Guilty Pleasures Ch. 10

She shrugged. "I guess it does taste fine. It's just not the Black Cherry."

"I'll try to make sure to get more of that," I said drily.

"Thanks, Howie. You're the bomb," she said, patting my cheek softly as she rose. A pat that ended with a long stroke down the side of my throat. My eyes were riveted to her half-bare backside as she sauntered away. When she turned suddenly back and caught me staring, I just smiled and kept staring wordlessly. She smiled too.

This was fun.

And then it was Mary's turn. Carol seemed uninterested in me that afternoon. I surmised she felt no need to make her young man jealous.

Mary bounced down onto the chaise next to me, which made a few other things bounce in her new bikini. It was white and vaguely sixties-esque. The bottom was cut low, but sort of had to be, since the broad waistband was so low itself. The top was a halter, with a sweeping, circular, almost keyhole neckline. Honestly, it looked pretty much like a PowerGirl cosplay bikini. I hadn't read a comic book in a decade, but PowerGirl is... forever.

Maybe I should find a comic book store... Did PowerGirl still have her own book?

"Before you ask," I said, "your new bikini is killer."

"Thank you, Mister Howard," she cooed. "I'm glad you like it. You are, after all, a core part of the audience I bought it for."

"A part of it?" I said, pretending hurt to mask a tiny bit of real indignation.

"Well, Stephanie needs her motivation." I barked a laugh at that. "And there are guys I can actually have that I want to show it to."

I barked another short laugh at that. "And has Yancey seen it?"

"Yes," Mary said, momentarily deflated. "He wasn't supposed to, but I was showing it to Mom, and I didn't know he was home yet."

"On you?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Poor bastard."

"Like you aren't flipping out about what Becca is wearing," Mary scoffed, pushing me lightly with her hand. Give the girl credit. She stayed on task.

I looked over at my daughter and considered. Then I picked up my phone, zoomed in and took a single picture of my daughter.

"Mister Howard!" Mary exclaimed.

I lifted an eyebrow at her, and texted the photo to my ex-wife. "I'll let Rebecca handle Becca's wardrobe," I said simply. Honestly, the suit was no more or less than what any of the others were wearing, I just wanted Rebecca to have to see what I was putting up with... She needed to make herself useful. "Meanwhile, I will just sit here and appreciate you in your suit, proving the point I'm sure Yancey immediately made."

"Nah, he's pretty chill about you lately," Mary waved it off. "He's sort of decided that whatever you are, you are kind of safe in the final analysis. He's much more worried about college boys and 'their general lack of restraint'."

I didn't know whether to be pleased or insulted. I decided to choose insulted.

"Dad mostly just ranted on about this suit's 'Boob Window'," Mary said, rising and leaning over right in my face, her finger pointing to what she was talking about. You know... in case I couldn't tell. "And talking about some superhero called PowerGirl. Is she Iron Man's girlfriend or something?"

"No. She's not. She'd crumple up Iron Man in his suit like an empty tin can," I said. "But she's in the DC world, not Marvel."

"The lame movies?" Mary said, disappointed that her super heroine look was not one of the 'cool kids'. Yancey and I were going to have to have a talk about how he raised this girl...

"She's not lame," I said, suddenly passionately invested in PowerGirl again like I was back in my college days. Then I relaxed. "But regardless, that suit looks amazing on you. Go endanger yourself with uncontrollable college boys and let me do some work."

She bounced away. The back of the suit was almost disappointingly modest, or as disappointing as it could be while cradling Mary's ass.

If you missed my point, I really liked that suit. I was a little disturbed that Yancey didn't mind her wearing it in front of me, though. Had he foolishly decided to trust my good behavior with his little girl? I sure as fuck did not trust my behavior around Mary. Or, yeesh, had he just decided that whatever else, I just would never hurt her?

Fuck. That just made staring at that sweet cleavage all the more guilt-inducing.

I shrugged. I definitely had learned to live with guilt, so I stared some more at Mary in that PowerGirl bikini. I loved her red hair, but I wondered if she'd consider putting on a short blonde wig...?

My distant view of Mary was suddenly blocked by a much more closeup view of Stephanie, who had returned, right on Pavlovian schedule. She had to realize what was happening, right?

She was standing over me casually, holding a plastic cup full of the pretzels I had put out for nibblements, eating one. Damn, the girl could even make eating snack food look sexy, the way her fingers trailed into her mouth as she lifted each pretzel. I was momentarily mesmerized.

Then I shook my head to clear it. "Don't fill up on pretzels before I fire up the grille," I said in mild reproof, like every parent ever.

"Oh, I'll save room for a burger, Howie," Stephanie replied easily, popping another pretzel very slowly between her wide lips.

"Well, I will have plenty, along with the hotdogs... oh, and I picked up some brats this week, too."

"Oooh," she perked up. "Same brand you had earlier this summer? Those were the bomb."

"Well, lucky for you that I happened to see them in the store this week, I guess." I considered how to make sure that Stephanie sat with me to eat her bratwurst...

John walked by us on his way to the bathroom and waved to us both. "Hey Mr. Howard. Hey Stephanie," he said friendlily as he passed. I watched him go, but Stephanie ignored him.

"You and John not getting along?" I asked mildly. This girl was hot, and I could tell she had depths I had not initially appreciated, but she still came off a callous at times.

"John?" she asked distractedly. She looked over her shoulder as he disappeared inside the house. "No, he's a sweetie. I mean, I don't know him that well, but he's nice. Why?"

I let it drop.

Stephanie slid to the seat beside me and apparently decided to stay for a bit. I found us having a fairly normal conversation, which was yet another new thing. While it was not Stephanie Touching Me Somewhere exciting, I still found I liked this new thing.

About a minute into the conversation, though, I suddenly had trouble tracking it. Monica had slid to her feet and was wandering into the house. My house. From which John had not returned. She did not look my way.

Really?

Did they want some privacy? Did they want a lot of privacy? Was Monica going to do something like suck that boy's dick in my house?

It truly sucked that she chose that moment to put such an idea in my head, because I was otherwise actually enjoying talking to Stephanie. Then to top off the difficulties, my watch thumped. It was time to fire up the grille and get started on some real food for the assemblage.

Usually, I would draft someone among Becca and the hellions, to go in and do some prep work in the kitchen while I revved things up out back, but that seemed like a bad idea today. What if John and Monica were making noise? I would not want them, um, busted.

I would just do my own prep today. The things you do for friends...

"I'm going to get moving, Stephanie," I said, wrapping up our surprisingly uncharged chat. "I need to ask Becca about who eats what this week and then do some prep work inside."

"Sure! I'll help," she said cheerily.

Swell. Of all the people to have come inside right then...

Then she looked around the yard at all the kids for an instant. "Let's see, there are only three vegetarians here today, but George Kalkoffen also has eaten the eggplant the last few weeks, so maybe count on four herbivores," she said.

"You pay that much attention to how what everybody eats?" I asked, a little incredulously.

She just shrugged and followed me inside.

We made short work of the prep. Stephanie was considerate enough not to distract me while I was cutting things with the knife, but then she more than made up for all her good behavior when I asked her to grab the hamburger patties from the freezer. I have a chest freezer in the laundry room next to the kitchen. She went in and I had a direct line of sight as she leaned down excessively far into the chest, leaving me with a painfully delightful view of her barely half-covered backside pulled taut as she leaned in. And then, when she straightened up at last with the frozen burgers (they had been right on top), she had a frosty look. Her nipples had gotten quite visibly hard through the thin fabric of her suit.

So Stephanie had tiny but incredibly pointy nipples... Good to know.

And right when Stephanie was rooting around in the freezer, I had heard a noise. It was quiet and isolated, but I recognized it. I recognized it because I'd made Monica make that same noise a few days previously, multiple times.

Damn, girl.

I had to lean against the kitchen table and send Stephanie out back ahead of me while I 'grabbed a few things,' or I'd have walked out in front of everybody pitching a helluva tent. Things calmed down and I was about to finally go out, but then I heard That Noise again! At last, I decided to just wear the joke apron that Becca had gotten me for Christmas that read 'Dad Knows Best! (but no one listens...)'. It took any tenting worries off the board.

I owned another apron that read, 'Guns don't kill people. Dads with pretty daughters kill people.' But if Becca had seen me wearing that in front of boys her age, I'd be the one in the body bag

I went out and got to cooking. Stephanie helped me get going, then she flitted off for some other conversation.

Monica came out of the house a little later, followed some minutes after that by John. John looked wobbly. Monica looked cool as a cucumber as she dove into the pool.

When I saw her appear, my eyes scanned over to my daughter and The Trinity, expecting some scandalized looks toward Monica and then John. But they were just looking back and forth between me and Stephanie. How clueless could they be?

Oh.

Stephanie and I had also gone into the house together, and been in there a while. I had unwittingly given Monica a smoke screen. When my friend pulled herself out of the pool after her (coincidentally cleansing) dip, she did so rather spectacularly. But I noted that while I was enjoying it, she was aiming most of her projection outward, toward the rest of the people, the rest of the young men, in and around the pool.

She sauntered over to my daughter's clique and they all started talking conspiratorially. From the looks on their faces, it was about me. I could so easily imagine the conversation, I practically heard them...

'Stephanie and Mister H were in the house alone for quite a while there, did you notice?'

'They were in there together? Wow. I did not notice. That's a major escalation, maybe?'

I started handing out the first round of hot dogs and burgers. Uncharacteristically, Anne and Carol came over for the initial round. They usually let the 'lesser beings' help themselves first. But they wanted to probe.

"So we have been replaced as sous chef by the new model, Mister H?" Carol asked archly as they grabbed burgers.

"I think we've been cast off as old news," Anne added to Carol.

"She was hanging around, keeping me from working," I said heavily, as if annoyed with Stephanie. "So I put her to work so she'll learn not to do that again."

My excuse was greeted by rolling eyes and skeptical stares.

"Seriously, you two," I said, relaxing a little. "Nothing happened. Who is going to go into the house to get jiggy with it in the middle of one of these things?" I knew who had, but I wanted to see if they actually had noticed.

Instead, the two of them looked uncomfortably at each other with eyes that wanted to shield me from knowledge. Knowledge from the past.

"Who has been fucking in my house?" I growled.

"Language!" they both giggled.

"There have been kids horsing around in my house?" I corrected myself, partly because I needed to, and partly because I was unwilling to let this question go.

"Neither of us," Anne said firmly. Then she looked at Carol for confirmation. "Right?"

"Definitely not me either," said Carol swiftly. "And before you ask, not Mary or Becca either," she added hastily.

That these two knew about at least...

"Great," I grumbled. "Now I have to watch both the beer fridge and the back door of my house."

"Relax, Clark," Anne said firmly. Now I was being counseled by a twenty year-old. "It's not like anyone has gone and gotten laid in there or anything." Oh yeah? "Just some heavy breathing in the downstairs bathroom or yo..."

"Or my what?"

"Your office?" Carol said sheepishly.

I started envisioning the cleaning job I had ahead of myself after work the next day.

"Beat it, before you tell me anything else hideous," I growled.

The next round brought Monica and John over, not quite 'together', but more 'at the same time'. I was completely bland as I served up two hotdogs for Monica and a burger for John.

"Hey Monica," I said as I tonged her dogs into buns, "Braves v Nationals Tuesday at 7:05. Wanna meet at BW3?"

"Braves lost today, did you see? That makes them two games back. That's a big game," Monica observed. "You got it. I owe you a couple of beers, anyway."

"Cheers," I said.

The two turned to go eat, and I called out, "Oh, hey! Monica? Hang on a second."

She smoothly turned to John and said simply, "Save me a seat over there, would you?"

John looked like he would gladly construct her a new seat, a new house, and a private yacht if she so asked, but went off to procure two of my chairs in lieu thereof.

"Sup?" Monica asked me.

"Which sheets do I need to change?" I asked, with a smile in my voice but none on my face for anyone else to see.

"Guest bedroom," Monica said only a hair sheepishly. "Sorry."

"I distinctly remember thinking, 'Go girl,' earlier this afternoon," I said, actually smiling outwardly now.

"Okay, I owe you several beers," she said. We winked at each other and she started to piff off after John. She paused. "Don't worry, I'll move on before his heart gets too brittle."

Honestly, I was pretty impressed a kid John's age was still able to walk upright. I had memories of Monica that made me tired just reviewing them...

I remained happy that she was having a good time, but I did worry a little. I had waited six years after my divorce before I started fucking every college kid in sight. And, I thought chauvinistically, I was a guy.

But maybe I should have taken a page from her book and gone nuts much earlier.

Stephanie was among the last kids to come over, looking to be fed. "You aren't out of the brats, are you Howie?" she asked.

"I have defended the last two with my life, M'lady," I said, indicating the back of the grill where the tube steaks were being kept warm. The brats had been popular.

"Thank you! But I only need one," Stephanie said, subtly gesturing to her slender form.

"Of course," I said. "But I had to save one to eat with you."

She indeed ate her brat with me. I found myself feeling sorry for the vast majority of human beings who would never get the chance to watch Stephanie Wilkes devour a bratwurst, especially once she caught me quite openly watching her do so.

*

"What kind of shit base-running was that?" Monica demanded. It was the bottom of the third and already we were about finished with this fucking game.

"The kind that happens when they change to rules to encourage taking the extra base, and everyone has been spending years learning to grow roots on their cleats," I bitched in harmony.

We drank our beers petulantly as a first and second, one out situation changed almost instantly to a commercial break between innings.

The bartender was at the other end of the bar.

"And for the record, those sheets were barely foul," I said, bringing up the elephant in the room. "You better have enjoyed it."

Monica refused to look squarely at me, though I caught her pupils turning my way in the corners of her eyes. "As a matter of fact, I did."

"Twice," I said with a smirk.

Now she did look at me. "You heard?"

"I was in the kitchen with Stephanie, prepping the cookout while you two were defiling my guest room."

"Oh shit! She heard?"

"I don't think so," I said, grabbing a chicken wing with sauce number two of the evening. "She was too busy sticking her whole upper body in my freezer to wake up her pokies to hear anything."

"Nice?"

"Stellar."

"That girl had it bad for you, Clark," she observed.

I sighed. "She is enthralled with teasing me. I let my hopes get up for more for a while there, but I just don't see it happening."

"Horndog."

"You fucked a college undergraduate in my tastefully appointed guest bedroom two days ago. You don't get to throw around that moniker," I said a little more nastily than was necessary, to be honest. "Going to do it again?"

"No. Not that it wouldn't be fun," Monica said. "I have a date with someone else Thursday."

"A grown-up this time?" I asked hopefully.

Monica just looked at me with a grin.

"It's really not the best idea," I said warningly, as I took another deep slug of beer.

"First off, you are not one to talk, Co-ed Whisperer," Monica said with a significant amount of grounds for complaint. "Second, I just escaped a ten year marriage to the world's most boring sex maniac. I am going to sow some oats."

"What? The worlds most boring sex maniac?"

"Look, I was brutal to Stan when we were punishing him. After long and careful consideration, I almost but not quite regret how nasty I was. In fairness, he was always very attentive. And he was always extremely good at what little he did. He just did the same thing over and over, and would hear no suggestion for anything else."

"Very attentive and extremely good are characteristics seldom found in divorce complaints," I said, feeling rotten. I had in no way been the former, but had barely been the latter toward the end of my marriage.

"They are when the bastard made me feel like disgusting shit for every fantasy I had, whether I told him about them or not, which I almost never did."

"Ouch. What a tool," I mused.

"Exactly," Monica replied. "Oh for crying out loud, ump! That's a strike!"

*

Wanda and I were standing in the back yard of another neighbor's home, having a glass and some conversation. Yancey was arguing about politics with Peter, and I had escaped. The second time playing Cards Against Humanity had produced further mixed reviews. I was among the fans. Hannah, her husband, and another couple had fled between rounds.

"Our girl had a date last night," Wanda noted idly.

"Did she now? Good," I said, not mentioning that I had known it was going to happen.

"I sort of wondered if you and she might..." my friend probed.

"Not likely," I snorted. At least Monica's and my information security remained intact. "I am mentoring her through this period of awfulness that is a recent divorce. You would not understand," I added loftily.

"You're a saint among men," Monica said. "I'm just saying, I'm pretty sure she thinks you are hot."

"And I am fully aware that she is smoking," I snorted. Honesty can conceal so, so very much. "But I know what a mess she is, and I'm not going there." I fully knew, in principal and in specifics, what a mess she was.

"She wouldn't give me the slightest detail about the guy, either," Monica went on curiously. "I'm betting on a co-worker."

"I am pretty sure it is one of Becca and Mary's classmates," I said into my beer.

"Fuck off!" said Wanda in shock.