The Corner Table at Mickey's Pt. 02

This story is being posted in multiple parts due to its length, but they are all written and will come out in quick succession.

It picks up after Mallory and Jim had a minor misunderstanding, but his week got better when Addison dropped in to flirt with him some more while he was working at the bar.

—C

Jim was nervous. It had been only Lori for eight years of marriage, two of dating, and precious little of even her for a while. Nerves or not, though, when Addison said, "You remember that ever-decreasing subtlety? Well, how about you come back to my room?" he'd smiled.

As she preceded him into the room and turned to hang up her suit jacket, he let his eyes roam. She was a stark contrast to Lori. It wasn't just her shape or the dark hair that contrasted to Lori's caramel locks. It wasn't the deep red of her lipstick and nail polish or the faint scent of some smoky perfume that evoked cardamom and pepper. Everything about her was different, from the poise to the sensual confidence. He felt his pulse jump and the faintest shift.

Addison caught the appreciation out of the corner of her eye and noted his nervousness. She got a little charge out of both of them. She stepped closer, leaned up, and let her lips brush his. "I have a question. Do you like a woman who talks dirty or do you prefer a little Miss Innocent? I can do either."

"Umm ..." He thought about it for a second while she tilted her head up at him expectantly. "I guess I'd say that I like a classy woman who can get raunchy in the bedroom."

Her face split in a dirty grin. "My kind of guy!" she murmured.

She took his hand in hers, pulled it up to her mouth, and kissed the palm lightly. "Before you turn me on so much that I can't think straight, can I go over a couple of ground rules?" She continued kissing his palm.

"Okay."

"I don't want a customer seeing any marks on me, like hickeys." She glanced up at his eyes and chuckled at his "What am I? A teenager?" expression. Her mouth moved along his hand, kissing its way to the tip of his fingers. Just before her lips opened enough to admit the very end of his finger, she said, "Bare in my mouth is fine."

She felt a little shiver go through him as she said that. She laughed inside; that had been exactly her goal, though what followed also mattered to her. "But you'll need to wear a condom for when we ..." She raised her head to meet his gaze fully. The dirty grin came back. "... fuck." His grin answered hers.

She let her mouth and tongue tease his fingers more boldly, hearing the change in his breathing. "Finally, if you're into butts, warn me and there's no such thing as too much lube." His breath caught. Arousal became more discernible. Another silent laugh for her.

"Jim, only two pieces of clothing separate that mouth of yours from my tits and, quite frankly, that's two too many."

Lying curled against each other later, he asked her, "You're not married, are you?"

She rolled on her side to look at him. "No, why?"

"I was thinking about what you said earlier: that you noticed I was no longer wearing a ring. That implies you noticed I was wearing one the first time and, yet, you were still flirting with me."

"I see. And now you're wondering whether I'm one of those bitches who doesn't mind breaking up a home, right?"

Jim looked uncomfortable and didn't say anything, but she didn't get upset. "It's a fair question," she said. "The answer is no, I'm not." He continued to lie there silently, and her voice took on an amused tone. "But I guess you want more than that, right?"

"A little."

"Okay. I was just flirting. You're fun and it's good for the ego to have an attractive man interested in talking to you. My only expectations were a few laughs. If things did start moving past that, there'd have been a pretty direct question. And then, if I didn't hear either the word widower or the word divorce, the game would have been over.

"On the other hand—and here I hope you aren't the super-judgmental sort—it's the husband's job to police his vows, not mine. If you seemed honest enough that your marriage was over, I wasn't going to ask for notarized copies of the paperwork. That's not naïveté about whether scumbags lie; it's simply that I'm not the Morality Police."

She looked him squarely in the eyes. "Fair enough, or do you feel the need to get your clothes and scoot?"

He shook his head.

"Great. Then I think Addison needs to pay some attention to getting Jimmy down there back in the game." Without waiting for a response, she took him in her hand and lowered her head.

As she slid quietly out of bed early the next morning, he said, "Regrets?"

"Just th—" she broke off her intended humor about hotel coffee as she saw the somber look. "Jim, I had a good time. Did I do something to make you think otherwise?"

"No, no."

She looked at him searchingly before the light dawned. "She did a number on you, didn't she? Did she tell you that you were bad at sex?"

Jim turned red. "No, not really. She— Never mind."

"Just spit it out."

"She said that she didn't find me very attractive anymore ... my weight, you know. I was just 'comfortable' she said, and that—" he broke off again. His expression was pure mortification.

"Nothing she said is going to change my mind. Come on. Get it off your chest."

He looked away. "She also implied that she found a lover who was ... either much better at it or maybe better equipped. I've never quite figured out which she was avoiding saying."

Addison burst out laughing. Seeing him start to get angry, she shook her head. "No, I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at how silly that is," she protested.

"What?"

"Oh, come on! You're just fine in both regards. If you thought for two seconds, you'd realize that from the way I behaved. Or, I bet, if you think back to girls you were with before her. Hell, I'd bet even with her before she went off the rails.

"Your weight?" she continued. "Okay ... I might perv on a hot guy once in a while, but I'm not all about the looks. I'm about a guy who makes me laugh, who's intelligent and interesting to talk to, and, above all, who's nice and attentive. You've got all that in spades, and you're kinda cute to boot."

She winked at him. "So, to hell with her, and come back and fuck me again! Because I promise you, Jim, I'm very happy with the way I've been fucked right now, and I can arrange to be in town a week from Monday. Now scoot-scoot-scoot 'cause I gotta go be classy for some clients."

As he opened the side door of his house, the smell of the coffee pulled Jim toward the automated coffee maker. He took a sip—lukewarm—and glanced at the clock. Six forty, about twenty-five minutes later than he normally came out from the back of the house. He shoved his mug in the microwave. On autopilot, he poured the rest into an insulated carafe and hit the button for the second program, which would deliver freshly hot at seven when Lori usually appeared.

He looked at the pot rack. Make some eggs? No. The thought of dealing with Lori held no appeal. Diner, definitely. Could use a shower though. He'd known that Addison had to get ready for an early meeting and, quick pee aside, had left the bathroom to her. He grabbed his mug from the microwave and headed for the guest bathroom.

He came back out, refreshed by the hot water and the caffeine. Last call at Mickey's was midnight on Wednesdays, and it had been almost one before he was able to text Addison to make sure he was still expected. As a result, he was running on about four hours of sleep. Do you need a nap, old man? He chuckled at himself, then soured. Though, where are you going to take a nap without dealing with her? Maybe I should get—"

"I didn't hear you come in last night," Lori's voice interrupted his train of thought.

"Mmm." He ignored the implied question. "I'm thinking I should get an apartment."

He was pouring some coffee into a travel mug as he said it, but his peripheral vision caught the stiffening and the rigidly controlled expression.

"Why throw our money away when we have room here?"

Jim stifled a sardonic reaction to the assumption of future joint ownership in Lori's voice. Well, it's true for the moment, he reflected, and half of it will be hers when this all shakes out.

"If you're unhappy about the spare room," she continued, "I'm the one who screwed up. I'll move in there for now if you want."

Again, he could see a certain irony in "for now."

The "I don't want a divorce" train had traveled from raging adversary to amorous temptress, with whistle stops at contrition, manipulation, and placation. Right now, she was behaving as though, if she just kept things normal, he'd get over it. The implied attitude that this was only an ego snit on his part annoyed him, but a little private, uncharitable amusement restored his equanimity.

Now, he contemplated which battles he felt like fighting and when he felt like fighting them. Not today. I'm in too good a mood. "Whatever," he replied. "You stay in the master bedroom. I'm fine."

I wonder if Lori wants me here so she can keep an eye on me. He grinned at the thought. Too late. Lori misunderstood the grin and grinned back. Jim didn't bother to correct her, which probably only made things worse a few days later.

Mallory looked at the voicemail icon on her phone. She'd seen the caller ID and let it go, advance-warned by her cousin who set the whole thing up. Now, her mind made up after some dithering, she listened to it just to make sure her response wouldn't be a weird non sequitur.

"Hi, Mallory. This is Alexander Choate." Right away she felt better. I know it's stupid and intolerant and ... well ... stupid and intolerant, but Alexander? Couldn't he be an Alex or an Al to soften that Boston accent and Brahmin last name? "Megan said you'd be expecting my call. I was wondering if you'd like to get together for a drink some evening. Maybe Friday? Give me a call."

She hit the button to call back. "Hi, Alexander. So, you've made it down here?"

"I moved into my apartment over the weekend."

The conversation wended its way through the social pleasantries until she felt it was the right time to say, "About drinks. My cousin didn't realize it, but I'm kind of in a relationship now. It's getting serious and I wouldn't feel right."

The dignified-but-awkward exchange of a man dealing with an unanticipated rejection and a woman trying to soften it ended the call.

If Josh doesn't call me to go out Friday, he's toast. She had hopes.

As he was pulling into a spot across the street from Mickey's on Friday, Jim spotted Robin coming out of the gym. He tooted his horn. "Hey, Robin!"

"Well, if it isn't The Jim," she said as he climbed out.

"That's getting old," he chuckled. "Are you having dinner now? I can buy you that meal I owe."

A half-hour later, she paused to take a bite, then continued, "In tenth grade, I had to get glasses. My parents couldn't afford contacts. I was sure my life was over, and I was doomed to eternal spinsterhood."

He laughed, "You weren't aware of the concept of the sexy librarian?"

She didn't say anything for a long moment. Then, a half-smile appeared on her face and she said, "So, I have a question to which I'd like a straight answer."

"Shoot."

"Are you hitting on me right now?"

Jim's eyes widened a little in shock. "No, Robin. I'm not. If I came across that way I apologize profusely."

She didn't say anything, just raised her eyebrows with an expectant look.

"I thought we were just joking about high school. Robin, I ..." he trailed off, then started again. "Robin, you're wearing a ring. I'm sorry but that's no-go territory for me. It's just the way I am. Please, don't be offended. You're very attractive and I'm sure—"

She interrupted him by reaching over to touch the hand lying on the table lightly.

He jerked it back, "Seriously, Robin, I'm not—"

"Relax!" Her expression changed into a warm smile. "Nobody's offended. I was just testing. I'm happily married and have very firm plans to stay that way. And for the record, I believe you."

"You do?"

"In my experience, guys who are trying to pick up a woman without being obvious give a very ambiguous answer to that question. They try to test the waters to see if a yes would be okay. You were starting to panic just a little."

He flushed in embarrassment.

She patted his hand again and winked. "That was absolutely the right response, mister. I'm going to continue thinking of you as a good guy."

"What would you have done if I'd said yes?"

"Shot you down in flames, then used my incredible wit and charm to salvage the mood. After that, I'd have liked you a bit less and not considered you for my single friends."

He swallowed his surprise at the last.

They finished their meals. When he asked if she wanted some dessert, she shook her head. "I hope you don't mind, but I need to skedaddle. Hubby's plane lands in a half an hour and I have to get cleaned up."

"No problem. I may stay a bit."

As he finished paying, she said, "Thank you again. I was looking forward to a chance to get to know you." While he was processing that unexpected statement, she headed for the door. Turning just before opening it, she slid on her horn-rims and added, "And, to answer your question, DH goes wild over sexy librarian." She giggled and was out the door.

"DH?" he asked those at the bar.

"Dear Hubby," Shannon and one of the regulars supplied in unison.

"God, I hate that bitch!" Robin said under her breath.

Mallory glanced toward the front of the room at the trainer who had just called, "Time!" on their HIIT. "Umm, if you look, you'll notice those are boy-part-shapes under those shorts."

"He's a bitch. The wench who leads the Wednesday workout is also a bitch. The Nazi who looks like she's twelve on Friday is the biggest bitch of all. They're all one big interchangeable bitch." Robin hated HIITs. Give her a spin class, or weight training, or yoga and she was fine. HIITs? Well ...

Finally, the torture was over and, as always, Robin wanted a BLT followed by a piece of Shannon's pecan pie. Mallory had never quite understood the logic of killing yourself in a workout only to consume over twice that many calories when it was over—well, except when it came to butter pecan, and that only rarely—but it made some kind of sense to her friend. They settled in with Robin's self-reward and the usual salad for Mallory.

"So," Robin prompted, "tell me about Friday."

"Thunderbird Café had a band Josh wanted to try. A little too metal for my taste, though."

"And then did you?" Robin's expression was full of laughter. Except when she was ranting at the sadists who ran workouts or facing a legal adversary, Robin's expression usually held some shade of good humor ... this time it was the wicked variety.

Mallory was used to it and didn't bother to blush. "Nope, though his hinting is getting stronger. Poor baby!" They both chuckled at Josh's predicament, but it wasn't nasty. "I don't want to make the same mistake I did with Brandon."

A flicker of something passed over Robin's face. Mallory saw it and started to react. Robin caught that and laid a calming hand on her friend's. "Sorry. That wasn't about you. I just never was all that excited about him."

"You never said anything."

"You were dating him. I don't trash a girlfriend's boyfriend. I just suck it up and grin."

The two women shared a besties smile. "Well, Josh will have to suck it up a little longer," Mallory laughed.

"I made DH wait for a few months." Robin's giggle turned a few heads, and she ducked her head and spoke more quietly. "And then that rat bastard turned the tables on me. The night I subtly hinted that li'l ol' me might be willing to lose her panties, he gave me a sound smooching and said goodnight. Made me wait another two weeks till I was panting for it and flat out asked. After we did the deed, he said, 'Whoof. Didn't know which of us was going to cave first. You're an almost impossible woman to resist.' God, I love that jerk!"

"You never told me that story."

"Well, now you know."

"So, what do you think of Josh? And don't hold back 'cause he's my boyfriend, 'cause he's not quite there yet."

"Honestly?" Robin asked. Mallory nodded. "Mostly TBD. He seemed nice, the one time I met him. He's hot, though not your usual." At Mallory's tilted head, she amplified, "Normally you go for more muscly, like ..." Robin nodded her head sideways and both women glanced over at Tom. "Josh is a lot leaner."

"Volleyball player and runs 10Ks. What's the TBD part?"

Robin didn't show any hint of her reaction to what that question revealed about Mallory. He's nice and he's hot, what else is left? One day you'll get over things.

She was elliptical in her answer, despite Mallory's request for honesty. "Is he thoughtful?" she replied. What she didn't add was, Does he make you laugh? Is he empathetic to your shit? Does he make you stretch as a person ... stretch himself, for that matter? Is he willing to stand up to you but also compromise? Does he—" She was woolgathering a little and missed Mallory's response, but the next statement confused her. "Josh still calls you?"

"No. Brandon. All the time."

Two Mondays later, Jim met Addison about eight—"Gotta schmooze the customer over dinner," she'd said—and they'd repaired to her room with a bottle of Balvenie DoubleWood she'd brought ... along with the obvious jokes about the name. His cell rang a couple of times until he flipped on Do Not Disturb and concentrated on his glass, one of Shannon's pecan pies he'd snagged, and the company.

She was two drinks ahead of him because of her client dinner, which proved perfect. By the time he was pleasantly warm but not so far gone as to make those jokes ironic, she was simultaneously and contradictorily revved and bonelessly relaxed.

"Still like a little dirty talk?" He huffed a laugh into the mouth he was exploring. "Then," she whispered, giving a light tug at his hair, "Addison wants to get eaten and then seriously ravaged, in that order. And Addison is too buzzed to do much to help, but she promises blowjobs on demand in the morning."

In the early morning light, she kept her promise. At seven, he left her at the entrance to the hotel's restaurant, while he headed for the office where he'd left a change of clothes the day before. At seven thirty, he answered his cell to hear her say, "Danger, Will Robinson!"

"Huh?"

"I came out to find someone waiting for me. About five two, light brown hair, green eyes, nasty mouth on her. Ring a bell?"

Just then another call came in. He hit the button to send it to voicemail. "What did she say?"

"She told me that I better stay the eff away from her husband. From there it went even more downhill." His phone started ringing again. Again he clicked the button.

"Then what?"

"I let her run down and, when she was done, told her, 'You should be having this conversation with your husband. He assures me he's free to see me, and I believe him.' I got in my car and drove away as she gave me the finger."

"I'm so sorry, Addison."

"Don't be. It was the most exciting thing that happened to me in a long time. Look, I told you I won't be able to get back up here for about a month. If she gets in my face again, she's going to find out she's not the only one who can talk trash, and I've got four inches and twenty pounds on her. But I don't want to get run over by Wifezilla's car, so see what you can do in the meantime."