tell me she’s finished, but I think she knows I’m not there yet.
