"Dude, Mrs. Mitchell is a hottie."

Robin Mitchell froze at the top of the stairs that led down to the basement of her new townhome. Had she heard that right?

"Shh, not so loud, Brandon." That was Paul, the kid who'd lived next door at her old house and had generously offered to help her move. No, not a kid anymore, Robin reminded herself as she thought of his biceps straining his tight graphic tee.

"Anyway," Brandon continued, "you sure she's in her 40s? There's no way. Her legs look too good. I fucking love short shorts like that."

"Yeah, me too," Paul agreed.

Robin glanced down at her outfit. While the brown, pocketed shorts did show off most of her legs and she'd seen the guys looking, she'd never been self-conscious about the choice until now. It was the day of her move. The shorts and her black tank top felt natural. And it wasn't like she was wearing heels.

"Not sure it really matters. She could be nineteen and she'd still be out of our league."

Paul's praise made her light-headed.

"Speak for yourself, Paul, my friend," Brandon boasted.

Robin smiled. It was easy to impress guys like him. When she was younger, she'd had her fair share of Brandons wrapped around her finger. They were fun, but those relationships were as shallow as their personalities. Compliments from guys like Paul were more meaningful. They weren't on a singular mission to get in her pants--and it was always more satisfying when they did.

Robin shook her head and backed off a step. What was she thinking? Satisfying to be with guys like Paul? It wasn't proper.

Downstairs, Brandon went on and Robin couldn't help herself. "Paul, you've been crushing on her forever. She's way up there on a fucking pedestal for you."

That sent a tingle through her body. Paul had a crush on her?

"Come on, man, lay off. It's not like that. And whatever, she's been married for, like, ever.

"And now she's not." Brandon's words had a finality to them that struck at Robin's heart. She wasn't anymore, was she? He'd left her for some tramp, fifteen years younger. Brandon continued, "And Mr. Mitchell is a fucking moron. How can you leave a wife who looks that good? The pussy can't be worth it. No fucking way."

Robin resisted the urge to race down there and hug Brandon. Maybe she'd misjudged the young man.

Paul agreed with his friend. "I don't get it. They always seemed happy. And I always thought how lucky he was. Mrs. Mitchell is so cool."

Robin's body quivered. Brandon's compliments paled next to Paul's. He was always so genuine, and this afternoon was no exception.

"Just look at this entertainment center. Fifty-inch television. Surround sound speakers. A Playstation 3!" Brandon's macho enthusiasm was back. "There's nothing hotter than a chick who likes video games."

The truth was that she'd taken all that stuff because there was no way in hell her ex-husband and that slut were going to enjoy them. She bought it all for him, so she got to walk away with it. Still, it felt good being thought of as the cool chick.

"I like how active she is. She runs every morning in these skin-tight outfits. Best part of my day was seeing her jog away from the house. Even in the middle of winter, she looked good. God, I'm going to miss that."

Paul had been watching her from the window each morning when she took to the streets? The tingling started to gravitate between her thighs.

"Didn't you jerk off to her sunbathing?"

"Oh, God, I shouldn't have told you about that."

Her eyes shot open and she rocked her head forward, her loose golden bangs spilling across her face. Really? she mouthed.

"Paul, I don't blame you. I mean, she must look awesome in a bikini."

"She does."

"I do?" Robin called as she descended down the stairs. She didn't remember making the decision to interrupt, but the petrified look on their faces was worth it.

Paul and Brandon jumped to their feet, watching in horror as Robin Mitchell's shapely legs appeared at the top of the steps. Long and shimmering, tapering into her brown short-shorts. Brandon licked his lips. Paul felt like he'd been busted for shoplifting Playboys from the bookstore's magazine rack.

They'd been unwinding on the sectional sofa, which was still wrapped in its moving tarp, placed haphazardly amidst the wreckage of Robin's move. It had been a long afternoon of slugging boxes, but they were done.

She masked her nervousness with a coy smile and admired the towering specimens of college-aged men, dressed in cargo shorts and t-shirts. They were both fit, Brandon with his brawny shoulders and Paul with his lean physique. She still had trouble connecting the impressive young man with the beanpole who'd grown up next door, although seeing panic lance through him was helping her remember.

"How long have you been there?" Paul asked.

"Long enough to know that you've had a crush on me." She watched as Paul's face went white, then turned to Brandon. "And you are the first person to call me a 'hottie' in many years."

Brandon recovered before Paul. "I seriously doubt that. You just don't hear it." Their eyes locked. "It's disrespectful."

Robin laughed. "So Paul, you think I look awesome in a bikini?"

What could he do? He wasn't going to lie. "Yeah."

She smiled. Paul liked that.

Brandon broke into their little moment. "So I think we're done moving everything. You know what that means..."

Robin shook her head. "What?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Ziploc bag. "We relax," he said, popping open the bag. He sat back down on the short arm of the sectional sofa and fished out a joint.

"Is that pot?" Robin stared at the hand-rolled cigarette.

Paul's mouth went dry. He would have kicked Brandon if he'd not been so stunned. This wasn't some coed he was offering a smoke. This was the wife-next-door! "Brandon, I don't think this is a good idea..."

Robin hadn't smoked pot since college. She'd gotten the wild times out of her system back then. Or so she'd thought. For whatever reason, Brandon's offer was tempting. Paul's concern only made her feel more reckless. "I could use some relaxing."

Brandon grinned, flashing a chill-out smile at Paul before pulling out his lighter and firing up the spliff. "Do you smoke often, Mrs. Mitchell?" he asked, his voice tight as he held the smoke in his lungs.

"God, no. What would my kids say?" Robin took a seat on the oversized sofa, taking the joint between her pinched fingers. Leaning back, she sucked smoke in, her eyes squinting shut. Her cool demeanor broke in a fit of coughs.

"I think your kids would say you're pretty cool," Brandon replied, smoke curling around his face.

Paul lowered himself next to Robin, staring at her as she hacked away, joint in her hand. He didn't need to smoke to feel encapsulated in a surreal buzz. He studied the woman next to him, wondering if this was really happening. He watched her long ponytail swish and bounce, arching down her back like the neck of a golden swan. She had a long neck of her own, lean and graceful. Kissable.

"Your turn?" she asked, breaking the spell. She held out the smoking bud, but all he could focus on at first was how lean her arm was. He took it from her, his mind still in disbelief.

Robin was having a similar mental freak out, particularly as she watched Paul smoke the joint with practiced ease. The neighbor's kid wasn't so innocent. She met his eyes. Not a kid, either, she reminded herself. The pot loosened her tongue. "I can't believe I'm getting high in the basement with guys half my age."

Brandon started laughing. Then everyone started laughing. That felt good. There hadn't been much of that since her husband left.

"You're not going to tell my mom, are you?" Paul was cracking up before he could finish the question.

Thinking about Paul's parents and some of the fun they'd had when the kids were younger, Robin decided to drop a bomb. "Your mom would probably ask you to share."

It took a moment for that to sink in. Then he blundered out a, "Wait, what?"

Brandon barked out a laugh. "Dude, I knew your parents were cool like that."

Paul barely heard his friend's yammering. His attention was locked on Robin, who looked so pretty smiling like that. "My parents smoke?"

Robin shrugged. "They used to. Not sure about now."

"Did you and your ... did you ever do it with them?"

"Nah. Brian was too straight for that--or so I thought, anyway." Her ex's name tasted bitter in her mouth. "I used to smell it in the backyard though. When you were little. Heard them laughing." She shook her head. She lifted the last of the joint to her lips, inhaled and released. "I used to envy how much fun they had together. I used to think, 'Those two know love.' At the time, I told myself Brian and I just expressed it differently. Now, I'm not sure."

She watched as the bud died in her fingers. Paul didn't like how sad she looked. "He is a complete ass," he said. On a whim, he shifted over to her and started rubbing her shoulders.

"Fucking moron," Brandon added.

"Totally," Paul agreed.

"I just don't get it. I've met his new whore--before I knew about them, I mean. She's young and pretty, but so ... tacky. Raccoon eyes, you know? He never told me he liked that look. Is that what you guys like?"

There was a trap if there ever was one. Even stoned, Paul side-stepped it. He ran his massaging hands up her neck, then down her spine. He could feel her muscles under his fingertips, warm and taut, but he was surprised to find no bra strap. "There is no way that's going to last. The secretary cheating with the married man? Not a recipe for a stable relationship."

"Yet he chose her over me. Makes me feel great about myself." She rolled her head to the side, baring her neck. "That feels so good, Paul."

"I bet Paul wouldn't choose anyone over you," Brandon declared, breaking out in a titter.

Robin peeked at Paul. "Yeah right. I know I can't compete. Not with girls half my age." She chewed her lip. "I mean, I can't even remember the last time we had sex--not that I didn't make an effort. I just thought he was tired or overworked or something. Now I learn he's been fucking this girl without a problem. I'm 41, but I never thought of myself as old until he left me."

Paul didn't think of her as old, either. He was surprised to hear her age. He pushed her blonde ponytail over her shoulder and caressed the soft sweep of Robin's neck. It was as supple as any he'd touched and he yearned to touch more of her. Paul's voice caught in his throat before tumbling out, tender and sincere. "You're beautiful."

The trio was quiet, absorbing the emotion of the moment. It wasn't an awkward silence, one that needed to be filled with something forced or silly. Even Brandon knew to hold his tongue. Paul ran his thumb along the groove of her spine. Brandon watched them from the other bend of the sofa.

She felt beautiful. Wanted. It had been years since she'd felt that way with her husband. Robin spoke at last, her voice tiny. "Thank you."

Paul couldn't help himself. He leaned down and kissed Robin's neck. He felt her heart beat beneath the surface of her skin. Felt her shiver.

"Paul..." Robin sighed. It was supposed to be a warning--a "this is too far" plea--but Paul took it as encouragement. The hand on her back swept around her as he pressed his hard torso against her.

She should have pulled away, but it felt too good for that. Instead, she slumped into his embrace, rolling her head back onto his shoulder.

Paul kissed along the ridge of her neck, lingering at the back of her jaw just beneath her ear. He breathed in the fruity aroma of her shampoo and body soap. His hands moved, climbing her midriff and up her torso. She gasped as his touch found her breasts, enveloping them in a gentle squeeze.

"Paul--" she said. The rest was cut off as his lips covered hers, his tongue slicing into her mouth. She resisted for half-a-second before returning the kiss--her first kiss with anyone other than Brian in twenty long years! Her smile tightened their lip lock.

Paul kept wondering when he was going to wake up. Robin had been his fantasy woman for so long she'd become as unattainable as Megan Fox. Yet here they were, making out, her soft tits collected in his hands. He slipped them higher, finding her nipples pushing hard points through the tank top.

Brandon watched them, legs splayed and silly grin plastered across his face. At the moment, he was mellow enough to just observe. He'd been watching Robin all day as she supervised the move, telling them where to put boxes and furniture when it was all he could do not to stare. She had a dancer's body, long and lean with high, perky breasts that Paul was enjoying. He'd envied his friend when Paul told him that he'd seen her in a bikini. Now, as he watched Paul begin to pull up Robin's tight tank top, he knew he'd see a whole lot more. That grin wasn't going away.

Robin didn't pull away when she felt Paul lift her top, but she almost did. Through the buzz of the pot and this young man's kiss, she was aware of what was happening. She was being undressed in a room with two hot and horny guys and they all knew where that was going to lead.

Robin's breasts fit perfectly in Paul's hands. His thumbs went to work on her high-seated nipples, drawing a moan into their kiss. She tried to pull away but he held her their, sitting up on his knees to better angle his kiss down into her. Their mouths clashed harder, tongues tangling with desperation. Paul squeezed her tits, rougher than she usually liked. He twisted her nipples, sending pain and pleasure searing through her. There was need in it. Power. Robin pushed her chest against his grip and her shoulders against his body.

She reached behind her and found Paul hard. She stroked him through his shorts, surveying the full stretch of him. Any lingering impressions she had of the boy-next-door evaporated. Paul wasn't just a man, but he was a healthy young man.

Brandon loved tan-lines and Robin had some nice ones: pale triangles against her warm tan. The midriff he'd been stealing glimpses of all day was flat, her navel unadorned with the piercings that so many girls his age sported. She didn't need it to be sexy. Brandon couldn't simply watch any longer.