Between us and the past

Vince stirs me awake, his touch gentle yet insistent as he slides his fingers inside me. The sensation is electric, pulling me from sleep into a haze of desire.

“You’re beautiful in the morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

“You say that every time,” I tease, rolling toward him.

“Because it’s always true,” he replies, kissing my neck. “I can’t help myself.”

We make love again and again, our bodies entwined, until we’re both breathless and spent; he releases in me each time.

Afterward, we showered together, the water cascading over us as we lose ourselves in each other once more.

“You make it hard to leave,” he says, running his hands through my damp hair.

“So stay,” I suggest, half-joking.

“I wish I could,” he sighs. “But I promised I’d meet the guys for golf.”

We dry off and dress, then head downstairs. While I start the coffee, Vince gathers the blankets and tosses them into the washer in the laundry room, then clears away the glasses from last night, loading them into the dishwasher.

We prepare our coffees just the way we like, sipping in comfortable silence, sharing quiet conversation as the morning unfolds.

“You seem distracted,” Vince observes, watching me over his mug.

“Just thinking about the day ahead,” I say, shrugging, thinking about the night with him and Randy.

He reaches for my hand. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not really,” I said. “What do you have going on the rest of the week?”

Vince smiles. “I’m heading out for golf with the guys. Tomorrow night I’ve got drinks with some friends. And on Friday, I’ve got a concert.”

“Who’s playing?” I ask.

“Bruno Mars and The Weeknd,” he says.

I tease him, “Aren’t you a little too old for Bruno Mars and The Weeknd?”

He chuckles. “Maybe, but I’m not too old to have a good time. What are you up to the rest of the week?”

“I’ll be working from home, catching up on things, and resting,” I reply.

“Glad you’re taking it easy the rest of the week.”

Vince reassembles the couch, and when he returns, he presses me against the kitchen counter, his hands and lips igniting a fire between us. He takes me from behind, our passion building until we reach climax again and again—five, maybe six times—each release leaving us trembling.

When he pulls out and we redress, he kisses me softly but passionately.

I smile, but there’s a pang in my heart as he heads for the door. “You’re running late again, aren’t you?” I tease, trying to mask my sadness.

He grins, pausing in the doorway. “You know me too well. Hey, would you like to join me at the concert on Friday?”

“Yes, I’ll be there,” I reply, my voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside me.

He kisses me passionately. “I love you so much,” he says before he leaves.

The manipulation on Vince’s side is minor—he’s not being malicious but just going above and beyond to try to persuade me to choose him. He wants to remind me of what we have together. After twenty years of highs and lows, it’s hard not to see through it. He wants me to choose him over Randy. Vince is a wonderful man, and comfortable, but the complexity of our past lingers in the air. Still, I do love him.

As soon as Vince is gone, I toss the blankets into the dryer. My phone rings—it’s Randy.

“Hey, you up for dinner and some salsa dancing tonight?” he asks, his voice warm and inviting.

“Absolutely,” I say, feeling a spark of excitement. “Sounds like fun. What time?”

“Around seven. What are you up to the rest of the day?”

“Straightening up the house, catching up on some work from home, resting, and making sure I hydrate. What about you?”

“I’ve got a few errands to run, then maybe a walk if the weather holds up,” he answers. “Looking forward to tonight.”

“Me too,” I say, hanging up with a smile.

After we get off the phone, I do about two hours of work from home, replying to emails and calling clients. Then I head to the office for about an hour and a half. My staff is happy to see me, but they notice how tired I become the longer I stay. They practically have to push me out the door so I headed home.

Once home, I eat a late lunch, drink water, take care of a few personal emails from the living room, folded the blankets and put them back on the couch and then I went upstairs to take a nap.

Around 5 p.m., my phone rings – it’s Vince.

“Hey, just wanted to check in on you. How are you doing?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“I’m doing okay,” I answer, yawning. “Just a little tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

 “I’m sorry I kept you up,” he said. “ The next time one of us sleeps over at the other’s, I’ll make sure to let you sleep.”

“I was napping when you woke me up,” I admit with a sleepy laugh.

“Oh, sorry about that,” he says, chuckling. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” I reassure him. “It was a good nap. How’s your day going?”

We talk a little more, he talks about his golf game, and caught up, before we get off the phone.

I look at the time—it’s 5:45, and I have about an hour to get ready. After the nap and phone call with Vince, I run downstairs to drink more water, then go back upstairs.

I shower, brush my teeth, do my hair, put in my contacts, put on perfume and unscented lotion, and look for a fun dress. I find it: a black tiered chiffon cocktail dress. I slip into my most comfortable high heels, grab a cute but medium sized purse, and pack my asthma inhaler, lip gloss, wallet, phone and its charger, keys, and roll-up flats … just in case my feet start to hurt.

When I made it downstairs without breaking my neck in the high heels I was wearing, Randy rings the doorbell. He looks gobsmacked; in awe of how I look, his bottom jaw has proverbially hit the floor. I invite him in.

“You look amazing,” he says, shaking his head.

“You look great, too,” I reply, smiling.

He wraps his arms around me and kisses me softly. When he pulls away, he says, “My kids wanted to join us, but I put my foot down and told them it was ‘an adult only date’ and that I’d ask if they can join us a different time.”

“Thank you for telling them they have to wait until it’s okay,” I say.

We head outside and get into the ride share car that he’s reserved for the night and we talk as we’re on our way.  We arrive at the upscale Mexican restaurant about fifteen minutes later. The exterior is elegant and modern, with warm amber lighting illuminating the entrance and a sleek sign above the door. The outdoor patio is softly lit with twinkling string lights and lush greenery, offering a welcoming yet sophisticated atmosphere. After he closes the car door, he leans down and kisses me softly. “Ready, babe?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I said as I shivered in the cool air, regretting to bring a sweater.

“Let’s get you inside,” Randy said. “I don’t want you getting sick under my care.”

Inside the restaurant, the lighting is soft and inviting, with chandeliers casting a golden glow over white tablecloths and dark wood accents, while vibrant Mexican art adorns the walls. The air is filled with the rich aromas of grilled meats, fresh cilantro, and warm corn tortillas, mingling with the scent of sizzling fajitas, tangy lime, and smoky chipotle from the open kitchen. The background is alive with the hum of conversation, laughter, and the clink of glassware, occasionally interrupted by a burst of mariachi music.

We’re shown to a cozy table near a large window. Our server, a friendly woman with a warm smile, greets us and hands us menus.

“Welcome! Tonight, we have a few specials to start. For drinks, our featured cocktail is a Mezcal Paloma—mezcal, fresh grapefruit juice, lime, and a splash of soda. We also have a house Margarita with a touch of mango puree and a hint of chili. For food, the chef is offering a special of beef short rib enchiladas with mole negro and a side of pickled red onions.”

After the server provides the specials, I say, “Thank you for sharing the specials with us. The seafood special sounds great, but both of us are allergic to seafood.”

She replies, “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll make sure to tell the kitchen so there’s no cross-contamination.” Then she asks, “What would you like to drink?”

Randy says, “Two Mezcal Palomas, no salt on the rims, please.”

“Sounds great,” she says. “I’ll go put these in, talk to the kitchen staff, and come back in a few minutes so you can look over the menu.”

Randy replies, “Thank you.”

The server returns again with a mountain of warm chips and four different salsas: classic tomato, fiery habanero, smoky chipotle, and creamy avocado tomatillo and our drinks.

After the server leaves the chips, the salsa and our drinks, Randy and I settle in and look over the menu together.

“What are you thinking for appetizers?” Randy asks, scanning the page.

I study the selection. “The guacamole made tableside sounds amazing, but I’m also tempted by the queso fundido. What about you?”

Randy nods. “I’m leaning toward the queso fundido—I love melted cheese with chorizo. But I’m open to sharing both if you want.”

“That sounds perfect,” I say. “Let’s get both, then. I’m a sucker for good guac.”

He grins. “Me too. Now, what about the main course? I’m torn between the carne asada and the chicken enchiladas suizas.”

I glance back at the menu. “I was thinking about the chicken mole enchiladas, but the pork carnitas tacos are calling my name too. What do you think?”

“Honestly, I’m craving something grilled—I’m going with the carne asada,” Randy decides.

“That sounds great. I’ll going with the pork carnitas tacos.”

Randy smiles. “Perfect. I’m excited to see how everything turns out.”

“We’d like to start with the guacamole made tableside and the queso fundido with chorizo,” I say.

“And for our main course, I’ll have the carne asada, and she’ll have the pork carnitas tacos,” Randy adds.

The server nods and heads off to place our order, leaving us to enjoy our chips and conversation.

As we settle in, Randy smiles and says, “This is nice. I’m glad we’re here together.”

“Me too,” I reply.

We finish our main course, and the server clears our dinner plates. She also brings us fresh Mezcal Palomas and a pitcher of water. We sip our drinks and chat—our appetizer plates were cleared long ago.

As the last plate is taken away, salsa music starts up. Randy leans in and asks, “Want to dance?”
“Of course,” I say with a smile.

We head out to the dance floor, moving together to the rhythm. After a while, we return to the table for a drink and to give my feet a break. Randy asks, “Want to change your shoes?”
“Not yet,” I reply.
He grins and teases, “If you don’t change them, you’re not getting a foot rub later.”
I laugh and shake my head.

The server comes over and asks if we’d like dessert. We say yes, and she leaves us a dessert menu. Randy and I look it over, discussing what to order.
“Churros with chocolate dipping sauce or tres leches cake?” Randy asks.
“Why not both?” I suggest.
He nods and smiles. “Perfect.”

When the server returns, we place our order. Before the desserts arrive, we go back out to dance some more. As we’re dancing, out of the corner of my eye, I think I spot Vic in a chef’s jacket, but I don’t mention it to Randy.

We return to our table, and the server brings our desserts and dessert drinks. We share the churros and tres leches cake, laughing and chatting between bites.

I excuse myself to the bathroom to change my shoes. The bathroom has a simple, opaque shoe bag for changing. I slip into my flats, wash my hands, and return to the table.

After we finish our desserts, the server clears our plates and asks if we’d like anything else.

Randy says, “No, we’re stuffed. We’ll take the bill.”

She replies, “Your check has been taken care of,” and glances over her shoulder.

I look up and see Vic. Randy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. I give the server a generous tip. Vic gives me a small nod of his head and gives Randy a smirk.

Randy and I step outside. He drapes his sports coat over my shoulders to keep me warm while we wait for the car he reserved for the night. A few minutes later, it arrives. Randy helps me in, then gets in the other side.

During the ride, Randy asks, “Who was that guy?”

I reply, “Just an old friend from years ago.”

He pushes, “Really?”

I admit, “He’s an old fuck buddy.”

“How recent?”

I lie, “It’s been awhile.”

Randy gives me a look but drops it.

The rest of the drive is quiet. When we get to my place, Randy helps me out of the car. We thank the driver and head inside. I close and lock the door behind us, then slip my dress off and leave it on the floor as I head to the bathroom. I start the shower, toss my my bra and pantie in the laundry basket in the linen closet, and wait for Randy.

He joins me in the shower, steam rising around us.

“You’re beautiful,” Randy says, pulling me close.

I whisper, “So are you.”

His hands slide over my waist, then down my hips. I reach up to kiss him, our lips meeting under the warm spray.

“I want you,” he murmurs, his voice rough.

“I want you, too,” I say.

He hooks my leg over his hip, presses me against the tile, and pushes inside me. I moan his name, my hands gripping his shoulders.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he says between thrusts.

“I’m yours,” I gasp.

He groans, his hands tightening on me as we both climax together. He releases in me, holding me close as we catch our breath under the water.

After the shower, we dry off—me in an oversized shirt, Randy in sweatpants.

We settle onto my bed. Randy brings up Vic again. “Who was that guy, really?”

I sigh. “He’s someone from my past. I don’t appreciate you asking me the same thing over and over. Drop it.”

Randy asks, “Is this guy competing for your heart?”

“No,” I say. “Let it go. If you ask me one more question about him, I’m kicking you out and choosing Vince.” I add, “We’ve run into your ex-wife and a few ex-girlfriends before, and I never gave you a hard time about it.”

He apologizes.

I turn my back, pull the blankets over me, and fall asleep. An hour later, I wake to a creaking floorboard and hear Randy on the phone. I slow my breathing to listen—it’s his sister. He tells her what happened and how he messed up with me. After they finish talking and I hear him hang up, I get up and walk down the hall.

“Are you coming back to bed?” I ask.

He looks at his phone and sighs. I tease, “Was it your other girlfriend?”

He gives me a small smile. “That’s not funny,” he says, but takes my hand and follows me back to bed.

In my room, I take my shirt off and get under the covers. “Are you joining me?” I ask, noticing the bulge in his sweatpants. He strips and climbs in beside me. I spread my legs; he slides his fingers inside me and moans.

“You’re so wet,” he says, his voice low.

“For you,” I whisper.

With one deep thrust, he’s inside me, climaxing and moaning my name as he releases in me. Then he continues, his body moving against mine, his hands roaming my skin.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he confesses, his lips brushing my ear. “I’m crazy about you.”

“I’m crazy about you, too,” I say, wrapping my legs around him.

He groans, his thrusts growing urgent. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” I gasp. “Always.”

We spend the rest of the night tangled together, our bodies moving in perfect rhythm. We make love on the bed, against the wall, on the edge of the dresser—everywhere we can. Each time Randy climaxes, he releases inside me, whispering my name and holding me close. The sex is passionate, electric, and full of emotion. Randy admits he can’t imagine being with anyone else. I confess that he makes me feel safe and wanted in a way no one else ever has.

In the morning, Randy wakes me by mounting me and thrusting inside me. We climax multiple times, and he releases in me each time. We get up, brush our teeth, and eat breakfast. Afterward, we go back upstairs for more slow, passionate, and explosive sex. Randy releases in me every time he climaxes.

He’s spent, but his penis is still in me, throbbing and pulsating as he pours the last of his release into me. After we catch our breath and shower, we get dressed. As we head downstairs, Randy asks if I want him to take my dress to the dry cleaners. I thank him and tell him it’s unnecessary.

Randy thanks me for a wonderful night and apologizes for bugging me about Vic. I kiss him and thank him for inviting me. Feeling a bulge in his pants, I rest my hand over his hardening penis. We strip, and he lifts me up onto the kitchen counter, spreads my legs, and pushes inside me once again. He fucks me until he’s spent, climaxing and releasing in me seven or eight times. We catch our breath, and he helps me off the counter. We get dressed. He kisses me  softly and heads to work, knowing he’s going to be late.