Dating A Silver Fox (Never Too Late) by Donna McDonald Page A

conversation. “What’s the problem?”
    “When he kissed me, it wasn’t good at all,” Lydia finally confided, saying the dreaded words out loud. “I couldn’t—it was just like before with my husband. I couldn’t relax. It was bad for him too. I could tell. He even asked me what was wrong.”
    “Kissing is mostly about practice. Easy problem to fix—just do it more,” Regina teased lightly, letting a tiny, husky laugh escape.
    “I haven’t really kissed a man in over two or three decades. What do women do? Hire men to practice on?” Lydia demanded, sweeping a hand through her carefully arranged hair before she could stop herself. Realizing what she’d done, Lydia pulled a small mirror out of her purse and started patting her hair back into place.
    Regina made more notes, biting the inside of her cheek hard to keep from laughing. It wasn’t Lydia’s emotional pain that was funny, it was the idea of Lauren’s mother hiring a guy for kissing practice that made her want to burst out.
    “Well, you could probably hire a male escort to practice with, but most people just use their dates,” Regina said, hoping she wouldn’t go to hell for her evil thoughts.
    “I would never tell this guy, but he rattles me. Half the time I’m with him, I feel sick to my stomach with nerves. He says crazy things. He told me I was an unpicked grape and he wanted to make wine out of me,” Lydia mused, reciting what she’d been mulling over and over since Morrison had said it to her.
    Regina burst out laughing, she couldn’t help it. Not the most professional response, but it was honest. Damn—an unpicked grape. That was a good metaphor for a woman like Lydia.
    “Yes. I wanted to laugh when he said it to me too. It’s Joyce—James Joyce—the writer?” Lydia explained, smiling softly. “There was something else about not withering on the vine—I forget. His delivery was very smooth. I’m sure it’s a line he uses on women all the time.”
    Regina laughed again. “I haven’t heard of any guys using poetry for a while. How old is he?”
    “Around sixty I think. I never really asked. He’s retired. I guess that’s about sixty-two or so though, isn’t it,” Lydia mused. “I don’t pry into people’s lives unless necessary.”
    “Well, sounds like he’s issuing a very poetic invitation for you to pry into his,” Regina said with a smile. “So practice kissing with him. It seems like he’d be willing.”
    “No. I can’t practice kissing with him,” Lydia said, appalled mentally at the idea as her stomach rolled at the thought of his insistent mouth on hers.
    “Why not?” Regina asked.
    “I told you. He makes me nervous. My stomach gets all fluttery. I might throw up on his shoes,” Lydia admitted. “Is it normal to be that way?”
    “Normal is relative. Ben made me blazing mad every time he talked to me at first. He couldn’t keep himself from making negative comments about my reputation and my work. So we fought a lot. That was our normal,” Regina said, surprised to hear herself revealing personal information to Lydia. It was not typical for her to do so with patients, much less one she didn’t like. She was obviously off her game today.
    Lydia sighed. “I guess I’m worried he won’t just want kissing. If you kiss a guy, doesn’t it always lead to other things? I’m embarrassed to ask, but I don’t know what’s changed since I last—well, you know.”
    Regina leaned back in her chair. “Eventually—yes. If done well and in certain ways, kissing is a type of foreplay that can lead to having sex. But it can also just be comforting, especially to women,” she said. “You can set boundaries and see how he reacts.”
    “I like comforting things,” Lydia said, admitting to herself that she wouldn’t mind repeating the moment where he put his mouth on hers in his hallway, so long as he didn’t press. “How do I tell him I want to practice, but not—you know?”
    “How old are you