Wet (5 page)

“Paul, I’m just checking in because this is the second meeting in a row you’ve missed.”

“Yeah, sorry Jim . . . it’s just been a really busy week at work.”

Liar.

“Have you talked to that woman you told me about?” I pause fighting with myself as to how to answer. “Have you slept with her Paul?”

“No.” At least I can say that.

“Do you want to?”

“Every motherfucking minute of every day.”

Jim lets out a long sigh.

“This is your test . . . your big test. We all have to face them. You need to stay away from her.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t give me lip service Paul. I mean it.”

“What if I can’t?”

“Remember how you told me how worthless it made you feel when you were out of control? Is it worth it to get that low again?”

I think about Elle’s ass with my hands gripping it and I’m at a loss for words.

“It’s not worth it Paul. You’ve said it before, and you made a promise to God and yourself. You want to find a good woman to marry and have kids. You don’t want to be getting blow jobs in dive bar bathrooms.”

My cock twitches as I picture Elle on her knees. “I don’t?”

“You don’t, Paul. You’ve told me again and again, you want what your parents have. You aren’t going to find it with a girl like her.”

“She’s not what you think.”

“Paul, you need to be at tonight’s meeting or I’m going to have to reconsider being your sponsor. Do you understand how important this is?”

I close my eyes tightly and try to remember my oath. “Yes. I’ll be there tonight.”

The SA meeting that night gets me back on track. I even get my ass up in front of the group to confess how meeting Elle had gotten me off track.

“Off track? Is that a euphemism for admitting that you’re screwing her?” asks George the perv, who gets off on women mud wrestling.

“I’m not screwing her,” I reply.

“But you want to,” Austin says with a nod of understanding. He’s the youngest in our group. He’s still in college and I’m pretty sure before he joined our group his college major was screwing anything that stood still long enough.

“So damn badly,” I say.

“Are you jerking off a lot?” Austin asks.

I lower my head so I don’t have eye contact with Jim when I nod. “Yeah.”

Jim clears his throat. “What did we talk about, Paul.”

“That jerking off all the time only fires up the obsession and that I should avoid thinking about her if at all possible.”

Jim nods. “Unless this is a girl you want to date as a possible future life partner, and you certainly haven’t made her sound like a viable prospect, you need to step away.”

“He’s right,” George states. “Pardon the pun, but it only gets harder the longer it goes on. You remember how messed up I got over that mud-wrestling stripper I thought I wanted to marry.”

Comparing Elle to George’s stripper is just wrong, but I know these guys have my best interest at heart. Besides as beautiful and fun as Elle is, I don’t see a dirty mouthed divorcee looking for hook-ups on Tinder as the mother of my future children. My mom definitely raised me with an old-fashioned attitude about marriage.

I have a moment of clarity and decide I’m going to talk to my father when I’m over for our next family dinner about not handling her yard issues anymore.

Everyone is being unusually civil at our family Thursday night dinner. It’s a surprise since my siblings and I usually revert to our childhood selves and goad each other into stupid arguments. Watching whomever gets pissed and storms away from the table has become a regular source of family entertainment.

“Paddy, pass the green beans,” Ma says to my brother.

“You really should start steaming these, Ma. You could reduce the calorie total by almost 150.”

“But then they’d taste like shit,” I respond.

I may be twenty-nine going on thirty, but my dad still gives me a scowl for my use of foul language at the dinner table like he did when I was a kid. Despite that, he nods in agreement at my assessment.

“What kind of man counts calories?” my sister, Trisha asks while rolling her eyes.

“An accountant,” Ma answers with a warm smile. She always defends my nerdy brother.

“So Paulie, do you think you could take care of another client for me this week? The Andersons contacted us about drip systems again for their vegetable garden.”

“Sure, Dad. I’ll give them a call. Speaking of your clients, I wanted to tell you something about Ms. Jacoby.”

“How is sweet Elle?” Ma asks. “She is always so lovely on the phone and she pays her bills so promptly.”

“Well, she’s fine, but I guess her marriage wasn’t. She’s divorced now.”

Both Ma and Dad’s mouths drop open in unison—to them divorce is like a capital crime.

“What? Why?” Ma asks. Her Irish brogue is thick, and her accent always gets heavier when she’s upset.

“Apparently they were incompatible,” I reply, leaving out the fact that it was specifically in bed that they were incompatible.

“Tsk, tsk. Well, thank heavens they had no wee babes yet. I bet he was a cheater,” Ma says.

“Only a man who had lost his mind would cheat on that darling lass,” says Dad.

“Anywaaay . . . I know your rule about me not working with clients who aren’t married, and she’s Ms. Jacoby now,” I say.

My sister gives me the evil eye like she can see right into my dirty mind but then follows it with a confused look as to why I’m trying to get out of working with her.

For some reason my parents skip over my plea.

“I never understand women who don’t take their husband’s name. I don’t buy that nonsense that it was because she was established with her own business,” my dad says.

“I kept my name,” Trisha says.

“Well if your husband had been a real man he wouldn’t have put up with that.”

“Dad,” I say as I watch Trisha’s face get red, “let’s not get into this again.”

Dad looks down at his plate and stabs the potatoes with his fork.

Everything is silent for a minute while we chew our food until Ma clears her throat.

“So, what do you think, Papa?” She nods over toward Patrick who knows the calorie counts for everything, and can do a balance sheet like a champ, but can’t add one plus one when it comes to women.

Dad looks doubtful as he squints considering what she’s thinking. It’s creepy how he always seems to know what’s on her mind since they usually communicate telepathically or something, but after she winks at him he nods.

“Okay, invite her to dinner next week.”

“What?” I clutch the end of the table so hard the table tips.

“Ma’s matchmaking and doing a hook-up for Patrick again,” Trisha explains.

I’m pretty sure my firefighter sister, the upstanding citizen that she is, doesn’t actually mean ‘hook-up’ but just hearing the term applied to Patrick and Elle fills me with rage.

“What’s this? So I can’t fix her sprinklers but Patrick can date her?”

“Well you guys have opposite problems don’t you?” Trisha says.

“How’s that?”

“You can’t keep it in your pants, and he never seems to get his out of his pants.”

“Trisha McNeill!” Ma yells.

“You know I’m right,” Trisha says leaning back and folding her arms over her chest.

“Paddy’s older so I think a divorcee is okay,” Dad says. “And as for you, Paulie, I’ll handle Elle from now on.”

“Awesome,” I grumble.

I get up from the table, go to the kitchen and come back with a beer. I’ll need more than a beer buzz if sexy Elle gets served up to my clueless brother next week.

Chapter Three

STAND AND DELIVER

“Y
ou aren’t going to believe this.”

My hand tightens over my phone. “Elle?”

“My lawn is orgasming again.”

I feel a blow to my pride. “But everything was so tight when I left.”

“No, that backyard issue is fine. My poor old gardener took out two more heads this week in the front. I swear the man is blind.”

“Old or not, that’s messed up. He should replace them.”

“I tried to get him to do it once and it was a disaster. Ask your dad.”

I’m reminded of dinner with the family last week.

“Speaking of my dad, he told me he wants to handle your account from now on.” I feel bad as soon as the words come out of my mouth.

“What? Why? Did I do something wrong?” She sounds more upset than I expected.

“No, of course you didn’t do anything wrong. Remember how I told you he won’t let me see young unmarried clients because of my issues?”

“He thinks you’ll have sex with me?” She sounds hopeful and it breaks my heart a little.

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t trust me. I mean look at you.”

“You think I’m attractive?”

“How could I not? Even if I were blind, your voice is beautiful.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet. Well, you know how I feel about you.”

I let out a long sigh. “Elle . . .”

“Don’t you want to see me?” she asks with a sad lilt to her voice.

“Of course I do. And you’re making it sound like you still want to have me work on your yard?”

“Yes . . . I do,” she says softly.

“Okay, let me finish up here and then I’ll be on my way.” As I hang up guilt starts crawling up my spine but I do my best to say the hell with it.

When she pulls open the door I sense that something is wrong—something more than our discussion about my dad.
Damn, what is it with this woman?
I want her to give me her real smile, not this half-baked smile.

I nod toward the yard. “You wanna show me where the old guy messed up my work?”

She sighs. “Thanks for coming.”

“I’m your man.”

She looks up at me and blinks repeatedly.

“Your sprinkler man,” I add, correcting myself.

She blushes and steps out the door until she’s standing next to me on the porch. I notice she’s barefoot and wearing no make-up. She looks prettier that way. I like it.

She walks to the middle of the lawn and points to the areas of destruction.

“Damn. Does your gardener have issues? What does he have against sprinklers?”

She smiles. “I know, right?”

“You should fire him.”

“Actually he’s so old he can barely push the lawnmower anymore. I could never fire him. I’d feel terrible.”

I bend down and pick up one of the broken heads.

“Can you fix it?

I wink at her. “Baby, I can fix anything.”

She turns away and I realize her expression has fallen.

“You okay?”

She nods. “I’m going to get some coffee. You want some?”

“I’m good.”

I watch her walk away and I can’t shake the feeling that something is really wrong.

When I’m done with the work I let myself in the house and pause in the entryway before walking further in. Everything is in hues of grayed blues and cream. The floors are whitewashed wood, and a quiet beach landscape painting hangs over the couch. It’s sophisticated and more serene that I would expect from saucy Elle.

“Elle,” I call out.

She doesn’t answer and I pause wondering what to do.

Hearing a sniffle, I walk past the living room toward the light-filled den. I spot her curled up in the corner of the couch.

I notice her eyes are red as she brushes a tear away.

Damn it all. I feel so fucking awkward. I pick up the box of tissues on the coffee table and thrust it toward her.

She pulls a tissue out and looks away as she dabs her eyes.

I sit on the edge of the couch. “You want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

We sit silently for a minute. I twist my fingers together and look over at her.

She has a glassy stare, her gaze focused out the window.

“You sure, Elle?” I ask. My voice has an edge. I can’t hide my anxiety.

She nods.

I rub my hands over my knees and slowly stand. “Okay then, I think I’ll take off.” I’ve taken several steps toward the door when she clears her throat.

“I don’t think I’m going to do Tinder anymore.”

I stop and turn around. “What?”

She picks at something on the sofa arm and doesn’t look up. “No more Tinder for me.”

As thrilled as I am to hear it, I’m worried about what happened to lead her to that decision. Judging from her demeanor, it must’ve been bad. I sit back down on the sofa. “Seriously? You’re really done with it?”

She nods. “D-o-n-e, done. Maybe I need a hobby or something instead,” she says with a forlorn expression.

“Hobbies are good,” I agree, my tone encouraging. “I know it’s not really a hobby but I work out a lot and it’s a great stress release.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of something brain numbing like Sudoku or needlepoint.”

“Sorry, but I can’t picture either of those satisfying you. How about tennis? Do you play? I used to, and there are great courts you can pay for by the hour down on Whitsett. Why don’t you come with me and we can just knock the ball around . . . how does that sound?”

She looks so deep in thought that she doesn’t appear to be listening to me. “Maybe I should join your no-sex club.” She nods her head. “ASU or whatever you called it. Would you take me with you?”