“Can you pick up my suit from the dry cleaners then? The ticket’s on the fridge. And don’t make anything for dinner tonight, there’s a buffet—”
“Tonight?” I gasp. “It’s tonight?”
“Starts at seven,” Dad adds not even noticing my panic. “Have a great day sweetie, and don’t forget my suit, eh?”
Before I know it, I’m alone in the kitchen with nothing but the breakfast dishes, dad’s dry cleaning ticket, and a sudden but very definite wet spot between my legs.
“He’s actually gonna be there,” I say quietly, feeling the sudden news about the short time frame twist and turn its way into a new and very satisfying excitement.
I’m glad it’s tonight.
If he’d told me a week ago, I would never have even slept from just thinking about it.
Squeezing my legs together with a little mew of satisfaction, I make a beeline for my bedroom after checking dad’s car is actually gone and then locking the back door.
Slowly opening my dresser drawer and taking out the only thing I know that can give me some relief right now.
I lay back on the bed, fondling its hardness before I take a deep breath, not even warming myself up beforehand.
Thinking about Trent Latham, there’s no need.
Using both hands I open the thick, heavy bound yearbook, flipping straight to the page I’ve memorized. The one with his photos and article about his football scholarship.
I shudder a sigh, but seeing him in print only makes me want something else.
Something I can’t quite put my finger on.
Trent’s young, muscular frame is built like a linebacker but he was the star quarterback of both the college team and his pro football team afterward.
There’s a clear photograph, highlighting his thick shock of dark hair.
His deep hazel eyes shine with confidence as well as humor. His chiseled jaw and strong chin set in a permanent expression of the same.
A man who knows what he wants as well as someone who has a few secrets.
Perfectly straight, gleaming white teeth peer from a full-lipped mouth, that like his jaw seems set in a constant look to match the natural swagger of his pro-athlete body.
The T-shirt doesn’t hide much, nor do the tight fitting tracks pants, highlighting a pant bulge that doesn’t leave a huge amount to the female imagination except maybe the question of how?
How can one man be perfect in so many ways?
More to the point, how can he look just as good today if not better, and how am I going to get a chance to even get close let alone speak to him if my dad can’t stand to even breathe the same air this guy does?
Trent’s been on the local and national news several times over the years, as well as a brief commentating role for a national broadcaster, he’s set himself up in numerous businesses and is always promoting our town as well as our state.
There’s a rumor he might run for office, so he’s been on the news more often than not lately.
Something my dad politely ignores or casually flicks over from if he ever encounters it directly.
I can’t get enough of the man, old or new version.
They say vintage is always better, and if the photos are anything to go by, they broke the mold after Trent Latham was made.
It’s the sound of my dad calling, hours later that wakes me.
He’s reminding me to pick up his suit and I realize just how long I’ve spent dreaming of Trent with the yearbook hugged so close to my chest I have dents in my arms.
Shit! I haven’t even decided what I’m gonna wear let alone left enough time to get the rest of me ready for tonight.
I zoom through the dishes and head out to pick up dad’s suit, the challenges of the day are easier to deal with now because I know tonight’s the night.
It’s stupid I know, to be so excited about it all.
But a girl never died of dreaming.
It used to be the old football injuries making it harder to get up out of bed in the morning.
These days I’m used to that pain.
It’s the waking up alone I can’t stand anymore.
I was up late on a conference call with some overseas business contacts and found it just as hard to get to sleep all alone in my huge bed.
My cell ringing from the office next to my bedroom reminds me that the world won’t stop just because of how I feel.
I sigh heavily, stretching and yawning as I get up, pausing in front of one of the full-length mirrors in my bedroom.
I stick out my chin, flex, and stretch my jaw while keeping my eyes wide.
Loneliness hasn’t aged me, which is something. My body still looks as good as it did twenty years ago.
Maybe the odd line or gray hair here or there.