8. Accelerated Life Testing
EIGHT
ACCELERATED LIFE TESTING
One year later
Evan
“How’s your mom doing?”
Kaley, still glued to her phone since it beeped with a notification five minutes ago, doesn’t spare me a glance as she enters the bedroom.
Our bedroom.
“According to her dating app notifications, she’s more active than I am.
” She scoffs over something she reads on her phone as she passes me sitting in bed on her way to the closet.
“She’s going to meet Dan at Clear Lake tomorrow and go kayaking.
” With her back to me, I may not see it, but I can hear her eye roll.
Shirtless, I sit back against the upholstered headboard we picked out and bought together last week and chuckle at the monster I’ve created.
The past year has been amazing.
Our early drama may have made for a bumpy start, but it also helped us understand that the key to making our relationship work is clear communication.
First rule—no question is too small or stupid to ask.
Which is how I ended up showing Kaley how to help her mother download the dating app my mother uses and then mirror it on her own phone. Which she then taught Rose and Ian’s wife, Trish, how to do.
And when Bodie and Ian complained, I just laughed.
Side note—karma is hilarious.
Now our three significant others—plus a few more of our friends with single parents—created a group text that acts as a support group for adult children helping their parents navigate the online dating world.
I’ve never been so glad that my mom became serious about Kenneth, a retired high school English teacher that she met a few weeks after Kaley and I got back together.
Because while I may have been a silent, protective witness to my stepmother’s foray into dating, unlike Trish, I didn’t actively swipe right for my mother-in-law, filling up her weekends with dates like a soccer mom trying to manage her kid’s schedule.
At least Bodie, whose widowed mother was and still is in a committed relationship, was spared having to deal with his wife “pimping out his mom,” as Rose likes to say to Ian.
However, not to be deterred from meddling in the name of love, Bodie does have to listen to his wife’s trials and tribulations as she manages seven different dating profiles—one for each of her geriatric pole dancing class members who, according to Rose, “want to dance with the real thing.”
I shudder, despite sitting, ready for bed, under the fluffy comforter Kaley and I purchased to go with our new bedroom furniture.
“Maybe I should decline this Dan guy’s invite in case he tries something with Mom while they’re out in the middle of the lake,” Kaley calls out from the walk-in closet, thankfully pulling me from my current train of thought. “I don’t think Mom’s seen his message yet, anyway.”
She reenters the bedroom, the vision of her in a silk champagne-colored slip that she calls pajamas making my throat dry and the comforter tent over my lap.
Leaning against the closet’s doorframe, she glares at the phone in her hand. “I mean, who offers to take a sixty-two-year-old woman on an outdoor activity like that on the first date?”
I swallow hard, once more thankful that Kaley agreed to move in with me. Seeing her here, in my house, but one which we redecorated together to make it ours, makes me feel as if I’m walking on the moon I help others explore. “Isn’t that crossing the line?”
Once she forgave me in Ooo La La and I spent my next paycheck buying her everything in her bag, I took her out to lunch (leaving my stepmother in the good—if not diabolical—hands of Rose).
I explained how, while I could see the messages and notifications of interest sent to my stepmother on the app, I never engaged. I’d just wanted to make sure that no one was harassing her or—God forbid—sending dick pics and that I knew where she was meeting her dates in case anything happened.
Kaley, Rose, and Trish seem to have their own rules.
In an effort to help my girlfriend’s mother, who—if my plans for this December work out accordingly—will soon be my mother-in-law, I pat Kaley’s spot on the bed. “Your mother had a great time with Citali at the trampoline park. I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit.”
As one of the few childless couples in our group of friends, Kaley and I have been spending a lot of time babysitting.
It helps ease my guilt over the whole dating scheme I started.
“That’s true.” Kaley continues to frown at the phone.
In a less altruistic effort, I pick up my own phone and tap on my go-to playlist.
The song I hope to dance to at our wedding plays from the surround sound I recently installed after discovering how much Kaley enjoys a song track for our bedroom activities.
Kaley lowers her phone when Frank Sinatra begins crooning, her look of consternation melting into one of seduction. “Frank, huh?”
I flip back the covers on her side, inviting her over. “The only other guy allowed in our bedroom.”
Laughing, Kaley walks—saunters—over, laying her phone screen down on her nightstand. “Is that right?”
“Yep.” I invoke our second relationship rule—if you need something, ask for it—pointing to the mattress between us. “Come here.”
Whether it be for clarification or reassurance, Kaley and I decided that clearly stating what we need when we need it is a key element to good communication.
And having the other meet those needs, as Kaley does now by lifting a knee onto the edge of the mattress, helps ensure the other feels secure in our relationship.
And right now, Kaley meeting my needs also gives me a peek at the non-existent panties she’s wearing.
My tent pole lengthens as she crawls across the bed, the deep V of her neckline giving me a view of her swaying breasts.
Not stopping on her side, she continues until, swinging a leg over my lap, she settles over my straining boxer briefs.
Grabbing her around her rib cage, I hold her still, lest I shorten the time between now and my release. “I like your panties.” I rub my thumbs over the silk along the sides of her breasts, her nipples jutting out from behind the fabric.
Her smile is nothing less than wicked. “I thought you might.”
I slide my hands up, tossing her hair over her shoulders, revealing the tiny straps of her slip.
Trailing my fingers across her collarbone, I play with the thin, rolled fabric that’s nearly the color of her skin.
Apparently not pleased with taking things slowly, Kaley reaches below where the silk is bunched at her thigh, inching the waist of my boxer briefs down and releasing my erection, kissing me hard before I can object to her taking control.
Not that I would.
I love Kaley submissive, dominant, and anything in between. She makes me feel loved. Not alone. And I can only hope I’m doing the same for her in return.
She pumps me hard, up and down, twisting slightly at the top.
“Fuck.” I whisper the word against her mouth, feeling more than seeing the corners of her lips rise.
“That’s the idea.” Lifting on her knees, Kaley shifts forward, teasing the tip of my cock with her wet pussy.
In retaliation, I tweak her nipples—hard.
On a jerk, she impales herself, both of us groaning.
“So good.” Her breath is a hot caress on my ear.
I agree, nipping her neck with my teeth. “So fucking good.” Then, wrapping my hands around her silk-covered waist, I hold her in place while I rest my shoulders against the headboard so I can leverage my cock up the last inch, fully seating her.
She moans as Frank begins the last line.
Together we sing, “I love you.”
Holding my eyes—as well as my heart—Kaley smiles at my out of tune declaration. “I love you, too.”
Then, to the soundtrack of Frank Sinatra, we proceed to show each other how much.
I may or may not owe her more silk pajamas at the end.
Worth it.