Free Fourth Down Baby: A May-December Romance by Lauren Landish Page B

little push, that little bit I need to find the release I'm so desperate for.
    “Come,” he whispers, and I let go, my body uncoiling and spasming. I cry out, wishing it would never end, that he would always be here with me.
    I come to slowly, realizing that the vibrator has slipped out of me. I look down, and a wave of sadness and shame washes through me. I kick the cursed toy off the bed and fall back, weeping with frustration and loneliness.
    I need someone in my life so badly. But why is it that the one man I really want is hundreds of miles away?

    * * *
    F rom : Patricia Nelson
    To: Cory Dunham
    Subject: How's It Going?
    Dear Cory,
    As I'm sure you know by now, Whitney has joined Troy down in Florida. The house is . . . well, to be honest, it's too quiet nowadays, and I really miss the sound of other people in the house, even if it's Laurie with her silly cartoons or Whitney wanting to talk about art with me, or at least teach me a little bit about it.
    In any case, I was wondering how you are doing. It's been a while since you emailed me, and I know you're busy. But if you have a few minutes to give me a call, I'd appreciate it.
    Yours truly,
    Patricia
    I re-read the email, my finger trembling over my mouse to delete it. I sound desperate and lonely. Oh, wait. I am lonely, but I'm not so sure I'm desperate. At least, not this desperate, am I?
    “Hey, Trisha?”
    I quickly stash the email in my Drafts folder and look up, seeing my boss, Trevor Bana. He’s forty-six, with a wife and two kids. I've been working for him for over fifteen years, since soon after I finished up my night school bachelor's. It took me seven years since I had to work full-time and take night classes, but I did it.
    “What can I do for you, Trevor?” I hate that he calls me Trisha, but I can't seem to get him to stop calling me a name that sounds better on an exotic dancer than a professional office manager. “Is everything okay with the electrical contractors?”
    “They're doing fine,” he says, coming over and standing just a bit too close. Trevor has for years had no problem with violating my personal space, and I don't like it, but the pay is good, I need the money, and usually, I can shut him down without too much of a problem. “Actually, I was thinking . . . you've been working so hard, and with the news that your daughter went to Florida, I was thinking that maybe you'd like to go out for a drink tonight.”
    I try not to roll my eyes, and mostly succeed. Trevor's a former college baseball player, and still now, twenty-five years later, he's still a player. Not that he isn't handsome. There's a little salt and pepper in his hair, but most of the white is actually concentrated right around his ears, kind of giving him a look like the comic book character, Reed Richards. He also has a lean build and hasn't had the same amount of middle aged spread that a lot of the guys who have been doing construction for a long time seem to get.
    But he's married. In fact, not only is he married, but he's a major contributor to the same church I go to. His son is fifteen and is a sophomore at SLHS, while his daughter is what he jokingly calls an 'oops' and is only six. In fact, I teach her Sunday school twice a month. So for him to make a pass at me is more than just inappropriate since he's my boss. It's downright disgusting. Not that any of those facts stop him.
    “I don't think so, Trevor,” I reply, giving him a level look. I've got a bit of leeway. We both know that I keep the office running ten times smoother than anything he could do, but that doesn't mean I'm not aware that he's the owner. “Wouldn't you rather take Kerri for drinks?”
    “Kerri's not as . . . interesting as you are,” he says, leaning down close enough that he's seriously in my personal space. If he normally stops at the yellow zone, he's in the double red right now, and I'm getting pissed off. “I've seen the way you've glanced my way.”
    “You're imagining