Matchmaker 10: October

"Just so you know, I don't drink," I said so he didn't buy more beverages than he could drink himself.

"Not even wine?" he asked as he placed the packages in the cart.

"Not even."

"Why? You some kind of teetotaler or something?"

I shook my head. "No. I just don't like the taste. It's all so acidic."

"Not even sweet wines?"

"There are no sweet wines."

He grinned hugely. "I consider that a challenge. You like blueberries?" I nodded and he added another container of six bottles to the trolley. "That's made from blueberries, so it's probably sweet."

"You ever had it?"

He shook his head as he moved down to the wine section. "Nope. I like trying regional beers." He perused the selection a moment before pulling four bottles off the shelf and adding them to our cart. "This is the sweetest wine here, a dessert Moscato," he said, showing me one of the bottles. "That's about as sweet as it gets."

"Okay," I murmured.

He grinned. "Don't you trust me?"

"Yeah, but other people have told me how sweet a wine is, and it wasn't."

He shrugged. "If you don't like it, more for me then. Can you fix something Asian and spicy? It'll go good with the wine."

"Uh... sure, I guess."

He placed the bottle in the basket. "If you don't like it, you can go back to that God-awful sweetened tea you seem to like."

I smiled. Yesterday, when he'd taken his first tentative sip of iced tea that I'd prepared, he'd rejected it as an abomination. "You should try my mama's sweet tea if you think the stuff I make is sweet. My tea has less than half the sugar hers does."

He twisted his face and stuck out his tongue in a fair imitation of the Mr. Yuck poison stickers I remembered from childhood. I'd try his wine, but my palate had been trained by years of sweetened tea, so I didn't think I'd like it.

We made another pass through the small supermarket, and I picked up a few items to make his spicy Asian dish. I didn't prepare a lot of Asian dishes since I was more of a meat-and-potatoes kind of girl, but the internet was full of recipes, and I could wing it from there.

I intentionally picked the line with the teenybopper checkout girl so I could watch her reaction. After breaking big, Barrett had starred in a couple of romantic comedies, along with a near-future sci-fi thriller, a World War I war movie, and was the title character Bulletproof in an upcoming superhero movie of the same name. He was the hottest male lead in Hollywood at the moment, and I remembered when I was sixteen or so, as this girl appeared to be, I had serious crushes on movie stars.

I fought my smile when the cashier froze as she realized who was standing in her line. "Are you...?"

"Ryan Gosling?" Barrett asked. "Nah, I'm not him."

The girl looked confused, and I turned away so she wouldn't see me smile. "No! Aren't you Barrett Quillon?"

He snapped his fingers. "Oh, that's right!"

"Oh my God! I'm such a huge fan! I saw you in Tracker! You were amazing!"

He smiled. "Thank you, Shelly." She looked confused for a moment until he pointed to the name tag pinned to her shirt.

She flushed as she began checking us out. "I can't wait to see Bulletproof! It looks like an amazing movie! I really liked the scene where the guy is shooting you with that machine gun! The special effects look amazing!"

I pursed my lips as I continued to struggle to hide my smile. She prattled on, and everything was amazing. What wasn't amazing was her checkout skills. She'd been quick and efficient with the person in front of us, but now she was having trouble getting the scanner to read. I remembered being that young, ten or twelve years ago, and I understood how flustered she probably was. More than that, I also knew her dreams would be full of her and Barrett tonight, and all her friends would know she'd met Barrett Quillon and that he was amazing, the moment she had a chance to reach for her phone.

When Shelly finally finished checking us out, Barrett graced her with a brilliant smile before we gathered our plastic bags and carried them out to his deep red Panamera. We dropped the bags into the trunk before settling into the sumptuous comfort of the car.

"You were enjoying yourself," I said as the car wriggled along the twisty coast road. There was a more direct route from Bar Harbor back to Seal Harbor, but the mileage difference was negligible, and the more circuitous route had much better scenery.

"What do you mean?"

"Flirting with the women, posing for pictures..."

"You jealous?"

I snickered. "No."

"It's all part of it. If you think about it, all I have to offer is me. If I want people to pay to see my movies, I have to play the part."

"But you enjoy it?"

He glanced at me. "Honestly? Not as much as you probably think. I mean, it's nice that people like me, but as you saw, I can't do anything as simple as shopping without people wanting to stop and talk to me. It's fun meeting fans, when that's what I'm doing, but sometimes I'd like to just take care of my business and not be bothered."

I nodded. "I can understand that."

"It's one of the nice things about you," he said after we'd driven in silence for a moment. "I don't feel like I have to pretend around you. You're one of the few women, few people, actually, that don't seem to want anything from me."

I watched him a moment. "That must be terrible, not knowing who your friends are."

He shrugged. "I have friends, but... you're different. I'm not sure why, or how, but you are."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged again. "It's hard to explain, but think of it this way. One little slip-up, one misspoken word, and suddenly you're on the front page of the American Investigator or Hollywood Hotsheet or another one of those rags that print rumors and innuendo. I once told a friend that I thought Roxie Stangle was a pain in the ass bitch, and within a week, I was on the cover of Hollywood Hotsheet about how Roxie and I were having a feud. We were shooting Take Down at the time, it pissed her off and caused a lot of problems. Jake, the guy I told, swore he didn't tell anyone, but he was the only person I said it to. I don't think he told Hollywood Hotsheet, because he wouldn't do that to me, but he told someone, and I eventually ended up with my picture on the cover."

"That's sucks."

"Yeah, but that's what I'm talking about. You always have to watch what you say, how you dress, everything, because someone is always watching and listening." He shrugged and offered me a killer smile. "I have the feeling you're not into that celebrity gossip shit, and I feel like I can relax a little around you."

"I'm glad I don't have to deal with that because dogs don't care about any of that kind of crap. I don't remember who said it, but someone once said that, 'If the kindest souls lived the longest, dogs would outlive us all.'"

He nodded, but he didn't look happy. "Yeah. You really don't know how lucky you are."

I nodded. "None of my best friends have ever said a word."

"Your dogs?" I nodded again. "You really like them, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. If I were half the person my dogs think I am, I'd be twice the person I actually am."

He looked at me. "Maybe I need to get a dog."

"Maybe," I agreed. "You'd never have to worry about him betraying you."

He nodded. "What did you say was the name of your business again?"

"TuxedOES Kennels. That's t... u... x... e... d... o... e... s, with the OES at the end capitalized since I breed Old English Sheepdogs, and OES is how a lot of people refer to them. They're great dogs. Very friendly, good-natured, and loving."

He grunted. "Sounds like just what I need."

"I can give you the name of a great breeder if you want one," I said with a smile.

He smiled back. "I bet you can. How'd you get started breeding dogs?"

"Almost by accident," I revealed. "My parents rescued Molly, my first OES, when I was just a kid, and I fell in love with her. She was my best friend the whole time I was growing up. She'd been abused, but she was such a sweet girl. When she crossed the rainbow bridge, I decided I wanted to raise dogs. I gave college a try but decided that wasn't for me. I borrowed five thousand dollars from my parents, bought three dogs from three different top breeders, and I've gone from there."

"So you didn't go to school or anything to learn how to do this?"

I grinned. "No. What's to know? Treat the animals well and let nature take its course. I have a degree now, in business, from taking night classes so I'd know how to run a business, and now I'm working my way through animal husbandry, but taking care of the dogs?" I shrugged. "That's the easy part."

He drove in silence for a long moment. "I can tell you're happy. I can hear it in your voice."

"I am happy, with that part of my life, anyway. No matter how bad the day, you can't be sad if a hundred-pound animal comes up to you, licks away your tears, and tries to sit in your lap."

"Have you had that happen?"

"A few times."

"Why, if I may ask."

"Why do you think?"

"Men?" I pointed at him with a smile but said nothing. "He was an idiot then."

"Why do you say that?"

He shrugged. "Call it a feeling. I have a feeling you don't cry easily, so whatever he did must have been bad."

I shrugged. "Nothing that hasn't happened to a million women a million times."

He held my gaze a moment before his eyes returned to the road. "Did he hit you?"

I scoffed and waved a hand, appalled. "No, nothing like that. I found out he was sleeping around on me. Worse, after I found out and got myself checked out, I discovered he'd gave me chlamydia."

"Sorry."

I shrugged again. "Nothing for it and I'm over it."

"Good. I don't understand people who do that."

"What? Sleep around? That's rich coming from you, considering your reputation."

"You know that's all gossip, right?"

I watched him a moment. "After I found out who I was meeting, I looked you up on the internet. You're going to tell me all those women you had your picture taken with and all the rumors about you sleeping around, those are all fake?"

"What pictures? Most of those are staged for the fans."

"Not those, the ones taken out on the street."

He rolled his eyes. "God, I hate the paps."

"Paps?"

"Paparazzi. Remember how I said I couldn't go anywhere without being bothered? This is all part of that. Imagine how you'd feel if every time you turned around someone was stalking you and taking your picture. It's like living in a fishbowl." He scowled for a moment. "So, did I sleep with some of those women? Probably. Most of the time it was a one-night-stand. Some woman wanted it and I gave it to her. She got what she wanted, I got what I wanted, and nobody got hurt." He glanced at me as he turned the car into the drive. "I've never cheated on anyone because I've never promised anyone anything. If that bothers you, that's your problem, not mine."

"I didn't say that. I just said you have a certain ladies' man reputation. Sound like it's deserved."

He switched the car off and opened his door. "Maybe, but I'd trade all those trysts to be as happy as you sound."

I sat in the car for a moment after he shut his door before I exited the car. I was happy with most parts of my life, but I wasn't exactly thrilled with my love life. I smiled as I shut the car's door. Over the last few days, I'd realized we came from two different worlds, but now I wondered if maybe we weren't as different as I'd first thought.

I stretched with a near silent groan. I was adjusting to East Coast time, but I wasn't an early riser on the best of days, and pulling my internal clock forward four hours wasn't helping. I wasn't sleepy at bedtime, so I had a hard time going to sleep, which made getting up in the morning even harder. Last night had been different, though, and I'd slept just fine.

I checked the time before I snuggled into Lydia's back. It was almost seven, an hour past when she said she'd been getting up. I smiled, pleased with myself that I'd given her cause to sleep in. I didn't know how long she'd been without a man, but she'd tried her damnedest to wear my ass out. We'd fucked for almost three hours before we'd tumbled into tangled, sweaty, slumber.

She might not be as drop dead gorgeous nor as skillful in the arts of pleasing a man as some of the women I'd bedded, but she certainly had more than her share of womanly charms, and better, she had a refreshing honesty about her. There were no enhancements to her breasts, no tightening of the skin around her eyes, no sculpting of her ass or legs. She was all natural, and that gave her a beauty all her own.

As we'd fucked, her soft moans and quiet gasps were her only sounds. At first, her silence caused me concern that my performance wasn't up to her standards, but when she'd shuddered through an orgasm and softly begged for a moment to recover before we continued, I realized she was simply quiet. Later, as I teased her with lips and tongue while I recovered from my own orgasm, I realized I rather liked her barely audible sounds of pleasure. Just like the rest of her, they were more real than the over the top cries of some women as they begged me to 'fuck my tight little pussy with your big hard cock.' Lydia was comfortable with herself and didn't put on airs for anyone. She didn't try to build me up with false enthusiasm, so when she did moan, even as quietly as she did, I knew it was genuine, and that made me want to work all the harder to hear it again.

And work hard I had. She'd been nearly insatiable, but our erotic duel had been worth every grunting, sweating thrust. Even now I couldn't put my finger on what it was about her that had driven me wild, but as we tumbled around in the big bed, I wanted nothing more than to hear her almost inaudible moan as she stiffened in pleasure, before sighing quietly as her face relaxed and a tender smile caressed her lips. Lips that I'd delighted in kissing repeatedly throughout the night.

I smiled into the mass of her hair as I breathed deep to drink in her scent. She may not be the most beautiful or most skillful woman I'd ever fucked, but I couldn't recall a more deeply satisfying romp. I carefully slid my right arm under her as I draped my left over the top, cupping her breasts in my hands as I slowly, gently caressed her nipples with my thumbs.

I was sliding back into sleep, her breasts still in my hands, when she stirred, stretching and groaning with her fingers and toes splayed before she relaxed and surrounded my arms with hers. "Feel's nice," she murmured.

"Yes, it does," I mumbled. She was quiet for a long moment before she sighed deeply. I was learning to read her body language, and the sigh worried me. "You okay?"

She nodded slowly. "Comfortable."

I smiled, pulling her tighter against my chest as I kissed her shoulder. She sighed again and lay still for a long time before turning in my arms, her movement dragging me back from the edge of sleep. Her eyes were lazy as she watched my face.

"Was it good for you?" she asked.

I wanted to beam, but I kept my smile contained. "No." As her face began to twist in disappointment, I continued. "It was fantastic."

In her sleep drugged state, it took her a moment to realize what I was saying, and she smiled fully. "Was it really? I didn't know if I could measure up to all those Hollywood hotties."

I paused as I tried to decide how best to tell her while she didn't have all the techniques that some did, it hadn't mattered, but I realized since it hadn't mattered, her lack of advanced skills wasn't important. "Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. What about you? Was it good for you?"

That slow sexy smile appeared again, the one I saw three times last night after she'd orgasmed. "No." I waited for the punchline. "It was fantastic." Her smile slowly spread as she reached between us, taking my hard member into her hand to caress it slowly, smearing my wetness down my shaft. "Seems to me you're ready for an encore performance."

I smiled as I placed my hand against the back of her head and slowly drew her lips to mine.

Lydia and I walked along the craggy cliff at the edge of the compound, staying far enough back so that we didn't feel like the gusty, cold wind might blow us over the edge. She was much more of an outdoor person than I was, and she'd been strolling the grounds each day for an hour or so while I stayed inside and worked with my handlers on my social media accounts. Today, however, I decided to join her. She was tucked into my side, just where I wanted her, as she used my body to block some of the wind from the ocean.

Where the sex the night before had been passionate and energetic, this morning it had been slower and gentler. We'd peaked at very nearly the same moment, mere seconds after I'd pulled her lips to mine for a long, deep kiss. As she'd sighed out of her orgasm, we'd continued the kiss as I slowly caressed her back with my fingertips until she'd taken her fill. With another sigh, she snuggled on my chest, her head resting on my shoulder as I continued to stroke and caress her soft, warm flesh, seeming content in that position as we slid slowly back into the darkness of sleep.

She'd woken first, her movement drawing me from sleep. After some time kissing and touching, we'd drained the house of hot water, standing wrapped in each other's arms under the gentle, rain-like, patter of the shower as our lips and tongues danced. I smiled as we walked, looking out over the ocean. After our shower, we'd prepared lunch, my sole contribution to meal preparation being placing the china and eating utensils on the table, filling her glass with the syrupy sweet tea she preferred, filling my own glass from one of the bottles of blueberry beer.

She'd tried both the Moscato and the blueberry beer, and while I thought they were both sweet, she scrunched her face up and stuck out her tongue. Even paired with the Asian dish she'd prepared, she'd declared the wine too bitter, and the beer worse.

While we couldn't agree on what to drink, I was enjoying the simple, hearty fare she prepared for our meals. Like her, the meals were unpretentious yet delightful. I would have to start hitting the gym even harder to make up for it, but I considered that a small price to pay.

I pulled her to a stop and turned her to face me. "You've been doing all the cooking since we got here. Why don't you let me prepare dinner tonight?"

She smiled up at me. "You're going to cook?"

"No, but I'm going to take you out, if you'll let me."

She started walking again, pulling me with her. "I'd like that. I hear they have good lobster up here."

I chuckled. "So I've heard. Besides, it's not right that you should have to do all the cooking."

"I don't mind. I live by myself, so I cook almost every night anyway." She pulled back slightly, smiled up at me, and tucked in close again. "I even cook for the dogs."

"You cook for your dogs?"

She snickered. "Yeah. I buy a bunch of whole turkeys or other meat when it's on sale for cheap and freeze it. Later I thaw it out, grind it up with things like carrots, peas, and other vegetables, and then add rice and eggs, including the shells. I cook it all and serve it to the dogs." She smiled up at me again. "They also get homemade peanut butter cookies."

"Why don't you just buy dog food? Is this cheaper to make or something?"

"It's about the same price if I can get the meat cheap enough. I drive to Oklahoma City and clean all the stores out of turkeys after Christmas and Thanksgiving, when they're really cheap. The store manager in town puts back meat and certain vegetables that have just expired or are past their prime, and they sell it to me cheap. It's a win, win. He gets to sell meat and produce he'd normally have to give or throw away, and I get it at a deep discount." She shrugged. "The reason I do it is because I know what's in their food if I make it. There's nothing in the food I make for them I wouldn't eat. I can't say that about the stuff you buy." She snickered. "Besides, they're spoiled now and probably wouldn't eat commercial dog food."