Chapter 2
two
Warren
The words cock, cum in my mouth, and pussy pass my lips as audible sighs fill the air.
I try to focus on reading the book, but I knew it was going to be nearly impossible to get through tonight without the raging hard-on threatening to burst free from my jeans when I started reading this book a few weeks ago as part of the book club assignment.
The book in question is The Mountain Man’s Lusty Woman.
I devoured it in one sitting, feeling an oddly familiar pull to the storyline, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint why until I saw Marigold biting her lip as I read the book aloud.
The two main characters remind me of Marigold and me if we were more than friends, like I want us to be.
I’ve wanted to ask Marigold out ever since I first met her, but when Mrs. Greenwald introduced me to her, she then pulled me aside and told me to take good care of Marigold.
That’s when my fantasy of claiming Marigold for myself ended, and I resigned myself to the realization that we can only be friends.
Since returning from the military three years ago, the library has become my sanctuary, just as it was when I was a child, escaping into the magic of the stories I read.
But now, at thirty-six, I realize that magic isn’t real.
Love is only for those brave enough to take the leap—I’m just not one of those people.
The fear of asking Marigold out on a date and facing rejection weighs on me daily.
The thought of that happening and losing our friendship, along with the safe haven I’ve found at the library, is what stops me from taking that step.
Sure, Marigold is so kind she would let me down gently to avoid hurting my feelings, but that tension would linger until, eventually, we started seeing less and less of each other.
Besides, what would a twenty-three-year-old woman see in an old man like me?
“I think that’s all for tonight.” Marigold leaps out of her seat, rushing to my side amid the boos from the other women in the room. “Settle down, everyone. Warren has been reading that book to us for over an hour. I think it’s time to move on to the suggestion box.”
Relief washes over me, and I smile at Marigold, causing her to stumble. I quickly step in to catch her before she hits the floor.
“Thanks,” she sighs, her minty-sweet breath caressing my lips. All I’d have to do is lean down a few inches, and our lips would be touching.
The loud sound of someone clearing his throat makes us jump apart.
“I thought you might all need a round of shots after Warren’s performance,” Dean announces to the room.
The women giggle at his use of the words “Warren’s performance.
” The only ones who don’t seem amused by it are me and Dean’s brother, Dawson, who is spending more time scanning the room for a specific person than passing out the free shots Dean promised.
The moment Dawson’s eyes land on Esme, his whole face changes, a huge smile spreads across his face, and he looks like a love-struck fool. And I should know, I see that look in the mirror staring back at me when I think of Marigold.
Turning my attention back to Marigold, I grab a shot glass from Dean’s tray and raise my hand, saying, “Here’s to Marigold for being the best damn book club leader ever.
” I softly clink my shot glass to Marigold’s before we both swallow our shots in one go.
The sweet butterscotch coats my tongue, and all I can think about is tasting it off Marigold's tongue, belly button, nipples, or pussy—wherever she’ll let me taste it from.
The crowd of women raises their glasses in a toast, all yelling, "Hear, hear."
Marigold’s face turns a lovely shade of pink as she thanks everyone for the toast. “Now, let’s get back to the suggestion box.
” The crowd quiets down as Dawson and Dean clear the shot glasses from all the tables, with Dawson lingering around Esme’s table a little longer than necessary.
“Okay, the first suggestion is.” Marigold reaches into the small cardboard box on the table in front of her, designated the suggestion box, and pulls out a folded sheet of paper.
Unfolding the paper, she scans the words before reading them.
Instead of reading the words out loud, she rolls her eyes, “No, Mrs. Klein, Warren isn’t going to take off his shirt the next time it’s his turn to read again. ”
Mrs. Klein, who is at least eighty years old, shakes her cane in the air and starts booing Marigold. “The men on the book covers don’t wear shirts, why should he?”
“Because this is a book club, not a strip club,” Marigold says, trying to maintain a stern expression, but I see the start of a small smile trying to curve up her lips.
“He’s built like some of those male strippers.” Mrs. Fenmore, who is just as old as Mrs. Klein, joins the conversation.
"Ladies," I interject, attempting to defuse the tension. “No one will be seeing me without my shirt on.” I look at Marigold, hoping to see relief on her face at having calmed the crowd, but instead she seems disappointed.
“It’s probably time to call it a night,” Marigold says. Surprisingly, the crowd begins to disperse, leaving only Marigold and me in the back room.
“Are you okay?” I start to reach for Marigold’s arm before dropping my hand to my side.
“I’m fine.” She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. “We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow. We should probably both get some sleep.” I hold her gaze, searching her eyes for the sadness behind her words.
Deciding to let the matter go for now, I help her with her coat and walk her the three blocks to her house before returning to the bar parking lot to get my truck.
The lonely drive up the mountain to my cabin taunts me—if I were brave enough to ask Marigold out on a date, she would be sitting next to me, keeping me company right now.
Instead, I’m stuck with myself, and I’m piss-poor company at best.