Aching for Andy

By Randi Devilkin

The perfect one-night stand landed in Sondra's lap, well, her bed, and the uninhibited encounter exceeded her wildest dreams. But now Sondra is crouched behind a grocery cart in the frozen foods aisle, dressed to the nines, trying to be invisible.

 

How could a transient encounter with a sexy doctor derail Sondra's self-esteem, job stability, and entire life? And if she must be haunted by her one tiny indiscretion, why must her tormentor be a gorgeous, under-aged nymph?

Will Sondra ever get her career back on track and find true happiness? With BFFs that include an intrusive book club, busybody-party-throwing neighbor, and a sex-crazed career counselor what could possibly go wrong?

Aching for Andy: One-Night Mistake is a romantic comedy novella for the sophisticated and mature. Sophistication and maturity are optional.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Metamorphosis Manuscripts
• Release date: Aug 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393123187

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sunday, Disturbance in Frozen Foods

Crouched behind a wire grocery cart in the frozen foods aisle, I dare not breathe. Please don’t let that man see me.

I should have known from the get-go that man was trouble. Fifty may be the new thirty, but the dating scene is as antiquated and messed up as ever, if not worse.

Wearing sexy, albeit uncomfortable, stilettos and a form-fitting jersey dress while squatting isn’t easy. My knees protest as I totter trying to stay upright. My palms sweat. The spikey heel of my shoe snaps away from the sole, and I lose my grip on the side of the cart.

The tumble unleashes a disturbing amount of clatter as I knock over a mountain of plastic food storage containers, then land in a heap on the cold, dirty linoleum floor. Ouch. That’s going to leave one ugly bruise.

The store manager rushes over, and I shoot him a venomous glare. He shirks back and positions himself safely behind another shopper. I remain motionless and pretend to be invisible. Maybe no one else will notice the commotion.

Sondra. With you, it’s always a surprise, says Andy, extending his taut, muscular arm. Do you need a hand?

Don’t touch me, I snap. I divert my eyes to avoid gawking at him. Heat rises up my neck and across my face. He’s as old as I am. How can he be so unbelievably hot?

I’d never touch a lady without an explicit invitation. Andy grins. Now about last night—

There’s nothing to talk about. I’m just picking up ice on my way to a party.

Nice to hear about your busy social life. Perhaps someone should tag along to keep you out of harm’s way? I was supposed to be on call tonight, but—

I lift my head off the floor and flash my most menacing stink-eye directly at Andy.

He flinches, but his grin remains. You’re trouble, a lot of trouble, but you’re never boring.

Go away. Scram, I hiss.

He stands there exuding raw, sensual masculinity. I refuse to let myself swoon in front of that man.

I pull myself up, smooth down my dress to cover my exposed panties, then roll the cart away as fast as impractical shoes with a broken heel allow. I won’t glance back, not even for a second. I won’t.

Ugh, he’s still there with that goofy grin.

The grocery store is crowded for a Sunday evening. An insipid woman ahead of me in the express lane has a full cart and a pile of coupons. I’m going to be late for Rachel’s dinner party, and I may have to change grocery stores. Damn, my mother was right.

Why hadn’t I bagged ice from my freezer or left the house ten minutes earlier? It’s never a good idea to grocery shop in haste wearing impractical stilettos regardless of how extraordinarily sexy the shoes.

But Rachel is counting on me. If I go home to change, I’ll be even later. She’ll throw a New York fit, and she scares me. With hundreds of pairs of shoes in her closet, perhaps she’ll let me borrow a pair.

Chapter 2

The Dating Game

The first dozen times a seventy- or eighty-something-year-old asked me out I was shocked. Some of these geezers think they’re hot stuff, and while I admire their moxie, I have no desire to spend any time with them unclothed. The ones on the hunt for a nurse, or a purse, or a nurse with a purse, are the worse because they’re so dang persistent. I often ask these guys if they have an older brother or father available, saying while I’d be cool with a loaded centenarian, the last thing I want is to get stuck as a caregiver for multiple decades. I don’t want any oldster, no matter how filthy rich, and that snide remark gets the point across. The last thing I need in my life is a freeloader.

The youngsters freak me out too. One night I was having a drink with my friend, Gwen, when two handsome twenty-something-year-old menfolk approached. I thought they might be friends of my sons until one said, Can we buy you fine ladies a drink? I was flattered until he remarked, We appreciate the sophistication of the seasoned cougar. I about fell off my barstool. Seasoned? Seasoned like spicy or seasoned like stinky, aged cheese?

Gwen kept her composure and said, You kids look us up after you make your first million, or start shaving. Then she tossed her strawberry-tini right at their wrinkle-free baby faces. That’s when the bartender suggested we call it a night. On the drive home, we stopped at a twenty-four-hour donut shop and, between the two of us, scarfed down a dozen. Thinking about that night still makes me crave strawberry-tinis and chocolate iced donuts.

I’d like to date a man more or less my age, give or take ten years, but that’s tricky too. A lot of men are bitter about prior relationships and want to vent about the women who’ve done them wrong. I’ve been tempted to ask if they’d like to hear my battle stories too, but I’m smart enough to know that answer. Besides, if there’s nothing more interesting to talk about than crazy exes, why bother?

If the men my age haven’t sired an heir, they get sentimental and fancy a woman in her twenties or thirties to propagate their DNA. If the men have young children, they want both a stimulating relationship and a free on-call babysitter. If they have kids who are grown professionals, incredulously their offspring still require a place to live and financial support. How has that become the norm? I had a less than stellar marriage, yet my adult children fend for themselves just fine.

I’ve been on my share of dates looking for someone who floats my boat. I meet men at singles events, online dating sites, and I allow friends to set up blind dates. Occasionally, I meet men organically at work or through volunteer activities. After a coffee or two, if there’s nothing substantial between the ears, I throw in the towel and block their phone number.

I was at ease with the slump in my romantic life when that darn Andy ruined everything. Now I can’t leave my house without fear of bumping into him. I thought I’d found the perfect fling, but he’s like a bad penny, popping up everywhere.