Opening Friendships Ch. 01

Aoife Goldman awoke to something soft but firm poking into the small of her back. After her dream, it was enough to get her excited. A moment later, unfortunately, she heard movement further in the house, and remembered the damn cat. Two weeks beforehand, on a very pleasant night, they'd left the window open to allow in a cool breeze. The stray that had torn through the screen had refused to leave since, and her soft-hearted husband was only too eager to please their new master.

The furry beast was purring as it massaged her lower spine into a proper pillow, but she wasn't having it. If her people had pushed back the English, she sure as hell could throw an invading cat of her bed. Whisking the comforter off, she buried the annoying bastard. It was purring even louder now that it had a cocoon or nest or whatever the things liked to hibernate in. She sat there staring at the shifting lump in the covers, wishing looks really could kill. Then again, if so, she'd have died the first time she tried to pry the beast off her hubby's lap. Apparently, it was female, and had claimed Rick for her own.

A ringing echoed outside. Aoife glanced up at the uncovered windows to find two neighbor boys out on the sidewalk. The window was on the side, but the angle was just right for them to see in as they rode by on their way to school. Denny had purposely chirped the bell as a warning, while his friend, Billy, gaped at her. Looking down, she finally awakened enough to remember not having put on a shirt last night. He waved, as if unsure if he should just now be respectful or gloat at his peeping victory. She waved back, albeit with only one finger extended from her fist. The boys took off.

Aoife found a t-shirt and wrinkled jeans, then left the bedroom. She found her charming geek of a husband in the kitchen, fixing up a simple meal of breakfast burritos. Despite using leftovers from the last few days, they always tasted like he'd spent hours preparing them. If he hadn't gone into the game industry, he'd have made a great cook. Yet if he'd done that, they never would have met.

"Hey, beautiful," he greeted. "Did you sleep with a bomb in your hair?"

She reached a hand up through the tangled mass of bright golden hair. "Is it that bad?"

"No, of course not! You look like any other lovely Irish lass... that had stuck her head out a car window, on the highway, during a hurricane."

"Piss off." She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling too broadly. After all this time, it still threw her off to hear him mimic her accent perfectly, then revert back to his own flat American drawl. Thankfully, she believed it helped her keep from losing her own accent after nearly a decade away from Ireland. That, and the frequent trips back home, of course.

He served her a plate at the bar in the kitchen. The guy looked exhausted, but was already dressed for work. "When does the project go gold?" she asked.

"The boss says it's looking like the second Monday of next month. But I think the crunch is slowing down, so I shouldn't be gone all day." He glanced up, worry flashing across his face. "I promise, the anniversary is still on. I already have the two days off"

"I'm not worried. About that, anyway. What are they blackmailing ya to do?"

"Ugh, lap dances, stealing a donkey, listening to Bieber for five hours straight. Pure torture."

"I got these really cool invisible ear plugs for the music. And don't worry about the dancing. I've seen your moves, you'll do fine."

"And the donkey?"

"Do it after our weekend in case you get arrested."

The smile reached his tired brown eyes, bringing back some of his energy. Just seeing that forced her to lean over and kiss him for as long as she could. He was the first to pull away, grabbing his own burrito to go.

"I'll try everything to get off at eight tonight," he said as he hurried to the door. "Love you!"

"Damn right you do!" she shouted back. The door closed a second later. After a moment, the cat hopped up on the bar, watching her with cold, taunting blue eyes that matched her own. "I was here first, bitch."

The cat turned to its own bowl of milk, ignoring her. So now she was alone for ten hours, with nothing to do but watch movies and play games. Even her friends were at work. She wanted to go back to the office, but her producer forbade her, all because she got a little sick during the last assignment.

Okay, so it was just shy of body-horror at the biggest video game convention in the world. She'd never experienced anything that could be considered projectile until that moment. Everyone claimed it was due to working herself ragged, which admittedly she did. It was too boring when Rick had to practically - and occasionally literally - live at his company. So she volunteered to do any interview, narrate every Youtube video, and go on every travel assignment that came up. No one believed it was just due to eating some bad Chinese food from a stall, followed by some normal Irish weekend drinking.

"Every one calls it stress," she moaned to the cat. "I wasn't stressed. I was pissed for that prick grabbing my arse! And the bad food. And for nearly breaking my hand on his blocky face." That punch had really hurt.

By the time she'd finished her breakfast, the racket had started up again. For three days now, it started up shortly after dawn, and wouldn't cease until midday, then continue again for a few more hours until dusk. Curiosity finally compelled her to follow the noise like a moth to a light bulb. Aoife needed any excuse she could to get out on such a sunny day, and this was the best one she could find. Without work, she was left stir crazy. All the noise only brought her closer to going full Jack Nicholson. One of these nights, her husband was going to come home and find Redrum written all over the walls and her with an ax.

She smiled as she remembered their third Halloween together.

Before she made it out the door, however, she decided it best to have a better excuse to go bothering the workers than, I'm bored and need to watch sweaty guys writhe around. While that was usually the plan once she couldn't bother with games or Netflix, it might make a wrong impression. She already had the ingredients for a mixed berry pie recipe she had been trying out, so she got to work. An hour later, it was done, her hair was mostly straightened, and she was off.

Hammering, yelling, laughter, and three small dogs barking away all emanated from the same cookie-cutter house down the block. Carrying the pie like a trophy - it was only her third success in three years of trying to cook - she made her way along the sidewalk. Her fair blonde hair was nearly blinding to any passerby, a few of which stopped to stare at her giant heart-shaped sunglasses. She smiled and waved at the boys on their skateboards, then again at her neighbor as the older woman tended a flower garden. When she arrived at the house from whence all the racket came, she found herself staring up at a shapely derrière in tight jeans, raised atop a ladder. Rick rarely wore jeans, preferring khakis or slacks. Typical computer nerd. This man, however, was definitely one who preferred the outdoors.

Leaning back dangerously, she was able to study the broad shoulders threatening to rip the white t-shirt soaked in sweat. She recognized his thick auburn hair. As if sensing her gaze, Dixon Murphy turned to smile down at her.

"Aoife! Hey there, good-lookin'!" The idiot still pronounced her name like he was saying, "Owie," with an F at the end. She really needed to correct him one day.

Missus Samson came outside, greeting her warmly. Aoife smiled back and said, "I managed not to turn it into charcoal. If you want, you can share it with the roofers, who are no doubt charging you double for every nail they waste."

"That's so cold!" said the man above her. "We only charge her half-again the cost."

As he came down the ladder, she said, "Mornin', Dixon. Haven't fallen off yet, I see."

"You didn't? Thank god. I had hoped nobody caught that."

She rolled her eyes and handed the pie over to the homeowner, who thanked her and congratulated her on making it look edible this time. Dixon was staring and not ashamed in the slightest. He'd commented on her pale blue eyes more than once, and complimented her choice in lipstick. Today, she forewent any obvious makeup for a little blush and lip gloss.

"You look fancy as always," he said. "Trying to torment us poor construction boys." His Welsh accent - normally hidden behind a rather effective southern drawl - came out whenever he spoke to her. She originally assumed he was simply happy to meet another soul from across the pond. Now, however, she knew he was trying to impress her. As if any true Irish girl would swoon at some haughty southern tune.

"I like your poor attempts at whistling. Can't even catcall like a real man."

"Hey, I'm Welsh, not Irish. We are proper gentlemen."

He couldn't even say it with a straight face. She heard his friend still on the roof asking what's the holdup, but Dixon made no move to return to work. Missus Samson had already disappeared inside. The old woman wasn't very good in the heat. No doubt she was whipping up some tea for them all. Aoife felt a trickle of sweat tumble down her neck. Dixon's eyes followed it. She purposely ignored the rippled muscles highlighted by the tight shirt. Her own husband had thought himself cursed for not being able to form a six-pack, but she noted that he actually had more muscle than the chiseled Welshman before her.

"So when do you go back to work?" he asked.

"Next Tuesday. It's so boring playing videogames alone."

"You know, I could swing by during my lunch break. I've got a few games we could play."

She felt her cheeks reddening as a few of those games popped into her head. She smirked to hide her embarrassment, but her accent thickened, betraying her excitement. "I think your wife would frown upon that."

It was his turn to smirk. He leaned a little closer. She was too flustered to pull back as he said, "She may have a few ideas of her own."

"Tea, dears?" asked Missus Samson.

They both turned toward her and said in unison, "Yes, please!"

*****

She felt a bit overheated - and not just because of the weather - by the time she returned home. Though she had complained about playing games alone, she found the distraction very welcomed. It also gave her some ideas for a good article. Playing through an open world game, she took notes on the possible rendering techniques used. She'd need something to start with once back at work, where she wrote up internet features about new software and programs for a popular gaming website. Rick was good at helping flesh out her stories, at least when it came to game design.

He returned home before the sun was setting as promised. Rick wasn't what most people thought of as a computer nerd. While he sat at a desk most of the day, working on creating videogame levels, his appearance was more like a man who spent his days doing physical labor. He looked more like a former soldier than her own father and uncle, both of whom did serve, with a barrel chest, strong arms, and a determined gait that made him almost imposing to those that didn't know him. Especially his eyes. They were dark, deep set, and made him seem brooding most of the time, even if he was usually concentrating on a work assignment, listening to his favorite music, or fantasizing about her. He did that a lot, too. She had changed into short denim cutoffs and a sweater so large and thin it hung off one shoulder, and outlined her small chest perfectly. And as she greeted him, he didn't act like a man who had been married for seven years, but like a college kid being surprised by his girlfriend in his apartment. His eyes lingered on her legs, then on her exposed shoulder and collarbone, then finally her face. He strolled forward with a polite greeting, only to quickly lean down and kiss her with as much passion as on their wedding night. She returned in kind, not even letting him catch a breath until she was exhausted.

"Good day?" she asked.

He gave a small shrug. "Average. Ask me again in a month when they finally decide the project is done. I swear I've been reworking the same fucking hill since October."

"Aww, my little man is all frustrated," she said with a thickened accent. "How can I make it all better?"

As she put her hands on his shoulders while following him to the kitchen, he slipped one hand under her sweater and stole a quick squeeze of her breast, making her yelp, then burst into a fit of giggling.

"So, what's on the menu for tonight?" he asked.

"Besides me?"

"You certainly are riled up tonight. Something happen?"

An image of a buff Welshman and his hungry stare knocked her off balance a little. She shook it off and said, "I'll tell ya later, if I feel like it. Let's just call in a pizza and watch some horror flicks."

He narrowed his eyes, catching her attempt to deflect the question. But he let it lie for now. "Good idea. Apparently, I'm being put on a team for a horror game that's starting prep. I'll hop over as soon as this ships."

"At least you'll be able to breathe for awhile."

Less than an hour later, they were relaxing on the couch, with a low fire burning in the pit, watching a creepy flick about people fighting monsters inside a hospital. Aoife leaned against him, with a slice of three-meat pizza in one hand, and a whiskey and coke in the other. It was moments like these that she loved the most. Sure, the sex was great, and the times when their worked synced up to travel together was wonderful, but she enjoyed the quiet and comfortable feeling of normalness more than anything. Which is why she silently cursed herself for being tempted back at Missus Samson's place.

After watching a nurse stab her patient in the eye, then carve off her own face, Rick leaned into her and said, "My boss said to thank you for suggesting Eva Murphy for the contract work. She's putting most of the full-timers in her department to shame. Makes us all look lazy."

"I got great taste in the ladies, don't ya know."

"Oh really? So, you recommended Eva because she has a nice ass, and just lucked out?"

She shrugged. "That basically denotes all of my decisions." That girl does have a nice ass, she'd readily admit. Nice everything, really. If she didn't have Rick, and Eva wasn't straight, Aoife would make a move in a heartbeat. Her thoughts must've been showing on her face again, because Rick was rolling his eyes and sighing in exasperation.

"You've met her husband, right?" he asked.

"A few times. Pretty cool guy."

"With an accent."

"Jealous? You can pull off English, French, and Irish well enough. Got nothing to worry about on that front."

"But he's hit on you, hasn't he?"

She felt her cheeks reddening, giving away any chances to fib. "Maybe. But it's harmless fun. You have seen his wife. I got nothing on her."

"You have plenty." He smirked, not at all looking upset. He wasn't a man capable of hiding his emotions, though she'd never known him to lose his temper. Whenever he genuinely got uneasy about her being too friendly with other men - or women - he made it known. She didn't sense anything like that, not even when he said, "But let me tell you, that woman is more worse a flirt than you've ever been."

"What?" She ignored the pizza, and almost set her drink down to focus on this new development.

"Yeah, she full on hits on me. She's teased other guys, but nothing to push the rules, except for me."

"Alright, boyo. Details."

For the next several minutes, he relayed all the things her newest friend was doing. From making sex jokes, to commenting on his cologne, to outright brushing her butt against his hips as she "dropped a pen" in front of him, it was far more than can be considered misunderstandings. Worse, she found herself getting a bit aroused. Actually, by the end, she was wet.

"I really don't know if she's serious at all," he admitted, unable to fully hide the smile from his boosted confidence, "especially since she says her husband is just as forward."

"I wouldn't say that. Not yet, at least." Even she wasn't sure why she was downplaying it. Dixon, especially today, had made it pretty clear that all she had to do was snap her fingers, and the clothes come off. Then she recalled a summer day two years ago, and stuck with it. "But it sounds to me that girl is serious. Now I'm the one who's jealous."

"So, if they're both that bad, then maybe their marriage isn't that good. You think one's a wanderer, and the other is getting revenge?"

She thought on it. The first time she'd met them, it was at Comic Con. They had been cosplaying as the Joker and Harley, and couldn't have been more lovey-dovey if they were in a teen romance. Never did they hint at being unhappy, or even bored. If anything, they seemed excited whenever she brought up her own marriage. Especially Eva.

"I think we shouldn't make a conclusion yet," she finally said. "Maybe it's nothing at all."

"True. And it's not like we haven't been forward ourselves."

"Yeah, I've seen the texts my cousin sends you." He blushed at that. It had been a year since her cousin, Jess, had visited the country, and started up a pen-pal friendship with her husband. It wasn't as if he was sexting another woman behind her back, anyway. Aoife had never told him, but she'd encouraged her cousin to start it as a joke. Jess just tended to run with things she enjoyed.

"Like you can talk," he grumbled with a smirk. "After that birthday card my dad sent you. And the one you sent back to him. Shameful."

"Hey, your stepmom helped me pick it out."

"And did she tell you to add a pic of you in lingerie with it?" Her face was burning as he pretended to scowl at her. "Thought so."

Okay, so her friends' behavior wasn't so different from their own. Therefore, it wasn't right to pass judgment on the state of the Murphys' marriage. She made that declaration, and Rick agreed. Besides, their own relationship had gone through a couple of... interesting patches, which still left her feeling uneasy at times. After catching a few awkward glances from her husband when mentioning it, she had realized he felt the same worries.

"Oh, right," she started. "We're having dinner with them on Friday. We'll find out what's up with them then. Sound good?"

His shoulders sagged as he relaxed, probably having dealt with the same concerns as her. "Yeah, sounds good."

"Awesome. Wait, is that thing eating the cop's face?"

They returned to the movie as it became a free-for-all with men with axes and guns and tentacles. The pizza was good, and the whiskey was better.

All was right with the world for them.

*****

Rick tried on the maroon shirt, let out his stomach, and sighed with relief to find it wasn't too tight. It had been awhile since he had any reason to dress up, and as it was the same size as his suit, he now knew there wasn't going to be a problem for their anniversary dinner. He just hoped the outfit was good enough. He leaned out the bathroom to ask Aoife, catching her standing before the full-length mirror, sans pants. Her blouse was formfitting, with some kind of lace running down in rows. Even though she was so petite, he remembered their second date at some family-owned burger joint, where she'd won an eating contest. It was rather impressive, as was the tank top and short-shorts she'd worn.

Damn, she had nice legs.

Aoife caught him staring and winked before going back to adjust her earrings. He wasn't able to stop smiling for some time. She had chosen the black mini skirt with the slit up the thigh. For a moment, it made him wonder who she was trying to impress, jealousy gnawing at him just a little. It wasn't that his trust was weak, because if so, their marriage would've fallen apart two years ago. No, he just always worried about competition. Especially these days, with their jobs constantly keeping them apart. And considering her sexuality, he had twice the amount of rivals.