Free Cold Fusion by Olivia Rigal Page B

funny.
    The poor man had been napping in the shade on one of the bleachers after fixing some shaky benches when Brian and I walked by. We couldn’t resist using the leftover quick cement to attach his beard to the bench. Then we sat in the distance, waiting for him to wake up. The only reason we had gotten caught was that Brian was laughing much too hard when Coach finally found a way to pull the plank from its base and walk to the locker room with an enormous piece of wood hanging from his beard.
    “It was good seeing you again,” I say.
    “I wish I could say the same,” he snaps, but his benevolent tone tells me he’s happy too.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

    As I drive Toussaint home, the sky opens. By the time we get home, we’re soaking wet. We rush up the stairs, and when we get inside, Mimi sends the kid under a hot shower. My leather jacket weighs a ton. I hang it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and when I turn around, Mimi is holding a large towel.
    “Bend over,” she says.
    I do so with a smile, thinking how much I’d like to be the one giving her that order. While she towel-dries my face and my hands, I imagine her bending over the kitchen table and me behind her, my hands on her hips and—  
    “Your pants are all wet!” she says.  
    Actually no, they’re on fire. I just say, “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I keep a dry pair in my saddlebags and at the club just in case I need to change.” One evening spent with the contents of a drunk’s stomach on my legs taught me to be prepared.
    I catch her waist and pull her against me. I love the way her body molds around mine, the way her breasts press against my chest when I kiss her. I adore the little mewing sound she makes when my hands fall on her butt and the way she shivers against me. I think I could spend hours kissing her, and it would never grow old. I slide my hand down the front of her pants, and my fingers find her folds. I tease the little nub with the tips of my fingers, and her breathing quickens.  
    Just as I’m about to bring her to the edge, the building’s plumbing loudly signals the end of Toussaint’s shower, and she lets out a frustrated growl. I pull away and look out the window. There’s a respite in the rain. I should take advantage of it to get to work.
    “When?” I ask. I don’t have to be more specific—she knows precisely what I’m talking about because at this very second, sex is the foremost thing on her mind too.
    “Soon,” she whispers.
    I have no doubt she means it. She wants me as badly as I want her, but in a couple hours, the good girl side of her will have taken over. Well, not in a couple of hours, because that’s when she’ll be stripping in front of dozens of hungry eyes, but later.
    She reads the doubt in my eyes. “I mean it. I’ve asked my friend Marie, and she’ll let me know when Toussaint can sleep over at her place.”
    Of course, I could make her stay after hours and do her in the girls’ dressing room before I lock up. That would be good if I just wanted a quick fuck, but I want more with her. I want to hold her between rounds and lose myself in her arms. The dressing room won’t work.  
    So whether we do it in her place with its paper-thin walls or in a nice hotel, we need overnight baby-sitting. I’m starting to understand what Brian was saying about the sex club not being just for kinky stuff but also for married people in need of privacy.
    “You’re worth the wait,” I tell her as I turn around to grab my jacket. It’s soaking wet. “Do you mind if I leave it here to dry?”
    “Of course not,” she says. “I’ll see you in an hour or so. I’m not sure what time Marie is coming tonight.”
    I give her one last hug and rush down the stairs, hoping the clear skies will hold for my ride. It doesn’t, and I’m thankful for my windbreaker and my extra set of clothes at the club. What I need is a new form of Hail Marie… so that Mimi’s widowed friend who works odd