It was 8am, and as always, Sharon was awake. It didn't matter that it was Sunday morning and she didn't have to be anywhere until church at 11. She always woke up at the same time. And especially today. They had a houseguest.
Brent was a young Marine who had been friends with her son when they were both in high school. Now Thomas was off in college, and Brent was in the Corps.
Brent's own mother, who was kind of a flake in a lot of ways, had moved back to San Antonio to be with her family. His Dad lived in California. Brent had never lived in any of those places, so when he had leave, he still enjoyed coming home to Virginia, where he had lived for several years—ever since Hurricane Katrina had destroyed the family's home in New Orleans. His parents had been on the verge of splitting up then, but the Hurricane just pushed them over the edge. His mom found a job in Virginia, and his dad went to LA. He had stayed with his mom, even though she was far from winning any parent-of-the-year awards, if you asked Sharon.
Brent and Tom had been like brothers in high school, and he had often slept over as the boys were growing up. She had always adored him. He was like another son, only he actually said thank you, cleaned up after himself, and appreciated every little thing she would do for him.
Brent had a few days of leave, so he had chosen to come spend it with their family even though Tom wasn't around, and that was just fine with Sharon. She enjoyed the opportunity to spoil him. She had made up the spare room for him, but after a year in the Corps, he actually found it easier to sleep on the floor.
Her husband, Mitch, had gotten up and gone to work early that day. Even though it was Sunday.
Sharon was puttering in the kitchen. She would make some waffles for breakfast, and then start putting dinner in the crock pot for after church. As each waffle came off the iron, she put it in the warming oven so it would be ready for Brent. Then she started a chicken enchilada soup in the crock, and she was in the middle of washing dishes when Brent appeared, fresh from the shower. He was wearing sweat pants and a white T-shirt that clung to his flawless body.
"Good morning, Brent," Sharon smiled over her shoulder, up to her elbows in soapy dishes. "I made breakfast."
"Is Mitch here?" Brent asked.
"No, he's working today. He'll be home for football at one, though."
Brent stood behind her, watching her wash the dishes. He had a petite frame. Even in her early 40s, she had an excellent physique. She had always been a dancer, and even now, she taught ballet and jazz, and she did a great job of keeping herself up.
She had her long hair pulled back into a ponytail, exposing her long neck. She was wearing skin-tight black leggings and a loose red top that flowed over her body. He could tell she wasn't wearing a bra, and her breasts moved freely under the fabric.
"I made you waffles," she said, and turned to smile at him over her shoulder.
"You are too good to me," he said. "I don't need you to wait on me, you know. I'm used to taking care of myself."
"I know that, Brent. You've always had to take care of yourself. That's why I like taking care of you so much."
She turned and smiled at him again, and their eyes locked for a moment. Neither one of them looked away for a very long time.
"At least let me help you with the dishes," he finally said. He came over and picked up a dish towel to help her dry what she'd already washed. He was standing so close to her, that she could feel the heat from his skin and smell the still-fresh scent of soap from the shower.
She took a sideways glance at him. She knew she had no business looking at him like this, but he was a fine specimen of a man. He looked like someone had carved him out of marble, and the way his T-shirt hugged his arms and chest was unfair. But he was young enough to be her son. She turned her eyes back to the dishes and got awkwardly quiet.
"What are your plans for the day?" He asked her.
"Oh, you know. Church. You could come with if you want."
"No thanks," he replied. I've had enough church to last my whole life.
She nodded and handed him a wet frying pan, the last of the dishes.
As he dried it, she stood looking out the window over the kitchen sink, and he was looking at her. He turned and bent over to put the pan away, and when he looked back around, she was watching him. He recognized the look in her eyes and stopped moving for just a moment.
She looked away, embarrassed. She returned her gaze to the window. "Lots of squirrels out today," she said.
Brent didn't move for a moment. He was sure he'd seen something in her eyes. It was like she was checking out his ass. Could he be that wrong? Could his radar be so far off, or had she just looked like she wanted him? He had admired Sharon for years. She had always been so sweet, kind, caring, and wonderful to him. She was nicer than his own mother, but at the end of the day, she was kind of like a mother figure to him. And she was Tom's mother...
In the thirty seconds or so it took him to ponder his next move, he knew he would be taking a risk if he closed the three steps between himself and her. If he'd read her wrong, he would never be allowed in their home again. There was no way he could play it off like he didn't mean anything.
But this was Miss Sharon. The woman with the full red lips and the hourglass figure, and the soft eyes and round, muscular legs. How many times had he imagined this very thing?
He took the three steps to close the distance between them, and just put his hand on the small of her back. She turned to look at him, and it was all there in her eyes. He hadn't imagined anything. She wanted him. He was unprepared for what happened next.
