MILF: Wrong Kind of Love Page 3

  That is where our similarities end, however. Adam is fair-skinned, with blue eyes and sandy-colored, long, curly hair that he wears in an unruly fro of sorts. I, on the other hand, have straight, black-brown hair that I style in messy spikes pointing every which way, with matching dark eyes. My mom tells me my sperm donor was Italian, which would explain the natural tan I sport year-round, and why I darken so quickly in the summer.

  Once we’re both pleased with our appearance, I open the top drawer of my dresser and pull out two flasks I filled with a bottle of Fireball earlier this morning before Adam arrived. I hand him one and tuck the other inside the inner pocket of my jacket.

  “This should help out this evening,” I remark with a sly smile.

  Adam mimics my motion, hiding the liquor away, and then grins at me. “I always knew you’d be the best brother.”

  From the time we leave the house until the reception begins, I feel like the clock is moving exceptionally slow. Boring doesn’t even begin to describe the church ceremony; at one point, I think the pastor guy even yawns. While they’re reading some mumbo-jumbo from the Bible, I find myself wondering what God really thinks about this union of adulterers. I mean, I haven’t been to Sunday School in about ten years, but the last time I checked, fucking around on your wife or sleeping with someone else’s husband is frowned upon by the big man upstairs.

  Toward the end of the drawn out service, I start to get paranoid God is going to strike the building with lightning or something similar to punish them, as well as the rest of us here taking part in this unholy union. The minute the damn thing is over, I fly from my pew like my ass is on fire, thankful to make it out alive.

  The reception is held at The Georgia Club, an exclusive country club on the outskirts of Athens, and although I thought the two separate limos were a bit much earlier in the day, I’m now quite appreciative of the fact I can begin drinking during the half-hour drive out to the location. Adam evidently has the same train of thought, because as soon as the door closes behind us, he’s digging into his coat pocket and pulling out the cinnamon-flavored whiskey.

  “Cheers, dude,” I say flatly as I lean my head back and pour the warm liquor down the back of my throat.

  “Cheers,” he replies and does the same.

  Neither of us talk much for the rest of the trip. We’ve both got our phones out; I’m replying to the fifteen messages Jess has sent this afternoon, and it looks like he’s messing around with his music library. Though, as the car pulls to a stop in front of the massive red-brick building adorned with luxurious white columns and tiny twinkling lights, we both groan and take another swig from the flasks before climbing out of the limo.

  Nearly three hours later, I’m so fucking tired of smiling, shaking hands with people I don’t give a damn about, and pretending I’m having a good time, I think I’m about to throw up. Or maybe it’s because of the belly full of beer, whiskey, champagne, and wine. Who knows? Either way, I need to get the hell out of here, but the limos aren’t scheduled to return to pick us up until midnight, which is still over an hour and a half away.

  After rescuing Adam from a pack of old ladies, I grab one last glass of wine for both of us so we can discuss our options. “I’m ready to go, man. I can’t take this shit any longer,” I complain.

  “You and me both, but where are we going and how are we getting there? Neither of us has a car.”

  I look at my phone like it’s going to have some magical answer waiting for me on the screen. “I’m sure Jess would come get us if I called her,” I propose, even though I really don’t feel like putting up with her and her whining tonight.

  A flash of panic crosses over Adam’s face, but it quickly disappears as he drinks the entire glass in one gulp. Shaking his head, he wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Nah, man, I’m not up for playing third wheel tonight. You go ahead though; I’ll just hang here until the limos come back.”

  “She’s got a pretty hot little roommate, dude. I’m sure you could work your way into her bed way easily,” I suggest, unsure of why I’m even trying to sell him on this idea when it’s not where I want to go either. I simply can’t think of another alternative.

  “No, really, I’m good,” he argues.

  “Yeah, I’m kinda not feeling it either. I really just feel like passing out,” I admit, “but I can’t think of where else we could go.”

  “You want to crash at my mom’s? I know my dad and Celeste are going to be at your house tonight, because they leave tomorrow for their honeymoon, and my mom loves you. She won’t mind.”

  I finish my drink, not taking long at all to consider his offer, and nod affirmatively. “Sounds like a plan. If I’m really sweet, maybe I can talk her into making those banana pancakes in the morning.”

  He laughs hard while he pulls out his phone. “I’m calling a cab now. And did you know she only makes those for you, dude? Never just for me.”

  Smiling smugly, I set my empty glass down, and we begin to walk toward the front, without bothering to say goodbye to anyone. “Of course she does. I’m her favorite.”

  EVER SINCE MARK LEFT LAST YEAR, sleep and I have broken up as well. I’ve tried damn near everything to keep her close—counting sheep, noise machines, sleeping pills, even hypnotherapy—but nothing works. She officially hates me.

  If I’m lucky, I get four or five hours straight, but most of the time, it’s a couple of two to three hour stretches a night. So it’s no surprise to me now, as I lie awake in the dead of night, with the clock reading three-fifteen, I’m unable to fall back asleep.

  Crawling out of bed, wearing only a tank top and a pair of tiny pajama shorts, I slide my feet into my fluffy slippers and pad down the stairs to make some coffee. If I’m up, I might as well be alert and functioning, as I often do my best brainstorming and creative work in the wee hours of the morning. I flip the power switch on the Jura Pro 10, the Rolex of coffeemakers and my most valued possession, prior to snagging the cream and sugar.

  Once my caramel vanilla cream coffee is mixed just perfectly and everything is put away, I spin around on my heel to go and hole myself up in my art room for the rest of the morning, only to find a man—a very large, shirtless man—shuffling into the kitchen, rubbing his groggy eyes. Scaring the shit out of me, the mug slips from my hands and shatters on the floor, splashing the scalding hot liquid all over the travertine tile, as well as my legs and feet.

  “Oh shit! Are you okay?!” As soon as I hear the deep voice, I immediately realize the stranger is Grayson, Adam’s longtime best friend. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Sullivan. I didn’t know you were down here. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m so very sorry. Are you okay?”

  Rushing around the kitchen island and over to me as he apologizes repeatedly, he squats down next to where I’m picking up the broken pieces of ceramic and begins to help.

  “It’s okay, Gray. I know you didn’t mean to, sweetie. I just didn’t realize anyone else was home,” I assure him, lifting my focus from the floor up to smile at him.

  Familiar chocolate brown eyes full of concern meet mine and then drop down to my legs. “Look,” he motions his hand toward my feet, “it’s all over you too. Sit down so I can help clean you up.”

  “I said I’m fine. I’ll go wash myself off after I get the mess on the floor.”

  “Ms. Sullivan, you most likely have burns on your legs, and possibly cuts too. Please, let me take a look; the floor can wait,” he urges, tapping on my knee.

  I’m not really quite sure why, perhaps it’s the early morning hour or lack of caffeine in my blood stream, but I sit down, the floor cool on the backs of my legs, and extend my legs out in front of me, even as I say, “I really think I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

  Standing up, he snags a dish towel off the counter and runs it under the cold water at the sink before kneeling back down next to me and swiping the terry cloth up and down the lower part of my legs and around my feet. As he double-checks it’s all been cleaned
off of my exposed skin, I find myself studying him, noticing how different he looks since the last time I saw him.

  Maybe it’s just that his currently disheveled, thick black hair has grown out considerably since he’s been in Spain. No, that can’t be it. Maybe it’s his chiseled jawline, which is covered in a couple days’ worth of dark stubble. As my gaze drops lower to his bare chest, I can’t help but notice he has broader shoulders than I remembered, and holy hell, look at those abs. I thought those only existed courtesy of photoshop and airbrushes. Barcelona must have some great gyms, and apparently Gray spent his fair share of time in them. But even that’s not it. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but he just looks so much…older.

  Even though he was a year ahead of Adam in school, I never really thought of Gray as being older. He stayed home to go to UGA, so even while Adam was in his senior year at Clarke Central High School, Gray was still around quite a bit. Sure, I was aware Gray was a good-looking kid—he and Adam both have always been handsome and popular, and there has never been a shortage of giggling girls hanging around them—but now…now something has changed. I’m not sure if it’s because I haven’t seen him in nearly a year, or if being on his own in a foreign country forced him to mature quickly, but my kid’s best friend is now, most definitely, a man.

  He clears his throat, ripping me from my borderline-impure thoughts, and my guilty eyes snap up to meet his. Smirking, almost as if he can read my mind, he lightly squeezes my calf, and a heated flush of embarrassment spreads rapidly across my chest, up my neck, and into my cheeks like a raging forest fire out of control.

  “No cuts, and though the burns don’t look too bad, you may want to put a little cream on them,” he says with a light chuckle, glancing back down at my leg. “And I’m really digging the glittery blue toenail polish.”

  Jerking my foot from his grasp, I scramble back to my feet. “I—uh, I let the girl talk me into something different. I’m not sure…uh, sure what I was thinking really,” I stammer, still ashamed over my earlier thoughts.

  “I was just teasing you,” he replies as he stands up next to me, grinning widely. “You don’t need to get embarrassed. You’ve got cute toes.”

  Did he just say I have cute toes? Oh Lord, I need to regain control of this conversation again. Fast.

  “I’m glad you appreciate my Smurfette piggies, Gray,” I joke, trying to redirect my train of thought and lighten the conversation. Grabbing a plastic bag and the disinfecting wipes, I finish cleaning up the broken cup and coffee splattered about. “What are you doing down here anyway? Shouldn’t you be sleeping until noon, like most young people do in the summer?” That’s right, Mia. He may look like a man, but he’s a young person, and you aren’t.

  He shrugs, grabs two fresh mugs from the wooden cabinet, and fills them both about three-quarters full as I throw away the mess. “Typically, yes, but I’m still not back on Georgia time yet. My body can’t figure out if it’s day or night, whether it should be awake or asleep.”

  At the mention of his body, my eyes instinctively drop to his very bare, very muscular torso and arms, and I feel a tightening sensation in my belly.

  “How do you take your coffee, Ms. Sullivan?” His gravelly voice rips me from my apparent gawking. Again.

  I lift my eyes back up to his, which are dancing with amusement, and the embarrassment I felt a few minutes ago morphs into full-fledged mortification. My son’s friend just caught me checking him out like I’m a disgusting, desperate pervert. What in the hell is wrong with me?

  “Your coffee?” he asks again, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Do you like cream and sugar in it?”

  With a faint nod, I mumble a ‘yeah’, wishing I could escape back up to my room and hide in my bed until I’m sure he’s gone. However, I’m afraid that would make this entire situation even more awkward than it’s already become. I really need to get a hold of myself.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I pull myself together and do what every dignified adult in my situation would do—I pretend the last ten minutes never happened.

  I push my shoulders back and raise my chin as I walk over to the pantry and grab the sugar and powdered creamer, and then set it down next to the two freshly poured cups. “So how was your trip? Adam said you got in a couple of days ago.”

  “It was incredible—the people, the food, the history…all of it. Immersing myself in another culture like that was so eye-opening.” He stirs the accompaniments into both before sliding one of the mugs across the marble countertop in front of me. “I can’t wait to go back.”

  “Sounds like you had a blast. I’d love to travel to Europe someday.” I blow across the steam rising from my cup before taking a sip, unable to contain the tiny moan of delight as both the smell and taste of the sweet coffee engulfs my senses.

  “You definitely should,” he says matter-of-factly. I can feel his heavy stare on me, and against my better judgment, I peer over at him, careful to keep my gaze above his neck.

  “Especially now that you’ve got nothing holding you back, Ms. Sullivan.”

  Reality slams down around me with the reference to my recently single status along with the asshole’s last name. I’ve officially hit an all-time low as I stand in my kitchen thinking marginally indecent thoughts about a kid nearly half my age, imagining he’s actually flirting with me. It’s time to end this conversation. Now.

  “Yeah, I guess I don’t.” Forcing a tight-lipped smile, I turn to leave the kitchen, still mentally berating myself for acting like a pathetic idiot. “I’m going to paint for a while. Make yourself at home, Gray,” I call out over my shoulder before disappearing into my safe haven.

  Thank fuck she left, because I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hide this massive hard-on I’m sporting behind the counter. Adam told me his mom had started working out, but I wasn’t prepared for her to look like that. Ms. Sullivan had always been a pretty woman, and sure, I may have had a fantasy or two about her when I was a teenager with hormones raging out of control, but now—she’s fucking gorgeous!

  Grabbing my coffee, I make my way up the stairs, careful not to spill any, and head straight into the bathroom. My boxer briefs and pajama pants—well, Adam’s pajama pants—fall to the floor in the blink of an eye, and within moments, I’m standing under the hot shower with my fingers wrapped firmly around my dick.

  Visions of my hands rubbing up and down her smooth, toned legs sticking out of those miniscule shorts play on repeat behind my closed lids as I stroke my steeled shaft. I imagine how those muscular thighs would feel wrapped around my waist, how her perky little tits would fit perfectly in my palms, and how her soft lips—both sets—would taste on my tongue.

  Fuck me.

  With the powerful spray beating down on my head, I brace myself with my free arm against the tiled shower wall as the speed of my hand steadily increases. My release comes hard and fast. The sound of her sexy little moan echoing in my ears is the trigger that sends me over the edge. And it’s not until I’ve completely drained my cock dry that the realization of what I just did sets in…

  I forgot to ask her for banana pancakes.

  After a couple of hours of channel surfing in the guest bedroom, not wanting to disturb either Ms. Sullivan or Adam, I end up falling back asleep and not waking up until nearly one o’clock in the afternoon. Adam’s room is empty, so I help myself to a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt, seeing as though all I have with me is the suit from the wedding, and then hurry downstairs to see what he’s up to.

  Just as I hit the bottom step, the front door flies open and Ms. Sullivan bounces inside, carrying a duffel bag and several plastic bags of takeout food, Chinese by the smell of it.

  “Hey, Gray.” She smiles warmly. “Are you just waking up again? I picked up some lunch for you boys on my way home.”

  “Yeah, I must’ve dozed back off watching TV. Here, let me help you with those,” I say as I take the sacks of food from her hands and carry them into the kitchen.


  “I noticed.” She snickers, following close behind me. “I came upstairs to ask if you two were hungry before I left, and y’all were both passed out, so I just picked up some Golden Sun on my way home from the gym.”

  “Awesome. It smells great.”

  I set the food down on the counter, then turn around to go find where Adam is, except I catch a glimpse of her standing at the sink, rinsing out her water bottle. Dressed in a pair of black spandex workout pants that hug her firm ass just perfectly and a hot pink and black sports bra that shows off her flat stomach, my dick twitches as the fantasy I jacked off to a few hours ago returns with full steam.

  “Hey, Mom. How was your workout?” Adam’s voice fills the room as he saunters in from the living room, deflating my swelling cock instantly.

  She spins around, her face lit up at the sight of her son, and hugs him tightly. “It was awesome. I spent some extra time on cardio today to make up for the cookies I baked last night.”

  “Cookies?”

  She grins and nods, pulling away from his embrace and grabbing a container from the counter. “You two,” she glances over at me and then back to him, “are more than welcome to eat them all. My thighs and butt don’t need any more than I’ve already had.”

  Oh, your thighs and butt are doing just fine.

  Adam looks in my direction and tips his head. “Oh, hey, man. I didn’t realize you were up. You sleep okay?”

  For the second time in just a matter of hours, I position myself behind the kitchen island, attempting to hide any remnant of a chub that may be visible, and begin to empty the bags. “I was up and down, but hopefully my body will acclimate to the time change soon,” I answer with a lighthearted smile, then try to change the subject. “Check out this spread your mom got for us. It looks delicious, and I’m starving.”

  Opening the various containers of entrees and rice, I try to focus all of my attention on the food and forget about these crazy images of my best friend’s mom’s ass bent over in front of me infiltrating my thoughts. I really need to stop by Jess’ later and get laid; something’s got to be wrong with me.