Hey there!
Hope you’ve had a fantastic week and your Memorial Day weekend was relaxing.
Before getting into the next release of The Forbidden Book Club, I just wanted to clarify something I may not have been totally clear on earlier. This kind of story is designed to be very cheeky. It’ll be over the top at times. You’ll probably roll your eyes. Maybe you’ll even blush. All part of the reading experience with this kind of thing.
If that’s not your cup of tea, hey, totally get it. Honesty until I was asked to write romance material I had never really looked at the genre (you can find a good amount of my short story romance over on Scribd, if you have a subscription to that…some even have excellent audio versions). So, if you’re not wild on this kind of thing, you can skip out on this current Friday series (but who knows…maybe you end up liking it).
If you’re at the very least intrigued, here’s the next installment! Have a great weekend.
Greyson
The Forbidden Book Club
Chapter 1, Part 2
Charles stood, waiting for the coffee, his fingers rhythmically tapping on the counter.
Pamela didn't say anything about how attractive she was.
But then why would she? Pamela had shown him a picture of the two from back in college, but it was a dated photograph and frankly, neither of the women looked how they did now. Pamela had undergone a few cosmetic enhancements over the years, so he stopped trying to pick her out of old photos. Thankfully, he didn't struggle picking out Erika. She happened to be the only woman inside wearing a heavily starched, long-sleeve shirt. Now that he thought about it, she might have been the only woman in the entire coffee shop, which made it even easier. Most locals would have avoided the stiff collar and tight pencil skirt this time of year. Although he did have to admit the outfit clung to her body nicely. The starched blouse hugged her waist while tapering along the curves of her breasts and--
--Charles shook his head, trying to clean his thoughts as if putting them through a makeshift spin cycle.
Hey, I'm only human, right? Nothing wrong with acknowledging beauty where beauty existed.
He ran his thumb over his wedding ring. Even after three years of marriage it still felt strange on his finger. He thought he would have been used to it by now, yet despite the passing of time, it felt foreign. Maybe, like the humidity, there's just no completely getting used to the feeling.
Charles couldn't help but smile at the thought of Erika stumbling over the chair. She possessed a fish-out-of-water innocence he liked. Of course, her bending over with a perfectly shaped rump in the air wasn't bad either.
Charles, come on now!
Despite his own mental rebuke, heat swelled in his chest as an ever apparent throbbing started to grow between his thighs. Truth be told Pamela had been working long hours at the office or out on extended business trips for the better part of 18 months, so even the slightest visual of a beautiful woman tended to elevate his heartbeat and direct his blood flow to the nether regions of his body. He breathed in deeply, trying to calm the spark before it turned into a raging inferno.
"Two pumpkin spice lattes," the bearded barista said as he placed a pair of oversized ceramic cups and saucers in front of Charles.
Erika believed she had her breathing under control, and the flustered stomach down to a manageable level. With so many things going on, she didn't know what had led to her bewildered feeling. At least that's what she told herself as she eyed the strong triangular shape of Charles' back. The breezy button-down clinging to the peaks of his powerful shoulders. The baby-blue chinos that suggested a strong rear. She wondered if his butt dimpled like his cheeks. It probably did.
Charles smiled at her as he placed the steaming pumpkin spice latté in front of her. She half-smiled in return, looking down to her frothy cup in hopes of avoiding any prolonged eye-contact. She feared if she caught his blue-eyed gaze she might never look away. Her index finger caressed a line under her chin and down her neck.
The steam from her cup slapped her face. Erika could feel a drop of sweat twisting down her spine, tormenting her with its slow progression.
"I'm starting to wonder how you guys manage to drink anything so hot in heat like this," she said as Charles took a sip.
He smiled. That dimple.
"I've done much worse for a cup of coffee." He eyed Erika as she picked up her latte, feeling for a non-existent cool spot in the ceramic to best place her hands. "I'd imagine back in Cleveland you walked through your share of snow and sleet yourself."
"Fair point."
Charles took another sip before clearing his throat. "Speaking of doing anything for coffee, I do have to apologize for Pamela's absence."
"I was wondering about that. Is she not coming at all?"
Charles shook his head. Erika studied him. There was something in his eyes. Sadness, perhaps? Exhaustion? A combination of the two?
"Her work schedule has been, well, less than desirable. My words, not hers, of course. She prefers to call it opportunistic. Regardless, something came up last minute, so she won't be able to make it."
"Well, I appreciate you coming. It's nice to finally talk to someone other than landlords and movers reminding me how much money I owe."
"So I guess this would be a poor time to bring up the hourly rates I charge for coffee meetings."
Erika's eyes widened. What had she said in that Facebook message to make it seem--
--His smile returned. She laughed at herself.
"Wow, I must be more tired than I thought."
"Well, I'd never guess it by how great you look."
Erika could feel her cheeks begin to flush.
"Pamela would love to reschedule though. Although to be honest I'm not sure when she can with her schedule."
"Sounds pretty hectic."
"Hectic is the perfect word to describe it. So I understand how you feel. It's nice to have someone to finally talk to in person."
"You don't talk with people at work?"
Charles shrugged, blowing steam away from his coffee before taking another sip.
"What is it that you do?"
"Well if you ask my wife I'm a full-time sales analysis who likes to waste his free time dabbling with music. If you ask me I'm a musician who just happens to pay the bills staring at a computer screen all day."
A musician. Naturally. With that voice how couldn't he be?
"A musician. That's awesome. Do you ever perform?"
"You can catch me around town. Keeps me sane when Pamela's gone for weeks on end. Just me and Shirley."
"Shirley?"
"My guitar."
"You named your guitar Shirley?"
"After my mom, yeah."
"That's sweet."
"I've had that guitar since I was nine. We've seen some things and done some things together over the years."
"Sounds like a song."
"You know," Charles said. "You might be onto something there."
"Just as long as you give me writing credit."
She smiled. He smiled in return.
"Deal."
The two sipped their lattes. An awkward silence lingering between the two as each sifted for a new topic of conversation. Erika looked over top of the oversized mug to find Charles watching her warmly. Despite the chiseled jaw and natural contour of his cheeks, there was a softness to him. A welcoming touch in his eyes that made her want to open up to him. Tell him everything about herself. Tell him her passions and her fears. Of how she wanted to one day open her own bookstore or about the snarled roots of abandonment her father had planted deep inside her chest as a young girl that seemed to sprout and strangle her heart whenever she remotely started to feel close to someone. Things she had never spoken about to another soul. Yet this man, a man she had only met radiated a mental glow she wanted to curl up in.
Erika's eyes lingered up and connected with his. She looked back down into her mug just as quickly, thankful for the oversized piece of ceramic she could hide in.
Jesus, Erika. Hold it together. What is getting into you?
"So, you like to read?" the southern Sinatra voice asked.
She blinked as she lowered her mug to the saucer. Was he that perceptive he could read minds as well?
"I'm sorry?"
"Your book," he said, motioning to her open purse sitting on the table, edges of the well-read paperback protruding outward like hands clawing out of a great pit in search of freedom.
"Oh!" She laughed to herself. Of course, he couldn't read minds. That's nonsense. Right? She pulled the paperback from her purse.
"The Winter of Our Discontent," he read the title. "Sounds uplifting."
"You could say it's poignant."
"And you like it?"
"Love it. I love all things Steinbeck.
"Read me some of it."
Erika blushed. She wanted to read the entire book to him and yet crawl back into the ceramic mug and hide at the same time. "I...um...well, I don't..."
Charles laughed a sweet laugh, like molasses in the air.
"It's okay, you don't have to. How about you show me a favorite line?"
Erika bit at her lower lip, then nodded. But instead of letting her find a passage and pass it over to him Charles stood, picked up his chair, and walked next to her.
"I hope you don't mind," he said.
She shook her head and cleared her throat. "No. Not at all."
She scooted her chair to the side to make room. He sat down next to her. A cologne of smoked spiced vanilla tickled at her nose and pulled air from her lungs. Her chest suddenly felt heavy as her breathing quickened. All Erika could do was try her best to flip to a page with a quote. Any page. Any quote. But she couldn't focus. Her mind swam through a fog.
Breathe, Erika. Just breathe. It's the humidity and not having eaten anything today. That's it. That's all it is. Nothing more. Everything's going to be--
Charles reached out gently to help hold open the book. His pinky slid along hers. Goosebumps flushed down her arm as she felt the hair on her neck stand at attention. She swallowed, silently relieved he couldn't see her flushed skin through the long sleeves of her blouse.
"Did you find it?" He asked in a lower tone. His southern gentleman's accent whispering into her ear like a feather tickling her brain. She didn't even realize her other hand had started to run down the open front of her blouse, caressing her collarbone. But Erika managed to nod an affirmative, pushing down the thoughts bubble up in her mind as well as the slight tingling working its way down her thighs.
"Right here," she held her finger under the line.
Charles read it out loud. "Grab anything that goes by. It may not come around again."
Erika could feel the heat from his mouth on the back of her earlobe with every word.
God, I should have picked a longer line.
"I like that. And it's true. What you see before you may never come around again."
He said it as if directed to her. Or was that her imagination?
"Steinbeck is a deep thinker. Guess that's why I like him. Despite the typical bummer endings."
"I've never read a Steinbeck."
"Really?"
Charles nodded. "Yeah, guess I never know what to read. So I don't. It's a bad excuse."
"I could show you." She blurted out, instantly regretting it. Why would a married man like him want to spend any more time with--
"I'd love that."
Butterflies.
"Really?"
"Yes! We should start a book club!"
"A book club?"
"Yeah. Well, it would be just the two of us. But you could pick out books and then we could talk about them as we go. I'm sure I'll have plenty of questions along the way. If you're picking deep-thinker authors I'm sure a good deal will go right over my head." He waved a hand over his head to help illustrate.
"Oh, I doubt that." Erika felt a surge of warmth through her entire body and building tension between her legs, all while a growing numbness had set in at the back of her neck. "But you know, I'd love to start a book club." Erika's lips smiled, yet she felt it more on the inside as if the interior of her body wanted to get up and sing. She knew she'd need to contain herself. Besides, Pamela would likely get involved at some point, but reading books with a new friend, who just happened to look amazing with a voice she'd give anything to sing her a personal song, sounded almost perfect. "And you could show me different coffee shops around town for each meeting."
"Coffee shops. Breweries. You name it."
Erika laughed. "Now you're talking my language."
"Big beer drinker up in Cleveland?"
"Listen, when it's 10 below zero and your pro football team goes years between winning games, there's not much else to do besides drink beer."
Charles reciprocated her laugh.
"Well then," he raised his right hand as if he was being sworn in. He spoke in an official tone. "I hereby declare on this day, The Book Club of Erika and Charles officially begins."
Erika giggled and raised her own hand. "Here, here."
Walking back through the center of Forsyth Park, Erika replayed the coffee date in her mind. Was it even a date? No, that's not the right word for it. Meet up. Yes, that sounded better. She replayed the meet up in her head. It had gone well. Too well in fact. She had anticipated meeting up with Pamela and a husband dragging behind her like some massive ball-and-chain. The two women would catch up a bit while he flipped through his phone, adding in the occasional one or two-worded answers when pried out of him. Enough to keep his wife at bay. But what just happened inside the coffee shop, no, it didn't go at all how Erika envisioned it.
And now they had created a book club on the spot and decided to meet up at a small book shop overlooking the water down on River Street. His suggestion, of course. She had no idea where anything was. In all honesty, it sounded amazing. Quaint. Front door overlooking a cobblestone walkway hundreds of years old. Pubs right around the corner and the river straight ahead. Something a person could only find in a handful of cities anywhere in North America. A dream setting and it would be the destination of their first official "book club" meeting.
Her thoughts lingered from books and stone walkways to the outline of his firm butt and the crested peaks of his shoulders. Her memory traced down along the lines of his torso and what those blue chinos hid. As they were parting ways at the coffee shop he stood up and his shirt stuck to his slightly damp skin, giving off even the briefest of glimpses of what lingered underneath his button-down. What she saw was defined abdominal muscles cut into the stone of his flesh like a Greek god. A vein running from his oblique down under his pants, like the Nile leading down to the promised land. Part country singer part myth, Erika's head swam as lust consumed her and started to swell between her legs. Her breathing quickened. Her thoughts unbuckled his belt, letting his pants drop to the floor. As she walked, her mind a daydream, sweat ran down her leg, pulling her back to reality. Was it sweat?
Oh my god.
Erika reached out for the edge of a park bench as she steadied her breathing. Her eyes closed. God, she could imagine it all. His body. His eyes looking into hers. Into her soul, as he whispered into her ear. Her fingers clawing at his back. Heat simmered between her thighs like a kettle ready to scream out.
"Ma'am?"
Erika opened her eyes.
An older gentleman in seersucker pants, shirtsleeves, and suspenders was sitting on the opposite side of the bench, eyes on her.
Had he been there the entire time?
"Is everything alright, ma'am?"
Erika nodded, swallowing down feelings and letting blood flow return to her brain. The heat between her thighs began to subside, yet the urge remained. She'd need to take care of that later.
"Yes. Yes, thank you." She mock fanned herself. "Still acclimating myself to this humidity."
The old man chewed at his cheek, then offered up a small paper sack, the bottom saturated and dripping.
"Boiled peanut?"
Erika watched the soaked bag drip, moisture splashing to the ground below. A reminder of what her panties would have likely looked like, had she worn any. She felt a lingering drop trickle down her thigh.
"I'm good. Thank you though."
She pushed herself back up and continued on.
First week in and you're already getting the vapors. Come on Erika, you've been around plenty of guys like him before.
In reality, she hadn't. Not like that. It was a lie and she knew it. Yet it was one she had to convince herself of. Because no amount of fantasizing about a married man would change the fact that he was married and make it right. Or even possible. Pamela might not have exactly been a best friend, but Erika wasn't that kind of person. Was she? Erika knew she should probably just cut off the whole book club thing altogether. But she really didn't want to. It sounded like fun. And right up her alley. Books and beer and coffee. Plus, maybe after hanging out with him for more than just a latté she'd find he was really weird or creepy or something. Besides, he was just being nice. Pamela had probably told him to be extra giving to the lost Cleveland girl.
Erika sped up the pace. She needed to change her clothes. And she had a little toy in her nightstand she desperately needed to become acquainted with again. Thankfully that was one of the first things she unpacked.
Charles sat in his car and watched Erika walk through the center of Forsyth Park from his rearview mirror. She stopped for whatever reason and seemed to rest against a park bench. For a time it looked like she might faint. He was about to go after and offer assistance, but she steadied herself and continued on. Must be the humidity. He caught his own reflection in the mirror and looked away. He felt, well he didn't know how he felt. She seemed like a nice girl. And he had wanted a reason to both read more and get out of the empty house. So why did he feel so...what was it? Guilty? Why should he feel guilty? For spending time with a friend of Pamela's? For wanting to have some sort of life beyond sitting by the front door like a puppy waiting for her to come home? He felt the twang of guilt effortlessly transition into anger.
"And Erika seemed interested in my music, which is more than I can ever say about you," he said out loud to an empty passenger seat. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
It's alright. You're just feeling a little frustrated. You knew it would be challenging when she started the new job.
Charles had supported Pamela and her new job. She wanted to do it and he'd never stand in her way when it came to her happiness. But he had been under the assumption it would be for a few months. Half a year at most before things started to settle down. That was almost 18-months ago. And he could count how many times they had been together for the weekend on his fingers. None of those tallies were the holidays either. Explaining away her absence to friends and family had become tiresome. Eventually people stopped asking altogether. While they believed her job existed, he could tell they thought more to the story lingered under the surface. He could see it in their eyes. He hated seeing it in their eyes. Sometimes he'd make his own excuses to get out of family events just so he wouldn't have to fall under their worrisome glances. But perhaps they were onto something he hadn't figured out yet. Maybe there was something else below the surface and he was just the last person to figure it out.
Charles sighed and glanced back up into the mirror, hoping to catch a final glimpse of Erika's green skirt. She was gone.
Letting his mind linger off after Erika for longer than a moment, he eventually popped the car into drive and made his way down the historic cobblestone.
…to be continued…