Chapter 9

Mrs. Johansson and I didn’t say much in the car during the drive to the restaurant. I didn’t know what Mrs. Johansson was thinking, but I was fuming about what Tiffany had done and was wondering how I ended up going out to dinner with her mother. It had all happened so fast.

In the restaurant, as we followed the hostess to our table, Mrs. Johansson’s wide eyes scanned the interior of the restaurant. I had found the restaurant with Google, paying attention to the reviews, but had never been there. Mrs. Johansson’s reaction was what I had hoped Tiffany’s would have been when I made the reservation. Not only was the décor exquisite, but it had a Valentine’s Day theme. The tablecloths and napkins were red. There was even one red rose in a long crystal vase on every table.

When Mrs. Johansson looked at the menu, her eyes darted to me. “Cody, can you afford this place?”

I nodded without picking up the menu.

“Are you sure. Have you seen the prices?”

This time I smiled. “Remember my accident?” Mrs. Johansson nodded. “The settlement was large. And the way my father invested the money in safe stuff like bonds and annuities and riskier stuff like equities, I have a steady income, plus it’s grown much larger. I don’t have to worry about money.”

“I guess that explains your car. So what are you going to do when you graduate?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if I want to go to college.” I chuckled. “I guess that’s the wrong thing to say to a teacher.”

Mrs. Johansson looked stunned. “I’m not a teacher.”

“Oh, I thought because you hung out at the pool so much you were a teacher and off for the summer.”

“Nope. I didn’t even finish high school. When I got pregnant— Well, when my belly got big, I dropped out of high school.” She patted my arm. “So I know what it’s like to be taunted and teased at school. But, unlike you, I didn’t go back. I wanted to take care of Tiffany. My parents supported me back then.”

“And now?”

“I always loved to read, so when I wasn’t busy with Tiffany I decided to write a novel. Just to do something to fill the boring times. You see, my friends were no longer my friends. Like I said, I sort of know what you went through. I didn’t date. No high school boy, or even a college boy, wanted to date a teenage girl with a baby. I was lucky and got that novel published. Since my debut novel did well, they wanted more so I kept writing. I’m no Stephen King, but I’m successful. So it gives me time to hang out at the pool when I’m not writing. Sometimes I actually work on my current novel at the pool, making notes.” She chuckled. “You know, you inspired my current novel.”

“Me? How?”

“I write romance novels. Watching you at the pool was an inspiration. Maybe that’s the funny look you thought I was giving you. Sometimes I stared at you deep in thought, working on the novel in my head. Who knows what my face looks like when I’m like that.”

“So what’s the novel about?”

“I don’t talk about my novels until they’re done. But maybe I’ll give you a copy to read before it’s published. Then again, maybe not.”

“Why not?”

Mrs. Johansson’s cheeks flushed. “Because you’ll learn what my fantasies were when I was watching you.”

I blushed, but was saved from replying when the waiter came to the table to take our orders. The food was as good as the décor. And the live music was soft and peaceful. We had finished our entrées and were waiting for our desserts.

“People are dancing,” Mrs. Johansson said as she watched them on the dance floor.

“Would you like to dance?”

She turned to me and nodded with an ear-to-ear grin. I got up and held my hand out.

“May I have this dance, Abby?” I asked with a smile.

Mrs. Johansson’s smile matched mine as she took my offered hand and stood. I led her to the dance floor and placed both hands on her back like I had on Tiffany’s when we danced at her birthday party. Like her daughter, Mrs. Johansson laid her head on my shoulder and held me close. Unlike her daughter, her breasts were larger and they pressed into me. Another difference was that Tiffany’s head had been turned away from me on my shoulder. Her mother faced my neck with her lips so close to the side of my neck that I felt her warm breath there. And the longer we danced, the deeper and hotter those breaths got.

Mrs. Johansson’s body felt great in my clutches and against my body. She was warm and soft, and more than once her thigh brushed my now erect cock. That embarrassed me, but I couldn’t thrust my ass backward. I would have looked ridiculous. Anyway, one of Mrs. Johansson’s hands was on my upper back, but the other was on my lower back, at my waist, pulling me against her. So I simply enjoyed the feeling. It didn’t seem to bother Mrs. Johansson, so why should it bother me?

We danced through several songs and then the band took a break. When we returned to our table, our desserts were waiting. We finished them, danced a few more times when the band returned, and left.

On the drive back to Mrs. Johansson’s house, she asked me to stop at a drug store. I was worried that something she had eaten had given her indigestion and she needed an antacid or something. For some reason I wanted our “date” to be perfect. She had me wait in the car while she ran into the drugstore and got what she needed. Soon she was back in the passenger seat with the plastic bag in her lap and we were on our way.

While driving to her house, Mrs. Johansson said, “Cody, thank you for the evening. I can’t remember when I enjoyed myself more.”

“I liked it, too. You were fun to be with.”

“No one ever took me out on Valentine’s Day. I was never someone’s valentine.”

“I’m glad you were mine,” I said.

“Do you mean that?”