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He studies me carefully. “Then that’s what you’ll have.” He cups my breasts and nuzzles my neck.  I giggle, adjusting to the feel of his beard. He smiles against my neck and flicks my nipples through my dress with hit long fingers. Laughter turns to whimpers. He pinches, and I jerk.

“You like that?” he asks.

“Yes.”

I like his rough tough. He bends down and sucks my breast through the material. I grip his hair, arching my back. I want him to take as much as possible. His talented fingers slip inside the top of my dress. He pulls, rolls, and plucks my stiff peak. I rub my thighs together, desperate for friction. He releases me with a loud pop.

“I got something to ease that ache. Spread your legs.” He nudges my thighs apart. His knee brushes my swollen pussy with his knee. I release a ragged cry. It’s been so long since I got off with the help of another person. “Let me see those pretty breasts, Kitten.” He frees me from my bra and curls his heated tongue around my nipples, alternating back and forth. “Damn, they’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

He continues the oral assault and runs his fingertips up my thighs and under my dress. His thumb strokes over my slit.

“So hot and wet. Can I touch that slick pussy?”

Fuck.  “Please.”

He moves my panties to the side, circles my clit, and latches onto my sensitive breast. The suction and the rubbed rings on my bundle of nerves combine and propel me over the edge screaming his name.

“Oh yeah, that’s it. Give me all your cream.” I grab onto his shoulders to stay upright as my body vibrates. A bomb just detonated inside me. I bury my face against his chest. “You okay?” He smooths down my back, and I soak up the comfort he offers.

“Mmm hmm.”

I tilt my head up and smile.  He sucks his fingers into his mouth and hums his approval. “You’re sweeter than honey straight off the honeycomb.” The shine of my juices on his lips tempt me. I lean in and lick it off tasting my own salty-sweet flavor.

“So fucking hot.”

“You turn, birthday boy.” I sink to my knees in front of him and unbuckle his belt.  I tug down his boxer briefs. He’s thick, long cock springs forth and curves and slightly to the left. A milky white droplet beads off the end of his mushroom shaped head. I collect it with the tip of my tongue.

“Shit, Liv.” I know he’s clean. We were both tested for months after the wedding, and neither of us has been with anyone else. I hold his gaze as I cup his balls and take him to the back of my throat. He’s a smoked, salty flavor that reminds me of campfires and safety. I massage them as I hollow my cheeks.  I bob my head taking him fast and hard.

“Like that, baby. Take it all.”

His ragged breath and sensually words have me dripping. He swells, and I slow, taking just the tip. I want to draw it out, make it last, and imprint it on my memory. I close my eyes and concentrate his head, sucking the tip. I twist my hand around his girth, continuing my snail’s pace stroke.

“So good, Livy.” 

I hum, and he jerks. I take him deeper, sucking hard as I work his cock. He buries his fingers in my curls and snaps his hips. He’s close. The grunts and groans are spilling from his lips spur me on. I take him deeper gagging on his length.

“I’m going to come.”  He roars as he releases his load into my mouth and I swallow him down, enjoying every drop. I kiss his tip and tuck him back in. I sit back on my heels. A seed of a different kind of happiness is planted. I’d all but given up on finding Mr. right. I wonder if he hasn’t been in front of me the entire time.

“Happy birthday, Houston.”

I stand and adjust my dress. “How about that movie, now?”

He runs his hand over his beard, throws his head back and lets out a loud belly laugh. “Holy shit, Liv.”

His laughter is infectious. I join in unable to hold back the joy bubbling up inside of me.

“You ready for your other present, yet?”

He wraps his arms around me and kisses my shoulder. “Are you okay with what happened?”

Communication and checking in is what a real man does. The differences between him and Anthony are staggering. Even before now, Houston always made sure I had what I needed. My heart races and my mouth goes dry. I’m out of my depth with this man. I nod unable to speak around the obstruction in my throat. This is the moment I’ve been waiting my entire life for. No one could be more my soulmate than, Houston. I force myself to relax as he opens his gift and we watch the movie. If he knows how I’m feeling, he’ll want to talk. It’s the last thing I want to do. Everyone wants to meet their soulmate, but no one talks about what they’ll do after that happens. Every serious relationship I’ve had has ended with cheating. It made me wonder if there was something wrong with me. After all, I’m the common denominator in each situation. It’s screwing with my head. I know Houston would never cheat.

He’s a straight shooter who’s seen the devastation dishonesty and unfaithfulness cause. I want to believe this will work, but the past is more than a chain of events that happens to us. It’s the tough moments we survive that change us forever, leaving behind scars, tendencies and idiosyncrasies we never thought we’d have.  I can admit my faults. Being unlucky in love has left me guarded, skeptical, and cautious. Cheating is a shock and a slap in the face the first time. The second and third time, you begin to think maybe it's par for the course.

Each man I dated came from a different walk of like. Their backgrounds, nationalities, and jobs differed. Why they had the same flaw, I can’t say. The thirties are the new twenties these days, so maybe it can be written up as lack of character and lingering immaturity.  Whatever the reason, the shackles are steel tightly clamped around my heart. I have to unlock the manacles before I can commit to the main seated beside me and be the significant other he deserves.

I spent a lot of time rebuilding myself from the ground up. Committing is my final hurdle to clear. The move ends, and he helps me stand.

“I’m guessing you work tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately. I get to present all my finding in a large meeting with our clients. Should be tons of fun.”

“Your sarcasm is so perfect, I’d think you were serious if I didn’t know you,” he says.

I laugh and playfully shove him. “Shut it. Walk me to the door so I can get home and crash. I need at least eight hours to deal with what I have coming my way.” He leads me through the house. “It’s almost eerily silent, isn’t it?”

“That’s cause we’re used to listening to three little people, twenty-four-seven,” he says.

“True. Apart, they’re not that loud, together, it’s a collective sound.”

“Yeah, they’re a collective all right,” he mutters.

Outside, he guides me to the car and opens the door. “Thank you for tonight.”

“I could say the same thing, Hous.” I pat the side of his face and step into the car before I do or say anything I’d regret. “Sweet dreams?”

“Sweet dreams, Livy.” His eyes are hooded, and I can tell his brain is going a mile a minute. There’s a hint of sadness that makes his eyes bluer than usual. He knows I’m not ready to go all in yet. That’s the thing about your best friend. They see you, strength, weaknesses and all, and they love you anyway.

Chapter Four

Houston

“We got a serious problem man,” Ollie says.

“What’s going on?”

“One of our models for the calendar just called and canceled.”

“What? She’s supposed to be here in a couple of hours.”

“I know, and I'm not sure I can get a replacement that easy. She had a certain look to her.”

“Call the agency.”

“We booked her outside of an agency. She’s independent. It was Lane, the African American pin-up.”

“I see why you said she wouldn’t be easy to replace.” The wheels in my head begin to turn. Lane Parker was tall, curvy, and tattooed. We’d tried to hire women of all shades, shapes, and sizes for the Mahoney Mechanics shoot. Without Lane, we've lost a lot of our diversity. I didn’t want that.

“Maybe we can have a friend fill in?” Ollie says.

“You have someone in mind?”

He grins. “I do.” His face turns as bright as his auburn hair. “But I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“What? Why not?”

“Liv.”

The thought of her draped over a car makes my dick go insta hard. I can see his point. She’s got a half sleeve and the same body type, so she’ll fit the clothes wardrobe gathered. I’m not a fan of men jerking it to her picture, but I’m a little desperate to get in time with her. She hasn’t been actively avoiding me, but things aren’t where they used to be.

“I’ll call her,” I say.

“You will?” Ollie asks incredulously.

“If you didn’t think I was going to say yes, why ask?”

“Because we’re desperate, and I think she’d be an excellent replacement,” Ollie says.

“I agree. Now let’s see if I can get her to do it.”

“All you have to do is say we’re in a bind, and she’ll be here with bells on. I’ve never met a girl so down for someone who wasn’t her old man.” Ollie shakes his head.

I’m trying to change that.

I grab my cellphone and walk away from the noise of the garage.

“Hey, everything okay?” Liv asks sounded winded.

“Yeah, did I catch you at a bad time?”

“I was just getting out of the shower. Today’s my day off.”

“Good.” I lick my lips imaging her smooth skin glistening with droplets of water. “I need a favor. I had a model bail on the photo shoot we have going today. You’re the same build and description.”

“You want me to get in front of a camera? I’m not down with that, Hous.”

“We need the diversity. Please?”

She sighs. “What do I need to bring?”

“Your make-up and hair styling products. I know how picky you are about your hair. I don’t’ want you to kill the stylist.”

She laughs. “I’ve trained you well.”

“You have. Does this mean you’ll do it?”

She sighs. “Yes, but I’m calling Efia. If I let anyone else touch my face when I could’ve asked her first, she’ll never forgive me. What time do you need me there?”

“Around one o’clock.”

“At the shop?” she asks.

“Yeah, we’re using the cars here.”

“See you then. You owe me big for this one.” 

“Whatever you want I’ll make it happen,” I promise as I hang up. There are wounds we need to heal. I walk back into the garage to the car that usually rests beneath a cover. I remove the gray cloth and reveal the maroon car that’s always been a painful reminder of the wedding that wasn’t. I repaired the damage I caused with my hands and left the car sitting. Selling it was out of the question, and so was using it. It only saw the light of day for regular maintenance and bi-weekly drives to keep it from going to pot.

Liv isn’t the only one holding on to painful memories and reliving the past. I can’t expect her to move forward when I haven’t, either, not entirely. I run my finger over the smooth curve of the roof.

“Ollie.”

He jogs over. “yeah?”

“I want to use this car for Liv’s shoot.”

“Whoa. I mean yeah. I’ll have it pulled around. Just her?”

I nod my head. Understanding crosses his face. He pats my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, man.”

“Thanks, bro,” I smile. Words are wrapping paper.  It’s what inside that matters. I’m going to show her with actions how ready we both are.  I’m not usually hands-on when it comes to marketing. I give Ollie the budget, and he does the leg work. He’s more of a people person than me, so it’s always worked out well. Today, that’s going to change.  I walk back to the clothing gathered in my office.

The stylist had been in and out all day with clothing and accessories. I move to clothing with the Lane tag and riffle through the outfits. I fist a black dress with a cut-out waist. I want to see her in this with her skirt up around her waist, and her body splayed across the Maroon 1938 Cadillac Sixty Special. My pants feel two sizes too small. I adjust my stiff cock. I had a permanent stiffy since this Liv, and I crossed the line. I could take the matter into my hands, but I know waiting will make the victory that much sweeter.

I see the owner of the restored Ford truck walk in and turn to greet him. He’s the only job we had on the books. The photo shoots shut down the shop, but they’re great publicity. These days it takes more than a good reputation to keep the lights on. You have to put your face out there, and be seen as hip. I don’t get it. A shop

can have all the bells and whistles it wants to draw my attention if they can’t fix my car, I ain’t going.

“Hey, Reggie. I think you’ll be happy with the job we did on her,” I say shaking the older man’s hand.

“I hope so. This is for my boy’s graduation present. He made it through senior year and got a 4.0 average, so I have to keep my end of the deal?”

“Damn, is Brandon that old?”

“I know. He’s headed off to college in L.A. in a few months, if you can believe that,” Reggie says.

“Doesn’t take long. My kids just started kindergarten.”

“You’re just getting started,” Reggie says as we walk over to the cream colored 1965 Ford truck. He lets out a low whistle. “She looks good.”

“Runs even better. Keys are in there, why don’t you start her up and take her for a test drive?” I say.

Reggie climbs inside and turns the key.

“Listen to her purr. You put some serious TLC into her, Houston.”

“Couldn’t do it without my crew. Hector, lift the door up and let him take her for a spin.”

“On it,” Hector says.

I get a deep sense of satisfaction as Reggie pulls out into the parking lot. Another car saved from the junkyard and restored to its original beauty. They didn’t make cars like they used to, and getting to breathe new life into a piece others considered a lost cause amped me up.

I settle Reggie’s bill, send him on his way, and close down the garage for business. I want to check in with Shannon, our stylist to make sure she got the memo about the changes. She’s set up shop in my office, so I head that way.

  “Houston, is there something wrong?” Shannon asks. She bats her lashes and moves closer, invading my personal space. The petite brunette with big blue eyes and a plastic rack, Barbie would envy is sweet, but not my type. We’ve worked with her for the past year, and she’s spent a large chunk of that time trying to catch my eye. I’m not oblivious to women flirting. I just don’t care.

“I’m sure Ollie told you, Lane’s sick today.”

“He did. I figured we could double up with photos of the other girls. Maybe some group shots?” 

“I’ve found a replacement with the same look. I believe she’ll be bringing her own make-up artists, and doing her  hair.”

“Oh, will she fit the outfits? They’re the only ones I have in those large sizes.” She wrinkles her nose and frowns. Her disdain for the curvy body type is clear.

“Liv, the girl, filling in for Lane, will fit them just fine. Plenty of men like women with meat on their bones. I think that frame is just right.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks turn red. I can’t stand people with exclusivity issues. We’re all unique. It’s part of the beauty of life. We’re all unique gifts, perspectives, and skills. This bullshit belief that one cookie cutter ideal of perfection fits all gives too many small minded people an inflated sense of self.

I’m too old to let a perky set of fake tits, and a small frame turn my head when her attitude is stank. I want a woman who can hold her own, help me raise my children with manners, intelligence and sense of self. I have girls.  My job as a father is to build them up so strong, the world won’t be able to tear them down. There are double standards, and pressure I never thought about as a man. Then I had three children, two were born with the XY chromosome, and my eyes were opened.

“Make sure the clothes and accessories are ready to go.  Ryan will be here soon. I’m going to be taking the lead on this project along with Ollie to make sure things run smoothly.” I leave her in the room. 

***

I can’t help the smile that lines my lips. Originally from Haiti, Efia has a lilting accent I enjoy hearing. Couple that with her bright smile, and fun loving attitude, the girl is nearly impossible not to like.

“Good. And you?”

“Great. Work and travel are steady.”

“I’m shocked, she caught you at home,” I say.

“If my girl is going to be on a publication in front of God and everyone, I need to be here to make sure she’s on point.”

“The stylist, Shannon, is in my office if you want to take a look at the outfits, and talk to her. The photographer will be here in another thirty minutes or so. You guys are running early.”

“Early bird always gets the worm. Not that I think you’d let my girl be misrepresented.”

“Not in a million years.”

She pats my shoulder. “That’s why I like you. I’ll introduce myself. You work on calming her down.”

I nod and turn to face Liv as the hurricane known as Efia whirls on toward her next victim.

“I guess she doesn’t want me to introduce her," I say. 

“There’s not a shy bone in Efia’s body. I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Liv replies dryly.

I reach out and twist a lock of shiny, soft hair around my finger. Straightened, it flows around her shoulders.

“We figured this would give us the most versatility. Usually, pin-ups are all about intricate hairstyles and volume.”

“I didn’t realize it had gotten so long.”  I run my fingers through the thick mass, knowing its’ an honor to do so. She babies her hair.

“I told you the shrinkage is real,” she says referring to her hairs pension to curl up into tight spirals.

“Yes, but I love your curls.”

She smiles up at me. “Me too.”

“No matter what you do, you’re beautiful.”

“Thank you. Tell me exactly what you need me to do.”  She shifts the topic, and I go with the flow. I’m bidding my time. A smart man knows when to take action and when to wait.

“Channel your inner model. Come on, you can meet Shannon and see the clothes they’ve picked out.”

I watch her thick ass jiggle as she walks toward the office in her black yoga pants and a black tank top. She doesn’t have to put effort in to making me want her. I never knew that kind of deep connection before. A look says as much as an hour of conversation. I’m in tune with her on a soul level. Amazing what a few more years of living can teach.

***

Liv

“Okay, we’re going to need everyone out for these next shots,” Ryan says.

I turn to the long haired blonde photographer with the baby face.

“We do?” I whisper. He’s made this process as painless as possible, but contorting my body and giving face aren’t things I do during the ordinary course of my day. I scan the room for Houston and find him gazing back. I shake my head. He smiles. Not me.  He mouths. I release a sigh. I’ve found the warm weight of his stare comforting and sexy. I’m not thinking about the camera when Ryan asks me to give him sex. I’m thinking about the hot bearded man I can still taste on the tip of my tongue.

I’m the last one to take solo photos. All the girls, sans a few who’ve been hanging out flirting with Ollie and being shut down by Houston, have gone.

“This is where I take my leave,” Efia says.

“Thank you again for doing this.”

“I would’ve been pissed if you hadn’t asked,"Efia says making me laugh.

“I know, that’s why I called you.”

She walks over and hugs me gently, careful not to mar my make up or muse my clothing. “You look incredible, and I’m not the only one that noticed. Put the man out of his misery.”

“Love you too Ms. Bossy Booty.”

She pulls away taking her laughter and lightness with her.

“I’m going to let you two have a moment while we get the last scene ready,” Ryan says, following Efia out.

“Why do I feel like you had something to do with this?” I ask Houston as I lean back against the black Chevy.

“I asked them to give us a minute. Come here.”

I push away from the car and walk over on four-inch black heels. I’m a sneakers and flats kind of gal, so I step with care. He holds out his hand, and I take it, curious about what he’s been hiding beneath the blue car cover. He pulls it down to reveal the maroon car that holds so many bad memories for us both.