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Brunette Mom

[Bonus Turn On Tip: Your older woman may not believe you think she is hot. (This is very true, I wouldn’t lie to you.) If you come on too strong, too early, it doesn’t feel good to the girl. She might delete. If you share a link to an innocent sounding story like this. It gives you something in common to chat about and may warm her up a little for you.]

Me? A Cougar? I Never Saw It Coming

“Excuse me,” an accented male voice interrupted my thoughts. “Is anyone sitting here?”

Busy trying to meet my deadline, I hadn’t noticed how crowded the little coffee shop had gotten. “No,” I smiled up at him. Noticing his friendly eyes I felt comfortable and truth be told, I could use a little human companionship.

I slid my file folders into a stack and made room for him at my table. (Bonus Turn On Tip: This is a great way to meet an older in real time. We LOVE sitting in coffee shops checking our social media, doing sodoku or working crosswords puzzles. I would never turn down a friendly man who asks to join my table at a crowded coffee shop.)

He’s kind of baby faced but a big kid, broad shoulders and a little grey at the temples. I loved that. Still in the middle of my neverending divorce circus, I have zip, zero, no time to date and no desire to trust another man again, ever. In fact, I am working on an article about divorce recovery that is due tomorrow. I don’t need an interruption.

That being said, I can’t help but peek over my laptop at the adorable young guy looking all professorial sitting at my table. Watching him dig out his own Macbook and notebook, he glances over at me. I quick look back down at my document. Just as I reach to put my earbuds in my ears, I hear him ask, “What are you working on?”

“I have an article due tomorrow and…” my voice stutters to a stop the second I make eye contact with him. He’s flirting with me. I’m sure of it. This gorgeous, approachable, interesting young (scary young, very scary young) man is flirting with ME. Fumbling nervously with my earbuds, I hope he can’t see how shallow my breathing is, I swallow hard. “Um and, well I better get back to it.”

“Sure,” he smiles easily, “I don’t want to disturb you.”

“No worries,” I smile back trying to collect myself and act calm and unaffected. Yeah, right. I take deep breaths. In two, three, four, out two, three, four, sanal rulet in two three four out two, three, four.

Since my breakup, I like being single, I remind myself. I will not open myself to another man and all the drama. I am doing fine for myself. I go out now and then just to prove to myself that there is no one out there worth the time. Between my freelance gigs and my dog, I am fine.

I certainly wasn’t expecting to meet anyone at an obscure coffee shop. Suddenly self conscious, I reach up to finger comb my short blonde bob. My heart is still beating too fast, taking a couple of deep breaths and closing my eyes. He can’t really be interested in me. I must be imagining it.

Glancing back down at the computer, I drag my attention back to my deadline and the task ahead. “Sorry to bother you again,” he said, “Could you plug this into the outlet for me?” He leans over and hands the cord to me and of course his fingers brush my hand. Is it just my imagination or does he linger just for a second too long?

“Sure.” Reaching down to put the plug in the outlet, I am glad for the excuse to look away. I grab my phone and babble out, “Could you please watch my stuff for a sec? I have to make a call.” It’s been years since I felt this way. I am terrified and thrilled at the same time and I have to catch my breath.

“No problem,” he smiles at me. “I have plenty to do and I will be here for awhile. Take your time.” I hurry away, wobbling in my stilletos feeling weak in the knees. I don’t want to open up to anyone. I like being unattached, or do I? I forgot how good it feels to have a man’s attention like that. I haven’t been pursued by a man in forever. So he is a child. So what. I pinch off the feelings of NO, NO, NO that poke up from inside.

I make a quick call to my client and then return to the table. He’s busy typing and glancing at the stack of papers next to him, glasses perched on his tan nose. Sitting down I start a new document. My mind now running all over the place, there is no point in trying to focus on my project.

Fingers flying across my keyboard, I list all the reasons that a handsome young man like the one across the table from me couldn’t possibly be interested in someone my age. I bit my lip. I sense how close he is sitting. His knee just inches from mine. My mind locks blackjack on how good it feels to be this close to him. His cologne barely reaching my nose, I want to reach over and touch his arm, but I don’t. What if I am imagining the whole thing?

I look down at my keyboard and saw that I had typed this: I wiorhi hjyo jr ropepskd ejaitpfojshiot. I laughed out loud. Noticing his quizzical look, I giggle and say “My brain is fried, I can’t write another word.”

Closing my computer, I begin to pack up my things. “You aren’t leaving on my account are you?” he asks. “Oh no,” I reassure him, “I have a meeting to get to.”

“Could I have your number?” He said with a smile that melted me. “Sure,” I murmur, swallowing the lump in my throat and smiling with more confidence than I feel. I scribble my number on my napkin. “I’m Angel.” “Finn,” he reaches out his hand, “Very nice to meet you, Angel.” “Me too,” I say, reluctantly pulling my hand out of his and turning to go. I am already late for my meeting.

Hurrying away, as fast as I can in my stilettos, I fight the urge to turn around and get one last look. He did ask for my number but he probably asks lots of other women. Ho hum. “He is probably a player anyway.” I mumble a little louder than I thought. “What?” said the lady next to me. “Nothing.” I said and picked up my phone.

I daydreamed through the whole seminar and by the end I was starving. I stopped at Trader Joe’s to pick up some asparagus and carne asada to throw on the grill. Standing in the wine aisle holding a bottle of Malbec in one hand a bottle of Pinot Noir in the other, I put the Pinot back on the shelf and the Malbec in my basket.

“Hey Coffee Shop Girl.” I hear a familiar accented voice near my left ear. I turn quickly, startled. “Hi!” I said looking up into impossibly delicious chocolate brown eyes. My heart jumps to my throat. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he laughs.

“Are you stalking me?” I manage to croak out, trying my best to be cute, confident and flirty. He laughs, “You bet I am. I don’t want to let you get away.” I am flustered and wobbly and loving every minute of it.

“That Malbec is a winner,” he said. “I think you will love it.” “Thanks,” I smile up at him. His ease and confidence make him even more appealing than he was in the coffee shop. Even though I am bingo afraid to know how very young he is, I want not to care. My brain is in a cramp trying to understand this unlikely companion.

“Let me buy you a cup of coffee.” Reaching for my arm, he directs me to the corner of the store where the coffee bar is empty in the mid afternoon. I hear what I come to recognize as my own voice giggling nervously. I close my mouth and take a deep breath trying to quiet the pounding in my chest. (Bonus Turn On Tip: LOVE when a man takes control and guides me like this. Subtle and very hot.)

“Vanilla Latte?” He asked, pulling the chair out so I could slide in. “Sure.” I am glad for the moment to myself to check my mirror and reapply my lip gloss. Calm down, I demand of myself. Just play this out. Don’t get out ahead of yourself.

I run my fingers through my hair and smile in the mirror in my pink lipstick case, pleased with what I see. Sure I am 65. I don’t look it and sure don’t feel it. He called me “Coffee Shop Girl”. It has been a million years since a man has called me a cute nickname. I bit my lip. (Bonus Turn On Tip: This is a master tool used by smart seductive men all over the planet. Find a unique thing about your girl and just add girl to the end of it, we love that stuff! Beach Girl. Sparkle Girl. WorkOut Girl. Keep it G rated and you will score.)

“Vanilla Latte for my Coffee Shop Girl!” He said putting our steaming mugs on the table.

Thanking him, I pick up my mug, close my eyes and breathe in the warm fragrance. “MMMM, smells so good.”

“My pleasure.” He smiles back.

After an hour or so, I am laughing as if we have known each other for years. His age means nothing to me. Realizing how easily I can get over the age dilemma, I relax. I don’t need something permanent. I am a consenting adult and so is he.

I excuse myself to hit up the ladies room and stroll my little self away from the table, knowing full well he is watching my every move. I call my colleagues and let them know not to expect me for the group dinner and then return to the table.

When I sit down, he reaches across the table and takes my hand. I am puzzled as he turns it over and traces my life line with his index finger. He doesn’t say a word. Neither do I. He looks back at me and the look in his eye melts me on the spot. My mouth suddenly dry makes me gulp self consciously. “Let’s get out of here.” He grins.

To be deliciously continued…

(Bonus Turn On Tip: Never underestimate the power of a good cliffhanger, keep her hungry and looking forward to your next encounter.)

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