PosterBoyForAverage (7 page)

She held the door open and let him squeeze past her. Having
him that close as he entered her house stole her breath. And Aubrey realized
she was very grateful she’d brushed her teeth. The urge to kiss him and erase
that exhausted, haunted look from his face was nearly irresistible.

Somehow she managed to keep her hands to herself.

“I haven’t seen you—” She realized the best way to end that
was
since we nearly had sex in my basement
. So she quickly rerouted her
mouth. “In a few days. Everything okay?”

He put his head in his hands, resting his elbows on her
breakfast bar. Aubrey poured hot water over grounds, slid him a mug and the
sugar bowl. She dug out a spoon and handed that over too. “Mike?” she said when
he didn’t answer.

“Everything is normal is all,” he said with a bitter laugh.
He quickly dumped two teaspoons of raw sugar in his cup and Aubrey followed
suit. When the timer went off, she poured their extra-strong coffee from the
French press.

“Normal must be exhausting,” she said softly. “Because you
look whooped.”

He stirred and waved off her offer of cream. “Chuck’s…” He
sighed and Aubrey felt her stomach drop out. Chuck his youngest. Chuck with cystic
fibrosis. Chuck who she had never considered in this scenario when she let her
poor little feelings get hurt.

Stupid, stupid.
She chewed her lip nervously. “Is he
okay?”

“He will be. He’s starting to be more himself. The
treatments are helping. It just takes time.”

Aubrey sat across from him and put her hand over his. “Is
there anything I can do?”

Mike looked up, surprised, then smiled. The smile made a
world of difference, she thought. Her heart quickened when he smiled.

“No. But the coffee and being nice to me are helping.”

She chuckled. “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?” She stood and
popped two English muffins in her double toaster without even asking if he
wanted one. The man clearly needed to eat. He had hollows in his cheeks.

“Well, for one thing, this does not equal niceness. Angela
and I usually do our fair share of fighting when he’s in the hospital. Too much
stress and suddenly we’re playing the blame game again as to whose fault it is
that we failed our kids and got divorced.”

Aubrey swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. Unsure if
there was anything she
could
say.

Mike went on. “For another thing, you don’t have to be nice
to me. And for another thing, I left in the middle of what was probably going
to be some mind-blowing sex.”

Her heart jumped at his words and she nearly choked on her
coffee. She glanced over her shoulder, not willing to turn and face him so he
could see how much that one sentence had gotten to her.

“There’s time for that,” she said. She cleared her throat
again when his eyebrows went up. When the English muffins popped she jumped a
little.

“Jesus. Maybe too much coffee,” she joked. She plated the
muffins. “Butter?”

He nodded. “Half a stick.”

“Ah, you’re like me,” she said. “Love the butter.”

“It’s no use eating them if they’re not leaking butter,”
Mike said, running his finger up the seam in her countertop. He looked too
serious for her all over again. Aubrey found she wanted to say something—do
something—to soothe him and help. All she could really do was feed him.

She pushed the plate toward him. “Eat. You look like you
could use the calories.”

He ate. She watched him and found herself smiling. Something
about him made her want to make sure he was okay. “Good?”

“Perfect. Eat yours before it gets cold.”

They sat, eating their ridiculously buttered muffins. When
she finished, she wiped her hands and her mouth and tried her best to appear
calm and unflappable. “Is that why…is this why you said we were a bad idea?”

This time Mike covered her hand with his. “Yes. You don’t
need all this. It’s chaos when he’s doing poorly. It shakes everything up
because he has to come first. He does come first. His mother and I don’t agree
on much.” Mike shook his head. “But that we do agree on.”

Her stomach dipped with sadness and Aubrey pulled her hand
back, willing herself not to have hurt feelings again but unable to find a way
to prevent it. “Do you really think I wouldn’t…couldn’t understand that, Mike?”

He looked surprised and then regretful. He let out another
exhausted sigh and rubbed his knuckles to his forehead like he had a headache.
“And here I’ve come in and put my big giant foot into my gargantuan mouth. I
didn’t mean that at all, Aubrey. If anything…” He ran his finger up the back of
her knuckle and Aubrey had to repress a tremble. “If anything, I think you’d
understand it too well. Be too accommodating. Be so okay with it that your life
got sucked up into it too. And that’s not fair.”

She swallowed hard. There was no logical reason that after
just a week’s time she should be about to say what she was about to say. There
was no logical reason not to just nod and let him go on his way with well
wishes for his son. There was no reason other than…her gut instinct when it
came to Mike Sykes.

“What I think is unfair is you not even giving me the
option.”

A look of surprise spread across his handsome features and
then his cell rang.

She didn’t want to sit and stare at him as he took the call
and obviously grew more aggravated by the second. So Aubrey grabbed their
plates and began to clean up breakfast dishes. She also did her best not to
eavesdrop.
Which is difficult when you’re in the same room with a person and
have no other distractions.

“Can you just wait until I—” He sighed. “Look, if the doctor
isn’t sure of letting Chuck go home then—”

And finally, “God damn it, Angela, why are you being so
difficult? This isn’t a contest.”

He got up and left the room and Aubrey realized her hands
were shaking. She wanted to go out and hold his hand or rub his back or
something. Anything. Anything at all would be better than the helpless feeling.

She could practically hear Bradlee in her head though. “You’re
getting attached too fast.”

But was she really? It had been sneaking up on her slow and
steady. How much she liked him, how nice he was, how he seemed like just a good
guy, a good person. And…

His hands were on her shoulders and she jumped. “Sorry,” he
said, leaning close to her neck and talking over her shoulder. “Didn’t mean to
scare you.”

“I guess I drifted off to la-la land,” she laughed. His
hands touching her made her shiver. Her body remembered the pleasure he’d
delivered the last time he touched her and her body wanted more. She wanted
more.

Mike chafed her arms gently. “You cold?”

“No. Just a…a shiver. What’s up?”

“I have to go. See, weren’t we just talking about this? The
doctor isn’t so certain about Chuck leaving, my ex-wife is hell-bent on him
being home so she can take care of him and I’m going down there to try to put
out the fires and make some sense of it.”

Aubrey nodded. “Got it. But Mike—” She turned and somehow
being face-to-face with him, that up close and personal, made the ache in her
chest worse. She wanted to put her hands on his tanned, too-thin cheeks and
kiss him. Tell him she could be patient and understand and she didn’t care
about the chaos.

“Yeah?” His eyes kept darting to her mouth and then her
eyes. Back and forth until she felt dizzy with it.

“Don’t assume I can’t or won’t understand. I’m…I’m a pretty
good person,” she finished, feeling stupid.

He laughed and then did lean in and kiss her. It was a
gentle kiss. A fairytale kiss. “Oh Aubrey, I know you’re a good person. That’s
why I didn’t want you all twisted up in this knot of weirdness.”

“I—”

This time his eyes found the clock and she could see the
anxiety to get to his son increasing. “Okay. We can talk later,” she finished
weakly. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. And thanks for breakfast.”

Before she could answer, he cupped the back of her head in
his large hand, pulled her forward and really kissed her.

She didn’t hear him shut the front door because all she
could hear at that moment was the blood thundering in her ears.

* * * * *

“Too fast, too fast,” Bradlee said. She was sitting
cross-legged on a handmade throw she’d made by sewing bandanas together. They
were both waiting for Laura’s team to finish playing soccer.

“I miss field day. It’s the one thing I miss about school,
actually,” Aubrey said, patting the multicolored squares beneath her legs.

“Don’t change the subject, missy,” Bradlee said. Then she
stuck her fingers in her mouth and wolf-whistled. “Go, Laura, go! Kick
some…um…ball!”

One of the other parents started laughing and Bradlee
snickered.

“Talk about changing the subject,” Aubrey said. “And
deafening me.”

“Sheesh. Don’t be so sensitive.”

“Not sensitive. Deaf,” she said again. “And what do you mean
too fast?”

Aubrey found she couldn’t look at her sister. It was easier
to study the blanket she sat on, the toe of her sandal, the teams out on the
field fighting for control of the soccer ball. “You know you’re not the only
one who—” Aubrey cut herself off. Biting her tongue.
Stupid
.

Too late. She’d gotten Bradlee’s attention and not in a way
she wanted. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me!” Bradlee clamped a strong hand on her arm and
leaned in when she realized she was being too loud. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I
shouldn’t have said that. You know I have a big mouth. Even worse when Timothy
is away. He tempers me.” Bradlee snorted. “He also tells me when to shut the
fuck up.”

“Brad!”

“What? You think I’m the only parent here to say fuck? I
whispered it. Now shut up about my foul language and tell me.”

“You’re not the only one who wants…this.” Aubrey pointed to
the kids playing. “Maybe I want that. One day.”

“And this is the first guy who’s made your pulse race who
you can see that with?” Bradlee looked absolutely stunned. Which made Aubrey
squirm. She should have kept her giant mouth shut.

She bit her lip, considered lying. But something about the
warm sun, the cool air, the kids yelling and the laughter of parents made her
tell the truth. It was the truth serum of life, happiness.

“Not just that. He’s the first man who’s made my pulse race
in a long, long time. So long I can’t remember the last.”

Bradlee was struck mute. That was rare all by itself.
Finally she said, “Wow. So um…go! Run to him!”

“If you start singing Bryan Adams I’m leaving,” Aubrey said.

“You know what I mean, Aub,” Bradlee said. “You only live
once. If that’s how you feel, go for it. Hunt his hunky ass down and pounce.
Get him in your bed, make him happy enough that he’ll never leave.”

Laura got the ball and even as Aubrey shook off the flush
her sister had created with her words, her sister was whooping for her
daughter. Rooting her on. Making some noise.

Aubrey wanted to have something to make some noise over too.

* * * * *

She sat on the porch wrapped in an old flannel shirt that
she’d stolen from her dad years before and drank wine. A few hours after
Laura’s field day had ended, she’d spent hours working on a cover for Checkered
Horse. Of course it had featured Mike. That’s whom Gail had shown the most
interest in.

“Who could blame her?” Aubrey had muttered, positioning him
just so on the cover. Building the rest of the images and the text around him.
Clearly he was the focal point of the cover. Sometimes it was the model,
sometimes it was the title. If they were big enough and had enough readers, the
author’s name often overshadowed everything else. But with Mike, it was all
about him and the way he had of looking right into the camera. Right into a
person.

She’d stared at the image she herself had taken for way too
long. The one from the garden. The one where she could smell the scent of
suntan lotion and sunshine and him.

A low, lusty sigh had slipped out of her and though she was
alone, she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. She was way too tangled up
over a guy she’d just met. A guy who lived next door to her, no less. Which
could be, probably would be—they all knew it—a recipe for disaster.

And she was still telling herself that as she sat on her
porch and rocked on her swing and took birdy sips of wine to make it last as
she pretended not to be waiting for Mike Sykes to come home so she could talk
to him for a moment. Know he was okay, know that his son was faring well.

It was easy to close her eyes and remember their time in the
basement. Him on his knees. Him doing that to her…God, making her come. It had
been perfect and it had been on the verge of moving forward.

“You’ve never even had sex with him,” she mumbled, wrapping
herself in an old quilt she kept on the swing for cool nights. It was a
favorite place for her when the cooler weather came.

At some point she dozed off. She felt herself going but
didn’t worry, given her porch was tucked back from the sidewalk and she was
nearly invisible on the swing covered up. Aubrey figured she’d wake up on her
own or maybe when Mike arrived.

It wasn’t lost on her that she was hoping he’d wake her and
they’d have some kind of…something. Some kind of connection.

A car door did wake her a few hours later and she sat up
stiff from the chill. It was the teenager across the street, Peter or Paul or
something with a P. He’d most likely be grounded for a while given it was…

She glanced at her watch. Two a.m.

“No Mike,” she whispered. “And time to get your pathetic
self inside.”

Her whole body was achy and cold from being curled up in a
tight ball. The temperature had dropped to at least the forties while she
slept.

Getting old, kid…

It occurred to her that Mike might not be home because he’d
worked things out with his wife. But then she realized a more likely
scenario—despite her schoolgirl jealousies—was that Chuck was doing poorly. She
went to bed feeling a bit ashamed and a lot sore. Very, very sore.

Aubrey slept like shit and when the morning came, she
staggered out of bed in search of coffee. She drank the first cup staring out
the window at the place where Mike’s truck was normally parked.