Just What They Needed

5 WEEKS LATER

Mitch poured the howling-hot water over a fresh packet of herbal peach tea and returned the kettle to the stovetop with a clank. It was black outside, and ticked at the kitchen window. He lifted the mug carefully by the handle while cautious feet carried him through the house, each room barely lit by the street lights outside. The old, brown reclining chair welcomed him back. Mitch sank into it, jostling his hot tea but catching the wave before it splashed over the edge. "Whoa," he spoke to no one.

It had been a warm, productive day that struggled to last. The cold wind blew in with distant rumblings of thunder; the thunder brought rain, and the wind spat the storm against the Western panes. It was rare for Mitch to get time truly to himself. He tapped the center button on the remote which signaled Netflix to continue its gluttonous binge. The sweet, floral fog brewing from his new favorite tea wafted through his nostrils. He breathed it deeply and sighed.

The twins had graduated high school and earned the right to be "out" without parental permission, but his wife, he knew, went out with a couple girlfriends. Claire had taken an Uber, which meant whatever they were doing, they were drinking.

Dramatic theme music played out of the surround sound, but a sudden glow from the end table had Mitch reaching toward his iPhone. It took an extra moment before the name on the screen made sense. He set his mug on the table, straightening in his chair. His mouth tensed and stomach twisted into a knot.

Lauren: Are you home?

He jammed off the TV.

Mitch: Yes. Everything ok?

Mitch hit send and didn't have to wait long for a reply.

Lauren: Is Claire there?

Mitch felt uneasy. He tapped a new reply.

Mitch: She's not home. Do you need help?

He was leaning forward in his chair now, ready to take action for whatever came after those three, dreaded dots. His heart beat a little faster.

Lauren: I'm in your driveway. Is it ok if I come in?

Mitch: Of course

He slid wide, bare-footed strides over slippery wooden floorboards, and flicked on the kitchen light just as Lauren dodged raindrops to find shelter on the covered back stoop. The bright light from the room made her face, even through the glass, stand out against the darkness of the night.

"I am so sorry to just drop by like this," Lauren said the second Mitch opened the door. He stepped aside to let her pass, but she did not budge.

Standing under the edge of the roof, her back was vulnerable to the storm's sideways assault. "Please come in," Mitch begged and gestured hastily.

Lauren finally accepted refuge in the Clarks' kitchen. Mitch fought the wind to latch the door behind her. When he turned around, Lauren was looking past him, unfocused in thought. Her face was puffy from crying, and as Mitch waited for her next move, her eyes pooled with tears.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She tilted her head toward the ceiling like she was hoping gravity would pressure the tears back inside. Mitch didn't move. He barely breathed. Her whole ensemble dripped with distress. Before her teary face, Lauren's saturated brown hair appeared almost black. Strands stuck to her cheeks and neck. She wore a rain-soaked denim jacket over an outfit that was chosen at a much sunnier hour in the day. A light yellow athletic top clung to her upper body, and her mesh running shorts could not hide the goosebumps that dotted her shapely legs. Her chest trembled with every breath. Mitch recognized the tremors as sobs threatening to surface.

"John and I broke up." Lauren had started the sentence with forced normalcy, but by the end her pitch had risen until it broke. Tears that she had been trying to hold back suddenly streamed her face and she drew in a choked breath.

"Sweetie," Mitch sighed. He reached toward her, and Lauren and fell into his arms.

She gasped heavily against his chest in between soft cries. Mitch felt the cold rain from her hair and skin begin to seep into his shirt, and he pulled her in tighter. She let him hold her until the sobs slowed.

"I'm sorry I burst in on you like this," she said, stepping back and rubbing the tears from her eyes. "I don't know why I came here. I shouldn't've..."

"It's really okay," Mitch murmured, stooping to meet her downturned face.

"I just had to get out of there," she added, eyes shifting around the room again. "I was going to go to Hannah's, but..." Lauren paused and glanced up at Mitch before enduring. "I...I knew she'd want to talk about what happened, and..." She took another pause and attempted a deep breath, almost on the verge of tears again, "if she got it out of me that I slept with someone else, she would want to know who." Lauren dove shamefully into her hands. She couldn't bear to see Mitch's reaction.

He took an uneasy step back and closed his eyes. He felt dizzy and more than a little sick.

"That's not all of why we broke up, exactly," Lauren continued, practically reading his mind. "We hadn't been right for a while. It's just... well, nothing was wrong, but nothing felt right either. I couldn't picture that being it, you know? I convinced myself that moving in together would make it better. So stupid..." Lauren's voice broke again, but she pulled it back together and kept going. "I didn't think he would take it so badly."

"Badly how?" Mitch pressed. He attempted to speak gently so that she wouldn't hear how scared he felt.

"He just wouldn't accept that I felt we were wrong for each other," Lauren said, her hands twisting in front of her. "He begged me not to." Tears fell down her cheeks again, this time silently. "He wouldn't stop telling me we should be together, and...I felt so guilty...I told him that I slept with someone. I didn't mean to. It just came out."

Lauren looked at Mitch now, who was nervously holding the back of his neck.

"I didn't tell him who, and he didn't ask," Lauren said quickly, wiping the fresh tears away. "I don't think you have anything to worry about," she added, noticing that discomfort had not faded from his expression. "I'm sorry I even came here. I just..."

Her justification for arriving, unannounced, in Mitch's driveway and dropping a bomb in his lap suddenly felt woefully lacking.

"Wow, I'm so embarrassed," Lauren repeated, sniffling and wiping her nose with her sleeve.

"Don't be," Mitch sighed as he pulled her in for another hug. "I'm glad you felt like you could come here," he said over her shoulder. It was going on eleven o'clock. "You can stay in Hannah's old room tonight."

"Thanks," Lauren said softly, showing Mitch an appreciative smile.

Mitch nodded humbly and let her follow him upstairs. She was noticeably quiet the whole way, and every movement felt to him like she was trying to take up as little space as possible.

She stopped just outside the doorway of his bedroom while he dug in the bottom of a creaky vintage dresser. He then sent her in the bathroom with a fresh towel, one of his old t-shirts - a relatively plain, grey one with only a tiny version his company logo embroidered on the chest - and a pair of navy sweatpants that would undoubtedly be too big, but that had elastic around the ankles and a drawstring waist that she could cinch up.

She emerged a few minutes later, looking timid. She had pulled her hair into a bun that sat loosely at the nape of her neck. Her face was clean and slightly pinked from being dabbed with a warm wash cloth. The clothes were baggy, indeed, but she still managed to make them look intentional. Mitch felt a wave of smug possessiveness come over him, seeing her in his shirt. Lauren tucked a flyaway behind her ear nervously, her breast moving freely under the loose fabric - a wiggle begrudgingly spotted. The quaint, boyish attraction he was feeling devolved into feeling rather perverted instead. If someone were to write a story about tonight, he would surely be deemed the villain for coveting the beautiful, young damsel, preying on her heartbreak and vulnerability. His eyes came to rest on the tiniest shadow where her hard nipple lifted the shirt away from her breast. He snapped his eyes closed.

"I made up the bed in Hannah's room," he rattled off, trying to remain a protagonist.

"Thank you," Lauren responded sympathetically. "I could have done that."

"It's no trouble," Mitch said, speaking to an inoffensive spot on Lauren's shoulder before heading away to give her space to get settled.

"I'm making you a sandwich!" He called from halfway down the staircase.

Lauren smiled after him. She was starving.

She went in Hannah's bedroom and placed her damp clothes over the footboard to air dry in the familiar sanctuary. Her eyes roamed the room, noticing all the pieces of her friend that had been left behind and the parts that had been replaced. Stuffed animals, band posters, and a closet of old homecoming and prom dresses all felt like they were from another lifetime. Boxes were stacked in the corner where Hannah had a bookcase that followed her to the new apartment. An artificial Christmas tree overflowed its box that had been pushed up against the desk. Lauren picked up a framed photo of her and Hannah grinning in front of Mammoth Caves, from spring break in sixth grade, on which she had been allowed to accompany the Clarks. She tried to recall what Mitch was like back then; she could recall his silliness, and him driving and paying for meals, always a pleasant constant. A smile escaped her, feeling the joy that radiated from their toothy grins.

Lauren returned to the kitchen to find Mitch putting the finishing touches on an ad-worthy turkey sandwich. She took a seat on a counter stool, and he slid the plate toward her, a dull screech of ceramic over rock. She eagerly took a big bite. Her stomach was pleased from the mere promise of being filled. Mitch busied himself again by fetching her some water from the tap. By the time he set the glass down, she'd housed half.

"I so needed this," she sighed with her mouth still full.

He picked at some crumbs that remained on the cutting board.

"What should I tell Claire?" Lauren asked before stuffing the last corner, which was mostly bread and lettuce, into her mouth. She chased it with a slug of water.

"I'll talk to her when she gets home. Don't worry about it."

"But what will you tell her?"

"I'll tell her the truth --that you and your boyfriend broke up and you needed a place to sleep." When Lauren gave him a leading look, he continued, "And I'll say that you didn't want to impose on Hannah right before her interview."

Lauren's eyes got wide and her head lolled back. "I completely forgot about the job interview. I'm such a shitty friend."

"Nah...you had a lot on your mind," Mitch excused for her.

Lauren was back to looking uneasy, but much improved from pained state she had been in when she had arrived. She let out a heavy sigh.

"Just shoot her a text tomorrow to wish her luck." He paused. "And maybe wait to tell her about tonight."

Lauren agreed. "Thanks for everything, by the way," she said, nodding toward the empty plate.

"It's my pleasure," said Mitch, taking it and placing it in the sink. "Can I get you anything else?" His words sounded passé, like he'd been working as a diner waitress for the last twenty years.

"I'm so full." Lauren put a hand on her belly.

She had followed his gaze this time, and she crossed her arms over her chest modestly.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "The top I was wearing had a built-in bra, and it was drenched."

"I didn't even notice," he lied and gave the girl a smile out of the corner of his mouth.

A sweet blush flooded her cheeks. It was hard for Mitch not to stare as she endured self-consciousness adorably. She pressed her lips together, trying to hide a little smirk that told him she maybe even liked the attention.

"Anyway..." she segued unnaturally after a silent moment, "are you tired or are you going to stay up with me for a bit?"

"You're not exhausted?" Mitch asked.

Lauren shrugged. "I don't think I could sleep right now."

There was another short pause as he studied her face and recognized a longing for some care and attention, which she was too reserved to demand. "What do you want to do?"

Lauren shrugged again. She traced a finger aimlessly over the countertop like the granite was a book in which she had lost her place. "We could just talk."

"What do you want to talk about?" He liked how she squirmed under pressure.

Her eyes flashed to his and then back to her wandering finger. "Uh...sheesh. Put me on the spot, why don't you?" she said playfully. She hummed, then asked the question that had been on her mind since she came out of the bathroom. "Is this hard for you right now?" Her voice was quieter. Serious, but not intense.

Mitch straightened his back reflexively. Provoked, a private skirmish of id and super-ego was suddenly escalating into a fight to the death inside his head. Lauren stopped moving and looked at him. Usually her expressions were an open book, but now she sat maddening unreadable.

He wanted to say no, to run and lock himself in his room, away from temptation...away from her. That would have been equally as damning. "Yes," he said, resorting to the truth. He caught her eye long enough to peek an embarrassed half-smile, but he turned away, feeling rather embarrassed himself.

She let the silence linger. Even the pounding of the rain seemed to quiet, giving a voice to the tension between them. When the sound of the rain again reached her consciousness, she continued lightly. "So have you always been attracted to younger women?"

Mitch, relieved that the banter had been reprised, smiled at the question. "I'm attracted to all sorts of women," he said.

Lauren let out a chuckle.

"I mean..." he trailed off. "I don't know what you want me to say." He laughed too.

"You're doing great. Please go on," she said, trying to keep a straight face, though the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile.

He sighed animatedly, "Okay, so..." he continued, speaking deliberately. "Youth has a certain inherent vivacity, but I notice women of any age can have that spark too. I especially take notice when a woman is doing or talking about something she is passionate about."

"So it's not a fantasy thing? If you want me to call you 'Daddy' all you have to do is ask." Lauren pouted in mock seduction.

"Oh, gosh," he said, trying not to blush but surely failing. He shook his head, averting his eyes, but a chill ran pleasurably down his back and made the hairs on his legs stand up.

"What should I call you, then?"

"'Master' will do just fine, thanks." Mitch winked at her, gaining back some control, and Lauren's cheeks pinked too.

She needed a moment to regain composure. "Then what is your 'thing'? There must be something. A kink..." she trailed off.

Mitch twisted his mouth to show her he was giving the question some thought while also taking note that she was purposefully leading him down a dangerous path. "A mini obsession with my daughter's childhood friend isn't enough for you?" It was his turn to grin as he saw Lauren blush harder and squirm in her seat.

Lauren tried to play it cool. She shook her head and tried, unsuccessfully, to project calmness. "There has to be something else." Her voice broke, and she swallowed.

Mitch looked at his hands, feeling stupid, trying to come up with something mild enough to shield his more shameful desires, but true enough for her to drop this line of inquiry. "There is one thing. It's not a kink...more of an appreciation."

Lauren giggled at him trying to devalue the word. "Go on," she encouraged.

"Fine," he sighed. "I have a weakness for lingerie," he mumbled.

"That's all? That's not that strange." Then her smile faltered slightly and continued, "Wait, are you wearing it yourself?" She tried not to sound judgmental.

"No," he chuckled. "No shame to those who do, but that's not my thing."

Lauren relaxed.

"And I don't necessarily care for it just for the sake of it, if that makes sense," Mitch tried to explain. "It's the context. A glimpse in the right moment, or as a surprise, it can be very seductive."

Lauren smiled understandingly.

"Your turn. What's your kink?" Mitch returned the question unwisely.

"Oh, look at the time. I should be getting to bed," Lauren jested. She tipped away from the counter, but made no motion to leave.

"You made me tell you mine," Mitch teased.

"Alright, fine... well, I don't mind being...handled..." she trailed off again, remembering, "...a little roughly."

Mitch stirred. Her inflection elicited a memory in him as well, directing their conversation, which had already been teetering on the edge of foreplay, toward certain temptation. Her sultry eyes turned knowingly on him.

"I always struggle with balancing my feminist values in real life," she continued, her words getting slower, "with the need to be completely owned by the men I sleep with."

Mitch, who had subconsciously been leaning in, suddenly straightened his back, hands still gripping the counter. His cock, which had been thickening steadily, was now completely stiff. His throat went dry and he was forced to swallow the little moisture left in his mouth with an audible gulp. It did nothing to relieve the sticky feeling and he coughed.

"I guess you already kinda knew that, though," she said, half attempting to banter again, though knowing the lightness was done. "In fact, I think you are the only man I've been with that could satisfy both."

Mitch's hands were glued to the counter in a wide grip but the rest of his body pushed away, bending so he could stare at his feet instead of into the desirous eyes of the girl sitting across from him. He could have her tonight.

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling his pain through the silence.

"It's okay," he replied finally. He inhaled as though he was about to say more, but instead he rounded his lips and exhaled a slow whoosh of air. He forced himself to straighten up and look at her again. She did look devastatingly apologetic.

When he spoke again his tone was not angry, but there was no hiding some subtle exasperation. "We should try to sleep." He took another deep breath. "Claire will be home soon, and--" he started to rationalize, but she cut him off.

"I get it," she said, nodding quickly and getting up from her seat. "Goodnight. Thanks again," she half-smiled as she headed toward the doorway that led to the stairs. "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

She turned and was gone.

Mitch tidied the living room. He folded the blanket and re-folded it because the sides did not line up. The result of the second attempt was worse than the first, and he balled it up into a heap on his chair. He marched back into the kitchen to pour his cold tea down the drain, and then returned to the living room because he could not remember if he had turned off the TV.

He winced as the squeak of each stair threatened to compromise his stealthy ascent and lingered quietly with his ear turned to Lauren's door. Hearing nothing, he slipped into the master bedroom across the hall.

In his room with the door closed, Mitch loosened. He had passed the test. He was sure she would have needed no convincing if he had instead decided to ask her to drop to her knees right there in the kitchen. The promise of pure pleasure had been seductively placed in his grasp and he had handed it right back. Even if what Lauren thought she wanted was to feel good for one night, he knew she would have regretted it by morning. Nobody looks back on their rebounds fondly.

Mitch's electric toothbrush temporarily drowned out the sound of rain on the roof. The worst of the thunder and lightning seemed to have blown over, but a steady bestowal of precipitation persisted. He shed his clothes down to his boxers and climbed into bed with a heavy sigh. The lamp on his bedside table illuminated his territory. He eyed the book on the corner of the table apathetically, the bookmark invariably nestled between pages 48 and 49. He sank into his pillow, scrutinizing the ceiling.