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“About a year ago,” I lied. I wondered what the hell I was doing, but figured it was too late now. I would tell him the truth later.

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Actually, let’s not get into that,” I said with a polite smile.

“That’s fine,” he smiled back.

Preston was young. He was no doubt a womanizer, but he seemed wholesome as well. From what I could see, through his skin he emitted goodness, and his heart was pure and untainted. To start telling him about the circumstances surrounding Sam’s death, and how everything had gone down seemed wrong. Very wrong. Other than my immediate family, no one knew the details of what happened the night Sam died.

My neighbors and people in my town had an idea. It had been in the newspaper.
Willow Ridge Man Dies in Head-on Collision…the autopsy showed a blood alcohol level of .14…
the article read. But no one knew what had taken place at my home just minutes before. No one knew. No one. And I wanted to keep it that way.

It was strange. Earlier in the evening, sitting at Luke’s kitchen table getting my wounds cleaned was the first time I actually considered telling the story to someone. I had chickened out, though, deciding to wait and see if Luke and I would become friends before I aired my dirty laundry. With Preston, however, divulging this kind of scandalous information was out of the question.

“So no questions about your divorce, except one. Where does your ex-husband live now?”

“He doesn’t live,” I wanted to say, “His body is lying in the ground in a cemetery in the city.”

“Chicago,” I said curtly.

“Fair enough. New subject.”

I smiled, “Sorry. I just want to have fun tonight, not drudge up the past.”

“I understand,” he said, holding up his wine glass, “Cheers.”

“To what?”

“Having fun.”

“Cheers,” I said with a smile that was pure relief.

We took sips of our wines and then Preston said, “So, Isabelle’s adorable.”

“Thanks,” I grinned.

“I totally want to have kids,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’d have a baby in a heartbeat.”

“What’s holding you back?”

“Well, this may come as a shock to you,” he teased, leaning in toward me and lowering his voice, “I don’t want to get married.”

“Haven’t met the right girl?” I joked.

Preston laughed and then said, “I’m not the right guy.”

“You could be if you tried.”

He smiled and replied, “Look, I know what I am. I’m the fun guy. I like being single and not having any responsibilities outside my job. I think I’d be a good dad. It’s the commitment thing that I suck at.”

I smiled at him, “You know something? It’s nice to be with someone who knows himself, who isn’t trying to be someone else, and who isn’t afraid or ashamed to admit it. I respect that.”

“I don’t lie. Everything with me is upfront.” He smiled shyly and added, “Like the kitchen floor.”

“Ahh…the kitchen floor…” I flirted, “Let’s talk about the kitchen floor.”

Preston smiled.

“Have you told many women you’d like to see them naked?” I asked.

“No!”

“Then why me?”

“It was the way you looked at me when I first met you. I sensed a connection right away. It was strange. And very sexy, I might add.” I was sure I was blushing at this point, but I kept listening. “I just knew I could put it out there and you’d be okay with it. Just like you were okay with me kissing you.” He finished in almost a whisper, “which by the way, was really, really amazing.”

Now he was looking right into my eyes. My heart began to pound and my body started to shake. “Yes! The kissing was amazing! Over-the-top!” I wanted to shout, “I WANT MORE!” I felt like I was losing control. I had to get a grip and gain some composure, so I excused myself and sought refuge in the ladies room.

In a stall, I put the toilet seat cover down and sat on it, and with my face buried in my hands, I had a silent argument with myself. One of me told myself to take deep breaths and get through the night without being a total slut and sleeping with a guy on the first date. The other one of me came back with, “Why not? You’re 42 years old. You don’t have to play games. Go for it. He just told you he’s non-committal. What’s the difference?”

My spat was interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening. Now I knew there was another woman in here and since there was only one stall, I had to wrap up the dispute with myself and get back to my date. I stood up and walked out of the stall, and when I saw who was standing there, I gasped. There was Preston, leaning against the counter with a big grin on his face.

“What are you doing?” I asked him, barely able to breathe, let alone speak.

He took my arms and then pushed me up against a wall and began to kiss me hard. Within thirty seconds his hand was up my dress. I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his waist, my body completely consumed and my core focused on nothing but how much I wanted to be as close as possible to this person I barely knew. I could never remember craving someone so much in my entire life.

A few moments later, there was a knock on the door.

“Oh my God!” I whispered.

Preston chuckled and put me down, and then I composed myself by going to sink and washing my hands. “Unlock the door,” I said calmly and casually, clearing my throat and then taking a deep breath in an attempt to stop the pounding still going on in my chest.

When Preston opened the door, an older woman with curly gray hair and a big huge purse stood there with her mouth hanging open.

“I’m sorry,” I said to her, while pulling my lipstick out of my purse, “We just had to straighten something out.”

Preston added, “Yes, we had a misunderstanding and we had to talk about it.” Then he turned to me and asked, “Do you feel okay about this, Baby?”

The woman stood there waiting for my reply.

I was a little taken aback by my date referring to me as “Baby” but I managed to answer, “Yes, honey,” as if Preston was my significant other. “I’m so glad we cleared that up.”

I reapplied my lipstick, both my date and the woman watching me intently. Then I turned to the woman and said, “You know, if you don’t communicate, no one really knows what the other one is thinking.”

The woman’s face suddenly lit up and she changed from being judgmental to being our comrade. I wasn’t surprised by how easily we won her over, though, because like most women, I knew she believed in talking things through.

“You’re so right, dear,” she exclaimed with a smile, “How long have you two been married?”

I was dumbfounded, but the Harvard grad was quick on his feet. “Nine years.” He put his arm around me and added, “Nine years today!”

“That’s wonderful!” she gushed, “Love the lipstick, by the way.”

“Oh, it was a free gift with purchase from Lancome.”

“I’ll have to go get that!”

Preston was trying not to crack up while I bid farewell to our new friend. Awhile later, while a hot and bothered couple sat at the table waiting for our check, our waiter came over and told us the lady wanted to buy us dessert. We gracefully declined her offer and got the hell out of there almost immediately, both knowing exactly what needed to happen next.

What was it about this person who was bringing out every sexual impulse I ever had? It wasn’t just because Preston was strikingly good-looking, although let’s be honest, that did play a huge role. But clearly there was something else, a physical chemistry and a deep, inherent, unexplainable understanding between the two of us from the second we met, that we intensely desired each other.

The car ride back to my place was literally silent the entire time, with Preston using his left hand to drive and his right hand to hold my hand. The fact that we didn’t exchange one word of conversation for the eight minute drive was extremely seductive, almost as if we were using the silence as foreplay to the noise we both knew we’d be making in my bed.

We walked into the house through the kitchen, where my black dress was lifted over my head after no more than two minutes of kissing that was so passionate I could barely breathe. Slowly we made our way up the stairs, items of clothing coming off each of us every couple of steps. Eventually, we landed on my bed.

Then, I proceeded to have, I have to say, hands down, the best sex of my entire life, which was a bit confusing in and of itself, since my divine pleasure was being somewhat invaded with guilt. Wasn’t Sam, my husband, supposed to be the best sex I’d ever had? Wasn’t Sam, love of my life, whose life had been unfairly cut short supposed to have rocked my world way more than Preston?

It was unfair. Unjust. Here I was, having an out of the ballpark, amazing romp. And Sam, he would never have sex again. He would never have
any
fun again. He would never get to see his daughter grow up. He would miss everything. And I
had
everything. So, while my body was being touched, and while I was experiencing physical bliss I never even knew existed, Sam remained buried in the ground. And it was messing with my head, until the ecstasy of what was going on got so intense, I let it overpower the shame and the guilt trip. Temporarily, anyway.

Hours went by as the two of us made love again and again. “Preston…Preston…” I whispered, as his kisses made their way from my collar bone downward. His name alone was a huge attraction. For some reason, the thought of the nice Jewish girl in bed with Preston Christiansen, (keyword Christian) seemed sacrilegious, which put the fear of God in me and turned me on immensely at the same time.

“Baby…” he whispered back to me.

Baby seemed to be my new name, and each time he addressed me that way I loved it more and more. The Christian faith and his baby whispered things to each other that were so personal and so intimate, it made me realize how little I knew myself. It was as if a stranger was in my bed, saying things and doing things that would have shocked Emma Bloom. Or maybe Emma Bloom had just discovered a part of Emma Bloom who had always been hidden deep within her. And maybe it took a man with magic to find it. Or maybe I just needed sex. I wasn’t sure.

Preston and I laughed and scratched each other’s backs and told each other funny stories. And he asked me about the band-aids on my knees and kissed them over and over again. I merely told Preston that I fell. I loved keeping the secret of meeting Luke to myself.

My gorgeous younger man and I had sex and more sex and more sex. And we cuddled. Yes, I suspected that tonight I was the envy of every woman alive when I realized what a cuddler I was with. He wanted to be held in my arms for hours, even while he slept, and I loved loved loved it!

When the last condom I had in my dresser drawer was gone, Preston and I decided to go to sleep for the night. “Sleep well, Baby,” he whispered to me.

Then I fell asleep, my lover’s perfect biceps wrapped tightly around me, and just as I was dozing off I had the strangest thought. I was sure that the flame, now fully lit between myself and this adorable guy, who most people would call my boy toy, was about to change my life. I couldn’t really put my finger on specifically how, but I was sure something special was going to happen as a result of this person whose body was pressed close against mine and whose soft snores were rhythmically going into my ear. I couldn’t have known at the time how right on my gut instinct really was.

.

Chapter 7

I
’ve always believed that one of the most fun parts about being in a new relationship is talking about it with your best friend, or in my case, my sister. So the next morning, as I sat on the bed in my guest room watching Laura unpack some of her clothes and hang them in the closet, I exploded. Enthusiasm was gushing out of me as I told my completely innocent, sexually inexperienced sister all about my amazing night.

“I can’t believe you almost had sex in
Donatella’s
bathroom,” she said, her tone both disapproving and filled with intrigue.

“Trust me, neither can I.”

“So what’s it like?” she asked me, “Sleeping with someone you barely know.”

“Fun, Laura!” I shouted. Then I stood up on the bed and began jumping. “Fun! Fun! Fun!”

She gave me a look like I was nuts.

“Please don’t judge me,” I said, still jumping.

“I’m trying not to,” she said, “It just seems…”

“What?”

“Don’t you feel even the least bit slutty?” she asked.

I shouted even louder and jumped higher, “Yes! Yes I do!” Then I began laughing, and as much as she tried to hide it, Laura couldn’t help but laugh too. My episode on the bed was interrupted by the ringing of Laura’s cell phone, which was a hilarious shock in and of itself.

“
Touch me in the morning…then just walk away…”
I heard Diana Ross belt out. It took a couple seconds for my mind to register that my sister had changed her ring tone from one of the generic rings that came with her phone to Diana Ross’s 1970 something mega-hit, “Touch Me in the Morning.”

Immediately I burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” she asked me as she walked over to the night stand where her phone was sitting, “I happen to love that song.”