MAGPIE (7 page)

MAGS: So fucking good

DANIEL: Yes it was and so are you

MAGS: It’s only 9 and I could fall asleep

DANIEL: Then do and dream of me

MAGS: Mmmm

DANIEL: You make me crazy, Mags

MAGS: You make me crazier

DANIEL: If I were there, I’d kiss your pussy goodnite

MAGS: I’d lick your cock goodnite

DANIEL: Uh oh

MAGS: ?

DANIEL: Ready for round 2?

MAGS: Oh yeah

A good stretch was in order to avoid post-coitus stiffness, a condition that had crept up after turning forty-five or so. Letting out a deep sigh, I pulled the lightweight duvet just beneath my chin and closed my eyes. I was drained, in a very good way, and couldn’t move a muscle. As parched as I was, I couldn’t muster the strength to reach for my water. Lying on my back, listening to the hum of the ceiling fan, I smiled thinking about what just happened. Sexting had become my new favorite hobby and I was elated at the promise of one sizzling, sexy summer.

BOOK 2

Summer

CHAPTER 4

Summer’s Solstice

M
ay flew by like a scene from a fast-moving train, leaving me physically and emotionally depleted. One night in early June, I watched a decent adaptation of one of my favorite books—
Eat Pray Love
. Elizabeth Gilbert made suffering seem so…all the rage. That’s Hollywood, I thought, and made a promise to myself to avoid any more drama. As the credits scrolled, I dedicated the next few weeks to finding renewal and serenity.

I’d slept in and, feeling pangs of guilt, I pulled myself out of bed and headed to the kitchen. Giving a sideways glance as I passed the hall mirror, I shrugged at my reflection: Lightweight flannel robe (mint green striped), jersey pajamas (lavender polka-dot print), and worn brown-fleece slippers that doubled as snuggle bunnies for Cody when I wasn’t home.

“No drama in that scene,” I muttered with Cody at my heels.

“Morning, buddy boy. How ’bout some yummy breakfast?” I placed a dollop of Greek yogurt on top of Cody’s kibble because sometimes, like anyone, he needs a treat.

Pouring a steaming cup, I settled at the breakfast bar. I started leafing through a stack of papers that seemed unimportant, then paused at a familiar scrap.

Scanning it, I wondered where my head was when I wrote it. What the hell did I mean by “House?” I added a few question marks in red and moved on. What was I smoking when I wrote “New car?” I put a line through that one, scratched out “Vacation!” and underlined “Grandkids;” time spent with them
is
my vacation, and I couldn’t wait to plan their trip to Colorado. Skipping over “New man?” had more to do with superstition than shrewdness. After all, I might jinx the possibility of a man coming into my life, “or snatch,” I sarcastically said out loud.

Nodding to myself, I approved the changes,

Personal

House???

Grandkids

Vacation!

New car?

New man? Yeah, right…

I moved on to the other, less interesting column. Funny, the “asshole” boss had since moved on to greener pastures and a bigger asshole had taken his place, a woman with a strained face that twitched at the corners of her mouth. I scratched out that line and wrote “TBD.” I scrolled down and stopped at “New job—start looking?” My new boss was difficult, to put it mildly, but she wasn’t a reason to leave. Honestly, I couldn’t remember what led me to think about looking for a new job…could have been hormones. I scratched that one out with intention.

I took a look at my work before accepting the revisions,

Professional

Asshole boss –TBD

New project – ugh!

Staff reorg

Raise??

New job – start looking

It was time to move on to more exciting plans so, filling the monster green mug for round two, I grabbed my laptop. Logging on to my Frontier Airlines account, I realized I had enough miles for a free fare. Giddy, I began booking two round-trip tickets. Frontier is one of the most kid-friendly airlines I’d worked with, primarily because children over five can travel unaccompanied. I’d been flying the twins out since they’d reached that age. I clicked on “find flights” and plugged in a route from San Diego to Denver. I selected July 1 as the departure and July 15 as their return. Two full weeks with Timmy and Lisbeth was hardly enough, but it suited my work schedule and Carrie’s anxiety level, which rose exponentially after the fourteen-day mark. I didn’t blame her and was grateful she trusted me.

Smiling, I confirmed the purchase then hollered, “Okay, kiddos, Nana’s house, here you come.”

Thrilled it was Saturday, I indulged in a third cup of coffee. I’d had a particularly difficult week with my new boss settling in; most of my team wasn’t entirely convinced they liked her and, though I had similar reservations, I couldn’t let them show. Consequently, not a whole lot of work got done, which frustrated the hell out of me.

I rinsed my green mug and left it in the sink; I’d get to it and all my other chores later. I thought about fixing oatmeal but decided otherwise. There was a really good breakfast place in the shopping center a few blocks away, so I threw on my cargo shorts and a t-shirt, along with my beefy sandals that I often hiked in. I topped off my casual look with Jack’s old ball cap, something I’d kept around as a reminder, now a part of my weekend wardrobe. I coated my face with sunscreen, opting to leave my legs alone. I needed a little color and it was still fairly early in the day, a sunburn was unlikely.

“See ya, buddy. Be home in a bit,” I said to Cody as I walked out the side door. I’d gotten in the habit of using the side door; it felt safer, don’t know why. I tucked my phone in the pocket of my shorts just as it buzzed with a text. I hadn’t talked to Daniel in a couple of days and hoped it was him,

Today, 9:13 AM

BRETT: Hey

MAGS: Hey

Mr. Cocky Jock. It had been a few weeks since I’d run into Brett at Home Depot. I’d texted him a few days after. Polishing off a second glass of wine, I said it was nice running into him. Didn’t even occur to me that I’d just given him my number.

Duh…

BRETT: Been awhile

MAGS: A while since what?

BRETT: Home depot!

MAGS: Oh, ya

BRETT: Is this a good time to call

MAGS: On my way to breakfast

BRETT: Just want to see if u r up for a few brewskies tonite

Brewskies? A last-minute date? Don’t think so, Brett,

MAGS: Tonight? prob not

BRETT: I know it’s a same-day thing

MAGS: Ya

BRETT: Do u have plans?

MAGS: Kinda

BRETT: Doesn’t sound fun, meet me

I reflected on the few dates I’d had over the last few months. I’d approached them so reluctantly but then ended up having a good time. Maybe a few beers with Brett could turn into a fun night. Oh hell…

MAGS: Where and when?

BRETT: Varsity grille

MAGS: Near DU?

BRETT: Yes, know it?

MAGS: Drive by it every day, seems young

BRETT: We are!

MAGS: Ha

BRETT: 8?

MAGS: Ok

BRETT: Ok

Holy shit, I just got asked out by Cocky Jock via text not even twelve hours before game time! I reached the breakfast joint just as I put my phone back in my pocket. I was seated at the community table and served a glass of water by my favorite waiter who quickly brought me a cup of coffee.

“Thanks, Carlos,” I said inattentively as I contemplated what to wear on my beer date.

Just then, my phone buzzed,

Today, 9:34 AM

DANIEL: Morning, sexy

MAGS: Hardly morning for you LOL

DANIEL: Hoping you’d still be in bed, naked

MAGS: Sitting in a public place, drinking coffee

DANIEL: Public huh

MAGS: Yeah

DANIEL: Pussy getting wet?

I’d concluded several weeks into our fling that my vagina was linked by way of radio frequency to Daniel’s phone number—whenever he called or texted, my panties instantly became dripping wet. Enjoying the steamy banter, I continued,

MAGS: Yeah

DANIEL: My cocks hard for you, baby

MAGS: Danny, I can’t

DANIEL: Sure you can, be creative, I can wait

Strangely, Daniel’s text made me think of Jack. Sex with him was glorious. Early on, our lovemaking was exhilarating; every-day worries rarely entered our passionate realm. On occasion, it was frenzied, chased by ever-increasing life stresses. Mostly, though, our sex life was relaxed and fun. After decades of marriage, our bedroom had become a sanctuary, balanced between emotional intimacy and physical pleasure.

Sex with Daniel was different. Putting aside our obvious differences, our sexual expression was raw and untethered. My body reacted almost angrily to Daniel’s urgings. Over time, I became ravenous for him.

One night, not too long ago, he called. It was late for me, which meant
really
late for him. I answered groggily, “Hi, baby.”

“Wanna play?” Daniel’s voice, like velvet, always managed to make me take a deep breath.

“Always.”

Our words had become few, but extremely to the point. I stripped off my pajamas and, two hours later, I’d cum three times and Daniel twice. Our pillow talk between orgasms was light and sexy, nothing too deep. I appreciated the levity of our relationship.

I texted back, sneaking sideways glances hoping no one could see the color intensifying in my face,

MAGS: Thinking bout your cock, getting so wet

DANIEL: Sit on me, baby, ride me, your tits in my face

MAGS: My clit rubbing against your shaft your balls

DANIEL: Your pussy juice drenching my cock

MAGS: Fuck I’m gunna cum, hang on

I was startled by how fast I’d become aroused and close to orgasm. Again, I glanced from side to side, hoping the patrons at the community table were too engrossed in conversation or their newspapers to notice my shallow breathing. I’d never climaxed without some form of manipulation. Still, here I was, fantasizing about this mysterious man, ready to explode.

I put my phone down, closed my eyes, and took in several sharp breaths. I quick burst of sensation between my legs came and went in mere seconds. I opened my eyes and sucked in a deep breath this time. No one, it appeared, had a clue. Picking up my phone, I texted,

MAGS: You are so fucking bad, but so fucking good

DANIEL: Was it good?

MAGS: Intense, short, amazing

DANIEL: Perfect

MAGS: What bout u?

DANIEL: I’m fine, got some work to do, just wanted to say good morning

MAGS: OMG, forget good, you are pure bad!

DANIEL: I get badder…

MAGS: Gotta eat now

DANIEL: Mmmm

MAGS: Bye

DANIEL: Ta-ta

I ordered two eggs, over medium, crisp bacon, sliced tomatoes, and whole grain toast. Normally, I enjoy a steaming bowl of steel-cut oats. That morning though, I splurged. As I waited for my food, I couldn’t stop thinking about what just happened. Was it normal? Do other people do this? Was Tina right?

“Here you go, Maggie,” Carlos said as he dropped off my breakfast feast, and then swiftly moved to take an order from the older couple sitting across from me. I prayed their senses were severely impaired.

Halfway into my breakfast, a thought occurred to me: What about my bikini line? I wasn’t one for a Brazilian wax. I’d survived one once, though it nearly sent me to the ER. I was terrified three layers of tender flesh had been torn in one quick “shrrrpp!” of the cotton strip that had so fully adhered to my pubic hair. The idea that a “landing strip” (or worse, a completely bald pubic triangle) was somehow sexy puzzled me beyond belief. My French heritage left me with tresses best suited for… beavers.

What if Cocky Jock wanted more than a few beers and my marvelous company? What if I did
?

Fumbling with my phone, I Googled, “nearest salon,” and was amazed by the number of salons nearby. Unlike Katie, I didn’t have a regular spot. Every so often, she’d invite me to an afternoon of pampering, never forgetting to smuggle cheap wine in Dad’s old Stanley thermos. There was no time for reminiscing; I clicked on the one with the most generic sounding name, which happened to be the closest.

I scarfed the rest of my food, paid the bill, and headed out the door.

I dialed
It’s Your Time Day Spa and Salon
, and a chipper receptionist answered the phone, “Good morning, this is Andrew. How may I help you?” I had to face the fact that Andrew was ready and willing to make an appointment for the shearing of my bush.

Hesitation in my voice, I said, “Hi, Andrew, I’ve never been to your spa before, but I desperately need to make an appointment for today.”

“What can we do for you exactly, honey?” His dulcet tones, albeit higher in pitch, made me think of Tony, and I drew an unsupported conclusion about Andrew.

Feeling a bit more at ease, I answered, “A few things, actually. I need a mani-pedi and, if at all possible, I mean, if you have the time and a person available to conduct…Wait, not conduct. That’s dumb! I mean I need, well, um…a wax. A bikini wax.” There, I spit it out.

“What’s your name, honey?” He said with a hint of compassion.

“Maggie, do you need my last name?” I had no clue why that would have mattered; I was feeling nervous, and it must have come through loud and clear.

“Okay, Maggie, we have the best esthetician in the beautiful state of Colorado, Rebecca, who happens to have an opening at 1:30 this afternoon. It was a cancelation actually, so this is your lucky day!” Andrew was so pleased with himself; it made me smile and I lighten up, more than a smidgeon.

Chuckling, I said, “Book it, Andrew! Did you include the mani-pedi?”

“Oh, honey, I didn’t forget that part. I want to find the right time slot to make your day with us fantastic. Hmm, let’s see. I can put you with Melissa after
your wax. How does that sound? A 2:00 P.M. manicure with a spa pedicure immediately following.” Andrew clearly loved his job.

“You got a deal, Andrew. And thank you for being so accommodating to this ol’ gal,” I said, much more relaxed than when I first dialed.