My Cheerleader
*
Author's Note
I've been feeling the need for a short and sweet middle-aged romance for a while. Nothing overly complicated. No 'girl meets girl, girl almost loses girl, no wait, girl is back' kind of a story. Just short and sweet. And it helps to start with a couple of characters who already have the sweetness thing down—Dani and Ava.
If you haven't read parts one or two of their tale, you should. But if you're pressed for time, here's the story so far...
In part one, Dani is a client at a physical therapist's office where Ava (a recent divorcée) works as a receptionist. Dani has a serious crush on Ava and finally gets the nerve up to say something which results in dinner and a chance at more.
In part two, Dani freaks out and tries to push Ava away. Dani's been hiding the fact that her physical therapist visits are because she has Multiple Sclerosis (MS), a disease of the central nervous system that has manifested itself in Dani by affecting her ability to walk. She's afraid of how it will affect Ava emotionally as the disease progresses.
Needless to say, they make it through all of these trials and continue their relationship. However, MS is an unforgiving bastard and Dani is now regularly using a cane to get around. This is where our story picks up.
*
Can I Give You a Lift? Part 3
"I met the new neighbor," I say, the letters from the mailbox still clutched in my hand. "Actually it was the neighbor's dog who introduced us. Damn near knocked me over."
I hobble over to the breakfast bar and drop the mail on top of a pile to be sorted later. "Ava? Where are you baby?"
"In here."
I make my way to to the spare room that serves as my work from home space on days when the relapses make it too tough to get into the office. The first thing I notice is Ava in a very short, red, pleated skirt and white knee socks. Ava has some seriously enticing legs, so it takes me a while to work my way up from there to see the fuzzy, white, pull-over sweater with the big red D in the middle of it. Ava stands with her hands on her hips, grinning, while I struggle with the big red D being pushed out by Ava's fabulously well-endowed chest.
"Let me guess," I say, "you've been Halloween shopping already. I like it."
"Not exactly." Ava moves to the side and with a flourish of her hands that would make any of the Price Is Right girls green with envy, she presents what is behind her.
"Is that—?"
"A rowing machine? Why, yes it is."
I keep waiting for her to say, 'Tell her what else she's won, Don Pardo,' but she doesn't. "It looks like a really nice one," I say. "Aren't those things kind of expensive?"
"And who works at a place where she can get exercise equipment at wholesale?" Ava grins and comes bounding over to wrap her soft fuzzy sweater arms around my neck.
I'll admit that it takes me a while to make the connection, obvious as it was, because, well, I'm sort of fixated on Ava's smoldering dark eyes at the moment. That, and her glorious boobs. I lay my head on her chest and pet the arm of her sweater with my free hand.
"You're so soft," I say, grinning. Let her figure out if I mean the sweater or her tits.
"Don't you want to know what it's for?"
"If it comes with you dressed in a cheerleader's outfit, I really don't care what it's for." I pet her arm some more. "So soft."
"Dani." Ava backs up and holds me by the shoulders at arm's length. "Focus."
I try focusing, but it kind of turns into a lecherous grin instead. Ava does not look amused, so I get myself under control.
"You know how you've been using the rowing machine a lot at physical therapy?"
I nod. It's easier than walking or biking, because most of the muscle groups still obey my commands.
"And you remember how you wanted to try competitive indoor rowing, but you keep putting it off, saying you aren't ready yet?"
"Yeah," I admit. Truthfully, it's on my to-do list, just never quite at the top. "I suppose this is to motivate me."
"The rowing machine is to make it more convenient for you to train." Ava slinks her way around so that she is standing beside me, with one leg bent at the knee, rubbing seductively against my thigh, while she wraps her fuzzy sweater-covered arm around my neck to pull me in closer.
Her hot breath is tickling my neck. I shudder.
"This is your motivation." Ava takes my free hand in hers and slides it up under the hem of that fuzzy sweater, that I quickly realize is not nearly as fuzzy on the inside as it is on the outside, but I don't care. Ava's skin is warm, and in that moment I also confirm that any bras she owns are still safely tucked away in her dresser drawer.
Ava slowly outlines my ear with her tongue, while I outline her left nipple with my index finger. Ava bites down on my earlobe. I shudder again and let my hand wander down to her waistband. That earns me a slap.
"Not before dinner," Ava says, as I stand there looking as dejected as possible.
"It's chicken soup, if it makes you any happier."
I stop trying for the Academy Award in the crestfallen category, and perk right up. Ava makes the best chicken soup I have ever eaten in my entire life, and that's not an exaggeration. She likes to tease me about it sometimes, saying that it's the only reason I married her—her chicken soup. I usually tease her right back and say, no, it's because of the baklava.
But not this time. This time I'm rendered speechless as I watch Ava shimmying out of her sweater and laying it over the back of the desk chair. One. Two. Those fabulous breasts jiggle as they're set free.
"I don't want to get any soup on my outfit," Ava explains. "It's dry clean only."
I swallow against the lump in my throat and nod weakly.
"Be a dear and help me with these socks, won't you?" Ava has hoisted her leg up so that her pointed toes are resting on the seat of the desk chair. Ava's short little skirt falls to the side and I can see she's shaved recently.
"That's a good girl," Ava says.
I shudder.
* * *
Dinner is fabulous. Ava isn't kidding when she brags about her homemade chicken soup. And then there's the freshly baked bread. Actually, heat and serve from the freezer, but I'm not getting hung up on details tonight. Ava plated up the whole thing up while wearing only a kitchen apron. And to think that when I first met her, I thought she was so shy.
"Did I get any packages in the mail?" she asks as we eat.
"No, were you expecting something?"
