The Sex Education of M.E. (9 page)

Dammit
. My phone died. And she had a date. The wanker in a suit was probably heading for her panties after I’d opened the flood gates, and it pissed me off. Tempted to throw my phone in the lake, I accelerated back to Montrose Harbor. I hoped she’d say yes and I’d meet her at the Sheridan Shore Yacht Club, but she had a damn date. She didn't give off the impression she wanted a date. She said she wanted sex, but then again, that’s why she was in O’Malley’s that first night. She thought she was meeting someone.

I didn’t do dates. It was too complicated. I don’t know why I went that night, but there was something about Emme that intrigued me. A boat ride was the perfect excuse to see her again. Also, it would prevent her from running, and we could finish what we had started nights ago. But she had a fucking date.

Returning to Montrose Harbor, I pulled into the boat slip, focusing on the task at hand. I tied the boat to the dock, hosed off the bow, and replaced the canvas covering. Owning this boat and securing this coveted slip had been a dream come true for my brother and me. With the death of our father, years ago, we used the money for something he always wanted: a boat on the lake and a space in Montrose Harbor. It wasn't really my thing, the prestige of being here, but my younger brother, Marshall, wanted the image. It fit his growing need to prove himself as more than a fireman's kid. He didn't want the labor involved with being a civil servant and having a side job in a trade, as many Chicago firemen did. As our father had done, being a plumber.

I swallowed my disappointment and headed for my truck. Marshall had been out of town the past week. His availability was limited. He played the bachelor more than me, and his climb to the top of the financial establishment he worked for prevented him from any formal commitment. The boat was a networking investment he argued when he convinced me to purchase it with him. The thing he was missing in his prestigious ladder-to-the-top was a better apartment, but it served its purpose for him and me. A text from him flashed on my phone, as if he sensed my thoughts of him.

- 
You available?

- 
Heading to Bruno’s.

- 
I’ll meet you there.

Bruno’s was a dive bar off Wilson Avenue. It was a throwback to our firemen connections as many of the men we might find there were from the firehouse nearby, which had been our father’s command post when he was alive. Old friends considered family returned often.

“What’s up, man?” Marshall greeted, handing me a beer before I even sat. My younger brother was my opposite. While my hair shifted to salt and pepper, Marshall’s hair remained a rusty red, from a bottle, with a touch-up every three weeks. It countered his deep blue eyes, and gave him a youthful look. My brother delayed growing into a man, even more than me.

“Just returned from China. My time schedule is so off.” He took a long pull from his beer. His hands looked manicured, so opposite mine which were thick and roughed from work. His lips twisted in concentration, and my eyes narrowed at him.

“What’s going on?” I questioned. My brother was an open book. Marshall ran a hand through those thick reddish locks.

“Bridget wants to get married.”

“Who’s Bridget, again?” I teased. My brother had so many conquests it was hard to keep up. He topped me and keeping straight who was who in his list of weekly arrangements provided good fodder. Bridget McMahon was a name I recognized, however. Dark-haired, wild girl who was the daughter of one of our lifelong family friends. She was from the old neighborhood. An Irish Catholic girl who grew up down the block from our parents’ home.

“She’s the one I got pregnant,” he stated plainly. The bottle coming to my lips froze in mid-air.

“What?”

“She’s pregnant.”

“Is it yours?” I blurted and instantly regretted it. Bridget had been crazy for my brother for years when we were younger. She’d been married and divorced with children, much to her parents’ dismay. Recently, a relationship of sorts rekindled between Marshall and Bridge, her childhood nickname, which gave me the idea to proposition Emme. Marshall and Bridge had an arrangement where a simple phone call was all they needed. The Bat Signal, Marshall joked. It meant
I’m horny; I need assistance
. Despite the teasing of my brother, I questioned the possibility of growing emotions between Marshall and Bridge. They had history, compared to the random pick-ups in bars and hook-ups from MatchMe that I dealt with. Over time, I questioned if the arrangement meant more to him than he let on. A baby changed everything, especially at thirty-five years old. My heart dropped. The pain on my brother’s face proved my words hurt.

“I’m sorry, man. Of course, it’s yours.”

His hand worked faster through his hair. If he kept it up, he’d have more than coloring to worry about; he’d suddenly have hair loss.

“What am I going to do?” His blue eyes questioned mine, and for a moment, he was the little pest following me around when I was a teen.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.”

I shuddered at the thought of a child at my age. Marshall and Bridget weren’t kids. They needed to be responsible adults.

“You want the kid, right?” I stared at him, willing him to answer in affirmation. This wasn’t a joke to me, this was life. He needed to respect that.

“Of course,” he said. “I think… I mean, yes.” He exhaled then inhaled deeply and sat up straighter.

“Then marry her,” I said, as if that resolved the issue.

“I can’t marry her. I’m not the marrying type. I like the freedom to roam,” he quipped.

“Well, you should have thought of that before you tapped it uncovered,” I snipped, raising an eyebrow at his stupidity.

“I wasn’t uncovered. It ripped.”

The noise of Bruno’s filled the silence.

“How the fuck do we get into these messes?” He shook his head before his eyes darted up to me. “I didn’t mean that,” he added.

“Yes, you did.” I smiled weakly. “And it happens because you can’t keep your dick in your pants. And neither could I. Be thankful you aren’t a kid yourself, though.” I tipped my beer at him before taking a long pull to drown out memories I didn’t wish to discuss. Marshall knew all my secrets, anyway.

“I don’t want to grow up,” he pouted, and the little boy image flashed again. I laughed.

“Too bad. At some time, you have to bite the commitment bullet.”

“Oh yeah, and when will you do that?” he chuckled.

“Never gonna happen again,” I smirked.

“I noticed you had someone at the apartment,” he stated, eying me over the lip of his beer.

“How’d you know that?” I barked, thinking back to any evidence after Emme left me.

“The expression on your face just admitted it,” he laughed.

“That…that was nothing,” I lied. “Like I said, never gonna happen.”

“You never bring people to the apartment.” He teased. He was correct. I didn’t, as a rule, bring women there. I went to them, so I could leave, or we used the convenience of wherever we were located.

“I’m not having this conversation. So I brought someone there. Once.”

“You want to bring her again, though?” he questioned, and I hardened my face, hoping to hide any expression of guilt. I did want Emme to return.

“How did this conversation turn to me?”

“We were talking commitment,” he laughed. My eyes narrowed at him. There was no way he could know about Emme. Then I blinked in shock. Her name crossing my mind startled me. She had a date. She walked away. She didn’t want my proposal. I didn’t do commitment, regardless. That’s why I propositioned her.

“Never gonna happen.”

“Wanna bet? Cubs tickets say it’s gonna happen.”

“You’re on. Cubs tickets. I want a nice sunny day game in September. I look forward to the box.”

My brother’s company owned a box that could be reserved for personal events. If I did lose, bleacher seats would be the place I could afford. I didn’t worry about losing.

“You need to call him,” Gia encouraged, waving my phone at me.

“He made himself perfectly clear, Gia. I had a date and that was a signal he wanted nothing more to do with me.”

“That’s not true,” she said, reaching for her glass of wine as we sat on my back deck. The night was warm and the girls were gone again. Gia’s ex had the kids for a few hours, and she took a breather to be an adult, as she liked to call it. She was only in her early thirties but the age difference didn’t matter to either of us. At some point, being a mother halted all barriers of age discrepancy and bound women to each other.

“Explain to me how you know this about Merek. And again, how you got him to show up at O’Malley’s?” My lips twisted as I shook my head. “Look, I know you’re a pro at this dating thing, but I’m not so ancient I can’t read a sign.”

“Can you just trust me on this? You have to proposition the man, nowadays. Just text him. If he doesn’t respond, I promise, I’ll stop hounding and go back to MatchMe. You have like thirty requests.”

“I do?” My eyes shot wide. It was obvious Rod was interested, he’d asked me out again. But I couldn’t imagine who else would want to date me. Then I remembered the site was full of predators and those looking for cougars (older women who craved younger men) and those with MILF obsessions (younger men looking for mother types).

“Yes, you do. Emme, how many times do I have to tell you, you’re a beautiful woman. You have a great personality. You’re funny. Don’t let whatever it is that keeps you down, keep you down.”

Gia knew Nate wasn’t always forthcoming with compliments or affection. The lack of attention over twenty years proved a subtle assault on my self-esteem. I couldn’t imagine who would be interested in a forty-something with two kids and a mortgage.

“You know what?” I reached for my phone in Gia’s hand. “I’ll text him just to prove he isn’t going to respond.”

- I want a ride.

“There.” I showed Gia the message. “He isn’t going to…” Aimed toward Gia, the phone pinged with a response. She choked on her wine. Flipping the phone to face me, I read the reply.

- I’d love to drive you.

Oh, my God
, I mouthed to Gia. Her eyes danced as she waved for me to respond.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“You say, Now. Yes, now.” Her eyes started fluttering. “Oh, yeah, now. Right there…”

“Okay, I got it.” I laughed, raising my hand to stop further description. My fingers shook as I typed three simple letters.
N.O.W.

The following text was the address of the apartment where we previously went.

To say I was nervous was an understatement.
Was I taking the risk of a lifetime?
In the grand scheme of life, no.
A risk with my body?
In many ways, yes, but I tingled all over at the thought.
A risk with my heart?
My head overruled.