The Affair

Cristiana’s Full Story

Aidèe Jaimes

The Affair

by Aidée Jaimes

Copyright © 2019 by Aidée Jaimes

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

For myself.

Contents

I. The Ticket

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

II. The Red Dress

Quote

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Epilogue

III. The Other Side

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Other Books by Aidèe Jaimes

Part I

The Ticket

Cristiana

1

I need to get out of the house! It has been so cold out lately and we have been stuck indoors for way too long. Winter has been brutal this year here in North Carolina, and today is the first warm day in what feels like months.

There is finally a break in the clouds, the sun is shining high in the winter sky and over the skeletal pines. The weather channel has promised it would be at least sixty-five degrees today, the perfect day to leave our cave and breathe in the delicious cool air.

I put on Mia’s white fuzzy coat and pink and white striped leggings. Her dark hair sticks out at her ears and curls at the nape of her neck. She is the most adorable three-year-old ever! Could I possibly think that because she is my daughter?

It’s Saturday and Owen is at work. I hate it when he works on a weekend. He will do that sometimes to accommodate clients, then he will take a day off during the week. The problem is that the day goes too slow when I’m here by myself, glancing at my kitchen clock so often it seems to count backwards. The house feels darker, heavier somehow.

I peek through the blinds. There is no one else outside that I can see, the street looking desolate and cold. I hate weekends alone.

Me: I’m going outside in five.

I shoot the text to my neighbor and best friend Jess just in case she is home. She lives three houses down to my right and I can’t see her driveway from my window.

Thinking no one else would see me, no one ever drives down this cul-de-sac, I grab the first pair of skinny jeans I see, black boots and a small black and blue checkered coat. My long hair is up in a haphazard bun, several strands falling around my eyes and ears. I give myself a quick look over at the mirror that hangs in my foyer above a large Bombay table. I don’t look great, absolutely no make-up, but not so bad either. I shrug, good enough!

Jess is already outside with her three kids. She pulls her two youngest, boys age five and two, in a red Radio Flyer wagon, while her seven-year-old daughter rides her scooter down.

“What’s happening?” she hollers at me.

“Thank you, you’re home! I couldn’t stand being in the house another second!” I complain.

“Me too. I was so bored! Kevin went fishing. His brother asked him last minute, so he says. Thanks for asking us out here.”

“He didn’t want to take the kids?”

She rolls her eyes. “Please, even if he were willing to, I would be scared to let them go. He can barely take care of himself! Josh, get off your brother!” She commands her five-year-old without missing a beat.

Jess is my idol. I look up to her and her no-nonsense, nothing gets her down, nothing seems to overwhelm her attitude. She always has her shit together. Three kids, two dogs, a cat and a hamster, and her house is not only impeccable, but she cooks everything from scratch, is a member of the PTA and goes to school part-time.

All that, and she is still possibly, effortlessly, one of the prettiest girls I have ever met. Blonde perfectly straight hair pulled back in a ponytail, pale porcelain skin, flawless even without make-up. Of course, she would have a body to die for. Tall, not overly large bust, but she makes up for that in spades with the tiniest waist and generous hips and butt that she accentuates with a hot pink pullover and black yoga pants.

Yes, I am very jealous.

Her bright blue eyes sparkle, and she shoots me a smile.

“You got out here fast.”

“You think? We were all still wearing pajamas when you texted,” she says and I smirk at her. “What?” she asks.

We play with Mia’s outdoor toys -a cozy coupe, bubbles, sidewalk chalk- for a long while and the day begins to get a little warm, but I can’t take off my jacket because I only have a spaghetti strapped shirt underneath that does little to hide my black bra.

It’s getting too uncomfortable, beads of sweat rolling down my back, my mouth going dry from thirst.

“Baby, I think mommy needs to go inside and change,” I tell Mia then turn to Jess and tell her we’ll be right back. I go through the garage, but on the way Mia sees her pink and purple wagon, the one that is meant for pulling dolls, not children, yet somehow she always ends up climbing into it and makes me pull her along.

“Momma, pull me! Please! Pull me, pull me!” she insists. I sigh, sweat already beading on my brow and upper lip.

“All right, baby, we will play a few more minutes.”

“I can take her if you want,” Reilly, the seven-year-old, offers.

“My Reiyi!” cries out little Daniel and runs to his older sister.

“It’s okay, Reilly. Thank you for offering. I can do it for a little longer.” If I don’t pass out from heat exhaustion first. We ride down the street a bit and back. Our white two story is at the end of the cul-de-sac, a real blessing being that we don’t have to deal with too much traffic. It sits on a large lot that backs up to the woods, a small creek running through the tall trees. It is our little piece of heaven, everything Owen and I were looking for in a home, porch swing and wooden rocking chairs included.

We have lived in this neighborhood for almost a year now. I love the house, and I love Jess and her kids. Mia adores Reilly, and for the most part gets along with the boys. With not much family nearby, they are extremely important to us.

The house diagonally across the street just sold and the new owners have been coming and going since yesterday, but haven’t stopped long enough to say hello, just the occasional hand wave as they drive past, always in a hurry it seems.

They come outside now and begin loading broken down boxes into a large black truck. It looks a lot like Owen’s black Silverado, but I can’t be sure, I don’t know much about cars. We watch the comings and goings for a minute. It’s a little hard to see them since we are a bit down the hill, though I can see a large man, at least from my line of vision he looks tall, enter the truck and it roars to life.

“Incoming,” Jess yells to me. It’s our signal to each make sure our little brood is accounted for and within a safe distance from the street. The black truck, I can see now that it’s a Ford F150 Raptor, pulls up to my driveway and stops. We all move forward as the darkly tinted window rolls down.

Jess is the first one there, with Daniel at her hip. I stop a few feet behind her, holding Mia’s little hand in mine, and crane my neck to see around her tall form. I am rooted to the ground when I see him for the first time.

It hits me like an atomic bomb, the insane, all-consuming attraction. He is handsome, so so handsome, in that rugged way that I love. Dark hair with just a hint of silver over the ears, dark blue green eyes and a day’s worth of scruff on his cheeks. But there is more to him than that, though I can’t exactly pinpoint what it is.

“Hi there!” Jess greets. “Are y’all new here?”

He looks my way, our eyes meeting and locking for a moment. Full lips smile a crooked sort of grin, displaying straight white teeth and long dimples in those scruffy cheeks. I am momentarily caught in his devilishness, and find myself shamelessly taking in every detail, the waves in his messy hair, his thick winged brows, full long lashes and tanned skin, evidence of long hours spent outside.

A bead of sweat drips down his neck and into his clavicle, and I think, Ooh, I could lick that.

His smile broadens and then turns his attention back to Jess, releasing me back to my good senses.

Oh God, no! I think. I can’t have this living so close to me! He is too much. The mere thought of him as my neighbor begins to undo me. My breathing is becoming shallow; my palms begin to sweat and I actually feel lightheaded.

He shakes his head. “No, ma’am. My folks just moved in. I live in Huntersville, ’bout half an hour or so away.” His voice is low, and his thick southern accent only serves to makes him sexier.

I am simultaneously disappointed and incredibly relieved. No one other than Owen has ever made me feel this way, and in less than five minutes no less! I didn’t think it was possible. But Owen and I were both single and I could put that nervous energy to good use as I flirted shamelessly. I can’t do that with this man. Pent up sexual energy like that is bad news and just plain dangerous.

He and Jess go into conversation about something I don’t know, and they lose me. I am still standing there, sweating, holding my little girl by the hand, stupefied. Thankfully, she is not complaining.

“Nice to meet y’all. My name is Bo,” I hear him say in that deep raspy voice. “Moved up from Louisiana a few years ago.”

He’s from Louisiana. That’s where that accent is from.

Bo’s eyes occasionally glance my way. I watch him too. Every time our eyes meet there is a chemical reaction in my brain that completely annihilates all thought, but for him. I am so wound up by his presence.

I am trembling, I realize, literally shaking in my boots! Suddenly I can’t be around him. It is too hard to breathe. I need an out!

In the distance, I see his mother moving some things around her driveway. At the risk of seeming rude, I take Mia and race over without so much as a goodbye or a look back. I can’t get away fast enough. I think I would have melted anyway.

I am still shaking in my too hot boots when I reach our new neighbor.

“Hey there!” I call out to her. “Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Cristiana Roberts and this is my daughter Mia.”

The older woman smiles, her hazel eyes brightening. She’s wearing quite a bit of make-up and jewelry. Large hoop earrings stick out through hair that is puffed out and bleached very yellow, and there is a musky vanilla scent that wafts from her as she waives bright red nails at me.

“Well hi! Oh my, ain’t she just a livin’ doll!” she drawls, clapping her manicured hands at Mia. “I’m Lydia Jensen.”

I like her immediately.

“So what brings you all to Charlotte?”

“My husband’s work,” she replies. “And my son, Bo, just drove off, he lives nearby. My daughter too. It don’t look it, but we’re gettin’ up there in years. It just seemed right to be closer to the kids.”

Jessica arrives with her horde of kids in tow, not even a little breathless. She gives me a look, her eyes letting me know just what she thought of my abrupt departure.

“This is my good friend and neighbor Jessica and her three kids.”

“So nice to meet you! Welcome to our neck of the woods. What brings you to these here parts…” Jessica and Mrs. Jensen go into an easy conversation, as they both seem to be talkers, but I’m no longer listening. All I can hear is the sound of a big black truck driving away.

I can finally breathe.

* * *

“Well he was hot.” Jessica states the obvious the second we walk away from Mrs. Jensen. “Not as hot as Owen, mind you, but still…” she whistles. “If I was single…”

She was right, as handsome as Bo is, Owen is more so. At least in my eyes. Still, it didn’t diminish my attraction to Bo.

All day I have thought of him. I can’t seem to get him out of my head. My attention is scattered between taking care of Mia, the house, paying bills, and Him. Bo. Handsome too sexy for my own damned good, Bo. Those impossibly deep turquoise eyes, where it’s hard to discern if they are more green or blue. That voice. No one should have that combination of sexy everything.

Owen comes home early and I am ecstatic. I am desperate for some relief. He plays with Mia while I clean up in the kitchen. I hoped the sound of his voice, the familial setting, would be a good distraction. But I am still restless.

I have been so worked up all day over Bo, his image popping into my head every five seconds, reigniting that strange flame he started. I am so sexually primed, that the moment Mia goes down for the night I turn to Owen and say, “Go take a shower because you’re fucking me tonight.”

His green eyes narrow slightly and he cups my ass, pulling me into him.

“Have you touched yourself today?” he asks.

“Nope, and I am so horny.” I reach down and stroke him. “I need this inside me.”

He is gone before I can say anything more. A few chores later I come to the room where he is already waiting, laid out on the bed. I grin at him as I make my way to the bathroom.

I turn on my iPod and listen to music while I get undressed. I am so in the mood.

That is until I catch my reflection in the large mirror above the sink and give myself a good long look over, my eyes roving my face, shoulders, breasts, and downwards. I’m pretty, I think. Not the most beautiful woman in the world, but pretty. I have long dark hair, hazel eyes that people seem to fixate upon because of the contrast against my naturally tanned skin. Big breasts, full lips. Owen always tells me I’m sexy. The thought enters my head unheeded, “Would Bo think so too?”

Probably not. I might be pretty, but I am also tired, the kind of tired that comes from more than three years’ worth of little sleep. Thirty-five is still young, I know, but I have a toddler with no help. There are dark circles under my red eyes that I can’t seem to conceal. My cheeks look somewhat gaunt, the skin on my face not so perfect. No wrinkles yet, but I can see the beginnings of what I am sure will be deep frown lines thanks to my mother’s genes.

My eyes go further down to my breasts. They look the same as they did before a baby and a year of breastfeeding. They’ve always been large, so perky has never been a description I used for them. And my tummy… not only could that use some toning up, but the long scar left by my cesarean section healed so poorly that one side of it comes up over my underwear line, looking more like a crooked smile than a paper-thin line. No amount of sit-ups will ever fix that.

My shoulders slump and I look away from the mirror to stop the critical analysis of my body.

I feel oddly defeated, as though I have already been judged and deemed unworthy. As though it matters what a man that I may never see again would think of me.

I can hear Owen typing on his laptop through the door that separates the bedroom from the bathroom and the guilt of wanting another man to find me beautiful and desirable makes me feel even more like a hag.

“You okay in there? I don’t hear the shower!” he calls out.

I love him. He is my life. It’s always been that way. The moment I met him fifteen years ago in the bank, I knew with certainty that he was the one. We started out hot and heavy and we haven’t slowed down. Despite our exhausting schedules and child rearing, our sex life is great, adventurous even, within our marriage of course. Owen is an amazing lover, from his kiss down to the way he pulls my hair and the way he bites my neck just hard enough. He knows me, knows my body and how to make me beg for more.

Attraction to another man is ridiculous. There is no need for it. No room for it in my happily ever after. I have everything I could possibly want and more waiting for me in my own bed. And he is going to fuck me mindless in just a few minutes.

I push Bo and his damned good looks out of my mind forever.

2

He’s there!

Why is he there? Oh my God, I can hardly contain this feeling. I don’t know what to do with myself.

That damned black truck is back at Mr. and Mrs. Jensen’s house and I am going bonkers trying to think of an excuse to go over there. I’d done the same quick glance in their direction from my living room window, it’s become an automatic thing lately. Never anything. Then suddenly he’s there and I nearly have a heart attack.

Now I am walking by every few seconds looking their way hoping for a small peek at the man himself.

I just need to see him one more time, I tell myself. Just one more time to see if he is as unnervingly sexy as I remember, or if my brain made it all up. Maybe if I see him again I will realize he is nowhere near as beautiful and I can get my mind onto more important things.

Ugh! I have been over their house a few times, just to chat. They love Mia and she loves their little dog, Puggy. Not once has Bo been there at the same time as me. Though I must admit that the thought of him arriving to catch me there always gives me a huge adrenaline rush and I pay a lot more attention to the way I look. A little more eyeliner, more blush. Concealer.

But he never comes.

“Just invite me over already!” I scream in my head.

No, don’t! What am I thinking? This is crazy. But if I just take Mia out for a bit, get some fresh air, and happen to run into him, that’s not a bad thing. Right?

Convinced of the innocence of my intention, I grab Mia, my heart nearly in my throat at the thought of seeing him again, and head out the door in a rush. Why, why, why! Why do I feel this for someone I saw for less than five minutes over a week ago?

I sit out there for what seems like an eternity, barely paying attention to my child’s chatting, jumping at every sound. But disappointment begins to settle after half an hour. At an hour, I feel ridiculous. After an hour and a half, I feel like a downright idiot.

He never steps out. Why am I doing this to myself? To Mia? She is bored and begging to go back inside. And really, what would I do if I saw him anyway? It’s not like I am going to have some torrid affair with him.

Stupid, foolish woman, I think.

Shaking my head, and all thought of him out of it, I take my little girl and head inside.

* * *

“Why do I always do this? No one wants to see me hanging out of my shirt, kiddo,” I grit the complaint between my teeth as I do my best to save my dignity!

Jess looks at me with that naughty twinkle in her eyes. “Oh, I’m pretty sure there are a few people who wouldn’t mind it. Matter of fact, I would probably sneak a peek if I had the chance, ha!” She winks at me and I just shake my head and laugh.

“Kid, stop squirming on me! Go color something, please!”

Mia has somehow wound her entire arm around the spaghetti strap of my gray jersey shirt, pulling it down and away from my body. Her foot is yanking it down from the bottom. I don’t know which end to hold up first. Worst yet, my knee is pinning down my loose blue cotton skirt so that when I try to stand up I pull that down too.

This is my lazy outfit. I throw it on with a pair of flip flops and just hang out at home. Normally I would only go as far as my driveway in this, or maybe Jess’s house, as was the case today. But when Mia and I got there, Jess was coming out with Daniel and practically dragged me to Mr. and Mrs. Jensen’s house.

“They invited us to a late lunch. She’s making cornbread.”

At the mention of cornbread, I nearly ran to their house - I love it, it’s one of my weaknesses – lazy clothes completely forgotten. So now for the last hour I’ve been fighting to remain decent, sitting on the living room floor of the Jensen’s house. Fortunately, Mr. Jensen has been kept busy in the kitchen while Mrs. Jensen entertains us with the story of how she got lost downtown and accidentally ended up back on our street. Jess is laughing so hard she’s crying.

“And I tell you, girls, I look around me, and there is this man just standin’ there in his yard waterin’ the bushes after it done stormed, and he had his pants pulled up to his chest, and I think to myself, that poor fella, he really needs a good woman to take care of him. And then he looks up, and I realize, that’s my fella!” Mrs. Jensen shouts and slaps her knee laughing.

“Lydia, I told you those bushes are temperamental!” Mr. Jensen yells from the kitchen. “If they don’t have just the right amount…”

“Oh hush, you hear? You just look crazy! Why, what the neighbors must be…” Mrs. Jensen stops mid-sentence.

Ding.

The doorbell rings and she looks up surprised. “Well I wonder who that could be,” she mumbles and leaves Jess whipping at her tears, and me to deal with our children while she sees to the new visitor.

Kids can be loud. Kids in a barely furnished house even more so.

My back is to the door and I’m still fighting with Mia, who at this point is giggling and having too much fun to comply with any of my pleas, when Mrs. Jensen lets out a high squeal.

“Well, mah Lord, Boey! What’n the world are you doin’ here?”

At the sound of his name I freeze. Every part of me screams to turn and look at him, but I can’t seem to move.

Mr. Jensen drops something in the kitchen and comes running out.

“Hi Momma, neither of you answered your phone all day and I got worried.”

“Oh, Boey, I’m sorry. Now what did I do with that durn thing. Dan, you seen my phone?” she yells out even though he is standing right there.

“It’s all right, Momma, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, well, I’m sorry, darlin’. But at least you get to meet the girls.” I hear them move towards us and Jess stands. “Girls, Jess, Cris, this is my son, Bo.”

Mia, generally shy around men she hasn’t met, finally climbs off me and goes to join Daniel in hiding behind Jess’ legs. I turn my head slowly. The first thing I see is his chest, he is so close to me, and I nearly stumble back from the sudden shock of being so near to him. My eyes travel up his torso to his face while my mind tries desperately to make sense of the situation, my nerves wild. Bo is there, in front of me. Literally a foot from me. He is tall, dear god, he is so tall. When he was in the truck he seemed big, just not this large. His hand is outstretched towards me. I look at it then shake it dumbly.

He is saying something, though I can’t make it out right away.

“I’m sorry?” I ask.

“I met Jess. But I think you left before I got your name.”

“Cris,” I think I say.

“So you girls have been keeping my mom pretty busy, huh? I can’t tell you how glad I am that she has you all,” he says. “She’s moved onto the perfect street.”

I nod my head and quickly turn away, my eyes searching in desperation for an exit. I’d played this scene in my head over and over so many times, yet I hadn’t factored in how he would make me feel. My reaction to him. It takes me only a second to realize I can’t do this, be near him like this. He makes me too nervous.

There is that part of me I thought was reserved long ago only for Owen that explodes out of control inside me with Bo. My body is ready to move in that way that I know will draw attention to my most appealing body parts, an exaggerated sway of the hips, my hands toying with the C necklace that hangs just an inch above my cleavage line. My lashes want to flutter and my eyes look straight into his while I bite my lower lip.

I would never have thought twice about sending the message to a man I wanted before Owen. Hell, I did it with him. But I was always single when I did it. There was never this battle of will and body. I could do as I pleased when I pleased. No nerves, only confidence.

Now I belong to someone and I would bring him shame and pain if I allowed myself to do what I really want to.

So I have to rein it in, control myself, which I am finding pretty damned impossible. Instead I end up doing my best to avoid his eyes, or looking at any part of him, for fear that I will give my feelings away. I feel myself hunching, diminishing my appeal as much as humanly possible I am sure, and standing as far away as I can, concentrating on Mia, wishing that I could hide in the nearest piece of furniture or maybe even the kitchen cabinets, anything to get me out of his line of sight.

If only I weren’t committed to lunch already.

Daniel and Mia blessedly, finally, find a place on the floor to play. Though I get a break, it also gives me no excuse to stay away from the conversation. Jess and a sleeping Mr. Jensen sit on the sofa facing me while Mrs. Jensen and Bo both sit with their backs to me. There is a wingback chair placed at an angle, but it would put me directly within Bo’s view. So instead I pull a chair from the kitchen and place it so that I am still behind them.

Mrs. Jensen is in deep conversation with Jess. Jess nods and smiles and gets in a few words, giving me only a quick glance when I sit.

From my angle, I can see Bo’s profile and I take him in. His face is as rugged as I remember, the same tousled, thick hair, straight nose, full lips. But now I can get a better appreciation for his body as well. His chest is broad, his blue shirt stretched taut, nicely displaying his muscular back and shoulders. His arms flex and my gaze is drawn to the tan skin matted lightly with dark hair and callused hands that say he likes to use them. I may have sighed in longing, I don’t know.

Suddenly, he stands without a word and moves to sit in the wingback chair now directly in front of me. I concentrate on the conversation, or at least I pretend to. Right now, they are just words going back and forth between Jess and Mrs. Jensen.

I feel completely on display. The atmosphere in the room feels thick, the air much too warm. My cheeks begin to flush and I know they are bright red, as is my misfortune that I can’t ever hide embarrassment. Even though I never turn to him, I know Bo is watching me, studying me. Every time I’ve come over I have taken care to look pretty. Not so much today. In my mind, I am going over what he must be seeing. Messy bun, no make-up, old flip-flops. I groan inside, then remind myself it really doesn’t matter.

Only it does.

Maybe he’s not actually looking at me. No, he is. I can feel it so strongly he might as well be touching me. Now there’s a thought to make me shiver! His fingers running lightly over my skin, over everything he’s looking at right now. I try so hard to breathe normally as I imagine what that would be like, just a little touch. A little kiss on the nape of my bared neck. Maybe my messy bun would be a blessing then! Maybe he could set the hair free and pull hard as I…

“Bo, where are you?” his mom asks waving her red tipped hand in front of him.

Jess’ eyes snap to mine and I can see she’s noticed. Darn she’s too sassy! I swallow hard and shift in my seat to ease that throb between my legs. Oh my god! I wish he could do something about that. That is not a good thing for a married woman to wish.

“Excuse me, I’m gonna check on the kids,” I say and quickly move away.

“Sorry, Momma, what was that?” he slowly answers her.

We eat scattered, me, Mia and Mrs. Jensen on the sofa with the rest of them at the table. The cornbread goes down hard in my mouth made dry from the constant arousal I seem to find myself in while I’m around Bo.

Time stands still yet goes by too fast. Before I know it, we are all saying goodbye. While I’ve been praying for the torture to end, it’s been a sweet kind of torture that I would gladly endure for at least another day.

I follow Jess closely with Mia and Daniel in hand and Bo behind us.

“Oh, wait! I didn’t pack any cornbread for you girls to take home. And I’ll get some for you too, Boey.” Mrs. Jensen turns around and heads back to the kitchen.

Jess walks back with her but stops me when I try to follow. “You get the kids; I’ll get the cornbread. Sorry!” She giggles and leaves me.

I can hear them talking in the kitchen while I pretend to look at the many framed pictures on the long buffet table in the foyer. They must’ve just placed these here, or I would have had my fill of Bo many times over.

Speaking of, I expect him to follow them, but instead he remains where he is and turns toward me. I can see him through my peripheral vision as much as I can feel him, just standing there, staring at me. It’s a hard thing to do, to look away, searching for something more interesting to me than his face. Even the dozen tiny Bo’s looking up at me now from within the mismatched frames are doing nothing to distract me.

Then the thought occurs to me that he’s simply standing there, not looking at me, just waiting. After all, who would do that? Even if he was attracted to me too, would he be so bold?

I look up, because I just have to know.

Yes, he is definitely that bold. There is a wickedly playful grin on his face that widens when our eyes meet and absolutely no shame in it. He is too confident in his look, his eyes never wavering, and I realize he knows exactly what I am thinking.

He knows. Shit he knows!

If anyone had been looking at that very moment, I am sure they thought someone had pushed me out the door when I run through it so fast I nearly fall out. I don’t look back, just take the kids and leave with a single word blaring in my head. Danger.

* * *

“Mia, Mia where are you!”

“Momma, Daddy!” she calls out in search of me and I giggle as I run into the living room and hide behind the curtains. Mia, Owen and I are running around the house playing hide and seek, mostly us hiding and her seeking, when I spot Bo’s truck through the window, and my heart skips a beat just as my stomach constricts and adrenaline rushes through me.

It’s been three months and still this same horrible reaction every time I see that he is there. Horrible, yes, because it in an unrealized attraction. Why do I feel this way for someone I only met twice? It’s awful. And I hate myself a little because I love Owen beyond reason. I could never hurt him. Even thinking of someone else seems like cheating.

“Mommy!” Mia squeals when she sees my feet and throws the panel aside.

I sweep her up and squeeze her. “You found me, you stinker!”

Owen comes out from behind the couch and she throws herself out of my arms and onto him, bringing them both down to the carpeted floor laughing.

“And I found you, my little monster!”

Our eyes meet, his green eyes fully lit with joy at being with his family. He is so beautiful to me. Loving, faithful. Never have I seen him look at another woman, never given me a reason to doubt. I know he would never do such a thing. He would never disrespect me that way. Yet here I am doing the very thing I would hate him for. Lusting over someone else.

I turn again towards the truck and I close the blinds. It is time to let this go.

3

It’s a little hard to get right to the matter of things when you have a kid who wants just as much attention from their father as you do. It’s almost like a contest, who can get Daddy to play first.

Mia wins. We follow her bouncing ringlets to the playroom, drink in hand. I sit on the side watching them play, enjoying it and slightly wishing she’d still nap so I can have my playtime with him too.

He’s leaving tomorrow. Even though he hasn’t left yet I feel lonely already. I have been doing my usual before he leaves behaviors; distancing myself, being quiet, adjusting to his absence. When he comes near me I pull away. It’s not a fun trip for him, I know, all work. But still, there is an irrational part of me that is completely out of my control and I blame him for making me feel this way.

Poor guy.

He’s taken the day off to spend with us before his trip. Taken me and Mia to breakfast, then to the park for playtime and ice cream. I love ice cream.

Still, it’s been tough for me. He’s tried to kiss me, hug me, and I brush him off. Now I feel him giving up, and I know I can’t let him leave with this impression of me.

I make myself a drink, a Bay Breeze, counting on that sweet treat to loosen me up. The pineapple and cranberry make that vodka go down real smooth and I quickly forget I’m mad at him for leaving.

I feel bold, and I need him.

And goodness does he look sexy. His hair is messy from rolling around with Mia, tickling her and flipping her over his back. His cheeks are sporting a few days’ worth of growth, with several silver whiskers growing in among his dark brown. He knows how much I love it when he lets it grow, just a little, not a full beard, or even a goatee, but just enough that his cheeks scrape my inner thighs.

I take a deep breath to calm myself. It’s a hard thing to do when I can imagine his head between my legs. I need him.

The first time I reach over and run my fingers down his cock. He smiles and swaps my hand away before Mia turns back to us.

The second time, I pull out my right boob until my nipple comes out and I pinch it. Again, he smiles and waggles his eyebrows towards Mia. She is setting up toys and building small towers, her back to us. I mouth, “What?”

He mouths, “Mia!”

“She’s looking away,” I whisper only to find she is with us now.

And so it goes, every time I think she is busy elsewhere, I try to seduce my husband. A look here, a peep there. Spreading my legs as often as possible. The more I drink the randier I get, yet he seems completely undisturbed.

How is it that just before he leaves and we’ll be days from seeing each other he isn’t hurting as much between his legs as I am, wishing to devour me as much as I do? I mean he is hardly looking at me!

So, I think I need to up my game. I lay on the floor in front of him, and the minute Mia gets distracted I lift my ass up so that my skirt rises and I am in his face. He moves me away, and I laugh until my brain registers what he’s just said.

“Stop it, you’re acting like a slut,” he says with a disgusted tone.

I snap up. “Did you just call me a slut?”

“No, I said you’re acting like it. Or ridiculous if you’d rather.”

I stand so fast I nearly fall on top of him.

“Wow. Oh my god, I have never in my life been called that, would never have expected it to come from my own husband.” My throat starts to constrict and my mind races. What do I say now? Why would he call me that?

I storm out of the room and he follows behind me, pushing into our bedroom before I can slam the door in his face.

“I didn’t say you were a slut. But look at how you’re acting! Mia is right there. Do you want her to learn those behaviors?”

“She wasn’t looking! And I was flirting with you, my husband! I won’t see you for days and wanted you desperately. And yeah, I may have drunk a little too much and was careless of my actions in front of Mia. But don’t worry about that. Your words have slapped the drunk right out of me along with the slut!”

Owen shakes his head. “My words didn’t slap anything out of you, you’re still drunk,” he says and leaves the room, and me nearly screaming, I’m so angry.

He plays with Mia for another hour. I can hear them through the monitor. At first I am fuming. I stare at the clothes in my closet for a long time, wondering if I should pack them up and leave. Or if I should make him leave. It seems like the end, and I think, is it really, or am I overreacting? Why do things seem to take such a nasty turn so suddenly?

Then as the time passes and I hear them laughing and enjoying their time together, and as the alcohol wears off, clarity along with the guilt settles in.

I shouldn’t have flirted so shamelessly near Mia. He was right about that. What if she had seen?

Yet, I can’t get past the word. Slut. Someone without class amongst other things. He’s never called me anything like that before. Or even worse, if I get down to the heart of it, what really bothered me was his own disinterest in me. Like he felt nothing.

When he finally comes to the room, I am in the closet organizing. He walks in and stands there looking at me. I think he’s waiting for me to say something, but I don’t know what to say, so I keep folding clothes and putting shoes back on the racks.

“I’m sorry,” he breaks the silence. “It came out wrong. I would never call you that. You know I would never. I just didn’t like how you were acting in front of Mia, it was too sexual. That was what I meant by it.”

I sigh and turn to him. “I know. I agree with that part. But it was hurtful how you said it. And the way you said it, like you couldn’t stand me. I mean, is that how you feel? Do you even love me anymore?”

He comes to me fast and takes me in his arms. “What the hell are you talking about? Cris, you know I love you. I am so sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“Do you even still want to be with me?” I whisper into his chest, still smarting.

He breathes out heavily and holds me tighter. “Fuck, you know I do! There is no one else, never will be.”

The words are said with such conviction that I know he’s speaking the truth.

“Cris, why do you keep asking me this? What am I doing that’s making you wonder?”

He’s referring to the fact that I’ve asked that same question many times in the past, especially after Mia’s birth. I can remember doing something very like this when I was pregnant.

I don’t know why I have this insecurity. I guess I can’t believe he still loves me as much as he did fifteen years ago. Even though I love him more now than I did then, it’s hard to believe it’s possible. And I know I’ve changed. For better, or worse, I don’t know.

“No, you haven’t done anything,” I answer.

“Then why ask? It makes me think I am failing at something. Am I not a good husband? A good lover? Do I not tell you you’re beautiful or smart or funny?”

“You do, you are!”

“Cris, let me make myself clear. I love you more than life. It’s always been you. And you are stuck with me until I die, or until you leave me. But know that if you leave me I’ll die.”

My heart soars at the truth in his words and I wrap my arms tighter around him too. My anger gone now, I don’t ever want to let him go.

But you can’t hold onto something forever.

4

I’m a wreck. The butterflies in my stomach are fierce as I run around the house straightening, cleaning, gathering all the toys Mia has spread in the living room. I can hear her muffled laughter from my pantry. There is lots of commotion there now, and I know exactly what she’s doing, stacking canned goods, opening boxes, breaking spaghetti into itty bits, planning her own dinner. A quick peek at her confirms my suspicion. It will have to wait. I am running late as it is.

Owen comes home today. His plane arrives in less than thirty minutes and I am so happy I can’t wipe this ridiculous grin off my face. God I have missed that man.

He’s been in Chicago the last four days and three very long nights. Business trips. I hate those. They are just an excuse for men to go to bars and drink all night, inserting a work meeting here and there and calling it team building. Still, I know he hates leaving us and would rather stay home than hang out with most of his co-workers. Owen works for a large fastener manufacturer based in Chicago, but they have offices everywhere. He manages the warehouse here in Charlotte.

I haven’t been able to sleep without him. Never have been. Last night I finally resorted to a sleep aid so that I didn’t look like a total zombie today.

Grabbing Mia and my bag, I look at myself one last time in the foyer mirror. I think I look pretty. I’m wearing a bright blue racerback shirt that compliments my skin tone, a short jean shirt and black strappy sandals. My hair is down and I’ve let it dry on its own so that it tumbles down my back in messy waves. Owen loves it when I do that.

When we get to the airport I practically race to the baggage claim, actually knocking over a few unattended bags. Isn’t there a rule about that?

He is already there, waiting for his bag.

He’s wearing his booty jeans as I like to call them, and a black polo that displays those broad shoulders all too well.

“Daddy!” Mia yells, practically leaping out of my arms. She races to him and he catches her, holding her to him tightly.

He holds out one arm to me and I immediately go to him. He leans down to kiss me. Though he doesn’t open his mouth, the kiss lasts a little longer than usual. The scruff on his face grazes me slightly. His scent, so familiar, surrounds me and he pulls me in tighter before he releases my lips.

“I missed you like crazy.”

I’m a little breathless. “I missed you more.”

The ride home is eternal. Though Mia’s high voice fills the car as she begs for her Daddy to look at this or look at that, he and I don’t say much to each other. We have talked a lot on the phone over the last few days. No, right now our needs are very different.

There are meaningful side glances, the sexual tension in the car building. He runs the back of his hand over my left arm, the tips of his fingers grazing my breast, and further down past the hem of my skirt to the bare skin on my leg. He turns his hand and rests it there, palm on my thigh, close enough to my core that I know he can feel the moisture building there.

I am squirming, trying to get his hand to shift just a little higher. He complies, slightly.

“We’re almost home,” he whispers.

My mind races with images of what I want him to do to me, but for all that we still must wait. It’s going to be torture.

We get home and as a good father, Owen’s first obligation is to be reintroduced to all of Mia’s toys. Then of course, to be a good Prince and let himself be saved by the mermaid.

“Daddy, you fall off the boat, and then I save you, got it?” she demands in a dictatorial sort of way.

“Okay,” he complies by coughing. “Save me! My boat!” Cough, cough.

It’s so cute to see them in action. I am standing at the doorway to her room watching them, loving them so much.

“I hate to interrupt the rescue,” I say. “But dinner is ready.”

“Pizza!” Mia cries and dropping everything runs out towards the kitchen.

Owen gets up and makes to follow me, but before I could go too far he has me pinned, my front to the wall. I turn my face to look at him and he presses harder into me. He buries his nose in my hair and the crook of my neck where he bites until I yelp.

“Owen,” I whisper.

“I need you. I don’t know if I can wait anymore.” His right hand is up my shirt where he moves my bra down to expose my nipples and touches them roughly. I lift my butt higher and he pushes his rock-hard bulge into it while his free hand lifts my skirt and sinks into my panties.

His fingers play with the wetness between my legs, drawing little circles around my clitoris until I melt so far into him that if he wasn’t holding me up I would fall.

My breathing is becoming labored as I try not to moan too loud. He’s got me shaking, standing on my tip toes, ready to come.

And I nearly do when his voice comes out in a deep murmur near my ear.

“Tonight I want it all,” he whispers and his fingers move from my clitoris, over my vagina, to my anus, where he rubs the puckered hole. I whimper because I am so aroused I want him to fuck me there too.

But just as we are getting too lost in our own need, a tiny loud voice calls from the bottom of the stairs and brings us back to reality.

“Mommy, Daddy, I’m hungry!”

We break apart and then I can see how glazed his eyes are, pupils dilated, and he is panting too. It feels good to know I am not the only one.

Dinner has never been so agonizing. Neither Owen or I eat much, he has a few bites of his cheese pizza while all I can muster are two bites of Mia’s crust.

“I should have called the sitter,” I mumble in misery, counting the minutes until he’s inside me.

He chuckles and rubs my arm. “Soon. Besides, I’ve missed both my girls.”

As bedtime nears, Owen showers, then takes Mia from me. “You go shower while I get her down.”

“Daddy, you put me to bed! Daddy, Daddy!” Mia claps.

I take my time in the shower, making sure that my entire body is perfectly smooth and clean and fresh. My intent is to blow dry my hair and put on some make-up, but when I step out of the shower, Owen is already waiting there for me.

He slams into me, his mouth on mine, his tongue searching desperately for mine.

“I need you,” he says raggedly, and takes my towel off, dropping it to the floor.

He falls to his knees taking me with him, and then his hands are everywhere, holding me tighter, roughly groping. His face is in my neck, his tongue following a path down to my chest.

He brings my breasts together so that he can get both nipples into his mouth at the same time and bites them. I hold his head there and cry out, “Shit! Shit!” because that’s all I can say.

My hips begin to hump him, my sex seeking relief.

“Owen, please, fuck me, please,” I beg.

He brings me down to the bath mat hard, where we both work at his belt and he flings off his shirt and pants. He’s inside me then, pounding into me. The mat begins to move across the bathroom floor as he fucks me, and next thing I know my head is banging against the door. I don’t care. This feels too good.

I look to the cabinet and think of the special lubes we have in there that we can use. Anal sex is so good when I am this aroused. But Owen is fucking me like a lunatic, with an almost crazed look on his face that scares me a little.

One, I don’t think he’ll hear me if I suggest it. Two, I don’t think I can take him there this hard.

So instead I open myself to him more and pull on the backs of my knees until my legs are so far back they are touching the door too. He’s so deep I have tears coming out of my eyes from the intensity of it.

Then something in him shifts, and he flips me around onto all fours and is inside before I know what happened. As aggressive of a lover as he’s always been, I realize this is different. There is desperation in the way he breathes into my ear. His fingers grip my chin almost painfully and he pulls my head back, urging me to arch my back more as he deepens his thrusts.

“You’re mine, Cris. All mine. Only mine. Say it!” he commands in such a way that it pushes me over the edge and I can think of nothing more than the blinding orgasm I’m under.

“Yours,” I scream.

He pulls out as his own climax hits him then and I can feel the heat and wetness of it on my lower back, then we both fall onto the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

When he’s able to muster the strength, he lifts me to the shower and gets us both cleaned up and to bed.

Before I drift off, he kisses my cheek and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

I giggle, and mumble, “For what, silly?” He knows I like it rough.

“I’m sorry,” he says it again, and it sounds broken. I frown at the sound of it, but I’m so tired that I fall asleep before I can make sense of what he’s trying to say.

* * *

Owen left early this morning for work. I woke up feeling gloriously loved and sore in all the right places. I lay in bed for a long while, letting Mia decide when it was time to get up, and not my pressing chores.

It’s about seven thirty when the spell breaks and I have to start my day. There is so much to do every day, more so when I have luggage to sort through. There is a lot of cleanup to be done when Owen comes home from a business trip. He always has a large load of dirty clothes and a ton of receipts and garbage that I need to separate.

That is what I am doing now while Mia is keeping busy playing dress up with my clothes and shoes. It’s going to add more work for me later, having to reorganize everything, but I still smile, loving the normalcy of it. Folding his clothes. Having Mia here beside me yapping away.

I couldn’t wish for anything more, I think as I dig through the thousand pockets his small carry-on has. Life is good.

And that is when I see it. That damned yellow sticky note buried amidst a bunch of receipts that had been balled up and tossed in together. Cassandra.

I stare at the name, momentarily stunned at first. I don’t know how long I look at it, or what it is about it that catches my eye.

Is it the name? Can a name alone be something to be frightened of? Maybe. It’s just too sexy. Cassandra. It takes a special sort of woman to pull off a name like that. Beautiful, seductive. That is what I envision.

Or is it something more? Why would I take the time with a little piece of paper like any of the others in the stack? There are always names with phone numbers in his pockets. What does this one matter?

Is it woman’s intuition?

I put it to my nose and inhale slightly. It smells like a woman, soft and sweet.

Even as Mia loses interest in my things and begins to pull at my legs saying, “Play with me, Momma!”, my eyes remain glued to that piece of paper. Cassandra.

I set this from my mind, because I know that I am being ridiculous. It’s just a piece of paper with a name on it. Probably just one of his customers.

I laugh and set it aside with the others for him to go through later when he has a chance.

The day goes by uneventfully. We play with Jess’ kids, go to the grocery store. Cook dinner.

Owen calls me to let me know he’s running a little late because he is still submitting his expenses and has lost one of the receipts.

“God, I hope I don’t have to pay for that,” he says annoyed over the phone. “It’s over three-hundred dollars!”

“I’m sorry, baby. Would the receipt be with the others in the luggage?”

He remains quiet for a bit, then says, “No, I brought all the ones I need with me. You can throw all that stuff away.”

“Okay.” I hang up, feeling more than a little irritation that we are going to have to pay for that gas grill he got for his team in Chicago.

It’s got to be in those receipts, I think. I pull them out again and start searching. I know he got it at an outdoor store the day he arrived. I carefully scan every sheet I see, every line item, searching for that grill.

That is when I come across his hotel receipt, unfold the sheet, and automatically, because I have been doing it with all the others, scan it line by line. It’s very well itemized.

-$238 corporate rate @ 3 nights

-$52.80 The Line Bar and Grille

-$19.44 The Line Bar and Grille

- $22.30 The Line Bar and Grille

- $120 Room Service

- Deluxe Fruit and Cheese Platter

- Bottle House Cabernet (California) @ 2

- $4.99 In Room Movie

- Forest Gump

My first thought is, he spent too much at the hotel restaurant. My second thought is… Owen never drinks wine. As in he hates it. Why would he order it to his room?

I get chills as the answer blows out of the stack of receipts, yellow and wrinkled. Or maybe it was me that subconsciously pulled it out. I don’t remember doing it.

The image of this woman begins to form in my head, unwanted and hated. But I can’t help it. I see him, with her.

The memory of last night comes to me. I’m sorry, he’d said. At the time, I couldn’t imagine what he could be apologizing for.

Now I do, and I am sorry for it.

5

“Okay, what’s wrong? I can tell something’s been bothering you, so just tell me.” Owen is exasperated with me because I’ve barely said a word since he got home from work.

I shake my head. “We’ll talk later.” I want to talk now, boy do I want to. Actually, I want to scream. But Mia is here, and I have to wait for her sake. This is not a conversation she should hear any part of, even if she’s too little to understand half of it.

As the night progresses, both Owen and I become more distant, barely looking at or acknowledging each other, though we do work together to get Mia down for the night.

The moment she is in her bed I walk to our bathroom and he follows me, closing the bedroom and then the bathroom door behind us. There is a reason I have brought him to this room. The lights are the brightest here. All of our rooms are dark in the evenings, with just a few lamps here and there. For some reason, no one ever thought to install ceiling lights except in the kitchen. I want to be able to see his face clearly, every expression.

I don’t beat around the bush. This has been weighing on my mind for far too long. “Did you cheat on me?”

“What? Why would you ask that? Did you cheat on ME? Are you projecting somehow?” Owen is not surprisingly upset. He shakes his head at me, working his jaw like he does when he’s under stress. But he is unbelievably quick to turn the tables on me, and it makes me all the more suspicious.

“No, I have always been faithful.”

“Then what’s up with you? What did I do now?” He’s referring to my mood swings before he left for Chicago. Now I have two choices, I chalk it up to another bout of hormones, or I follow through with what my instincts are saying. I opt for the latter.

I pull out the little yellow note and put it on the counter. He looks at it and through the reflection in the large mirror above our sink I can see the red creep up his neck and into his face. I regret that I chose this room now; perhaps it would have been better not to see the truth so quickly.

I swallow hard. It’s hard to speak. “I will believe what you tell me,” I whisper, almost pleading for him to lie. Please, please say you didn’t.

Owen’s eyes still don’t lift to mine, instead he looks at himself in the mirror, his breathing deeper. He’s looking through his own eyes, into his soul I suppose. Maybe he’s trying to decide if he can live with a lie. He turns to me, his eyes pained and watery. And he nods yes.

My world topples and spins and I catch myself on the sink. Even though I’d already suspected it and even though I’d played this scenario in my head a thousand times today, when it actually happens it shocks me to my core. He reaches for me but I move away.

“No! You will not touch me!”

“Please, Cris. I am so sorry. It was only one time, I swear.” His voice is breaking and I know he is fighting to remain controlled.

“One time, or one night?” I spit my words at him. His lack of a response lets me know what happened. “I saw the bottles of wine you charged to your room. You don’t drink wine. So that means you had her there long enough to have gone through two bottles.”

“It was a mistake. I drank so much and she was working at the hotel bar. It just seemed so easy and harmless to keep talking in my room. There’s no excuse other than I am stupid. It wasn’t even good, like it is with you. I really wasn’t even that attract…”

I raise my hand. “I don’t give a shit who she is or why you did it or how you fucking felt about it afterwards!” I am screaming at him now.

“I love you, Cris. Jesus, please, I don’t want to lose you. You had been giving me such a hard time about whether I still loved you that I felt insecure myself and wondered if you still loved ME.” He’s trying to blame me, to turn this around so that he feels justified.

“Oh, no, you will not blame your shit behavior on me. You cheated. Not. Me. You Fucking Asshole, do you even know what you have done!” I wipe at my face and turn to look at myself in the mirror, just now realizing I am crying. The desire to slap him, to do him actual physical harm, is so intense and overwhelming I storm out of the bathroom before I throw myself on him.

“Where are you going?” he asks desperately.

“I just have to get out of here!”

“You can’t leave! Please don’t leave, Cris! We need to talk through this.”

He grabs my arm and pulls me away just before I open the bedroom door, dropping to his knees. I turn on him and dig my fingernails into his hand until he lets go. There is so much anger radiating off me that he recoils. I know what he sees, I feel crazed and wild.

“I can hardly stand to look at you, Owen, much less talk. I need space to breathe!”

“Please don’t leave. Please don’t leave,” he repeats the words, and that’s the last thing I hear when I slam the door behind me.

My life is over.

* * *

I need to drive as far away as I can get. Buildings become a blur, streets, lights blending into the fog in my head. The tears flow unheeded. I drive around in circles, no destination, just driving, running away.

My cell phone rings. It takes me a second to understand the name. Owen.

“What!” I yell into the phone.

“Please, baby, please come back. I can’t lose you, please, I am so sorry!” He’s crying. I can’t stand the sound of his voice. Like nails on a chalkboard, it is such an ugly thing. I hang up.

He calls again and again. When I don’t answer, he resorts to texting.

Buzz, buzz, buzz! I hear them coming in one after the other.

“Shut up!”

I take the phone and throw it against the dash where it explodes into a million tiny pieces.

Violent sobs wrack my body and I am so blinded by my own rage and pain that I don’t see the light has turned red. There is a large SUV, much larger than my small Civic coming my way. He sees me and screeches to a halt, missing me by only a foot or so. I nearly spin out of control, my car fishtailing all the way to the curb. The driver of the SUV honks his horn and drives away in an angry rush.

Before me are two white knuckled hands holding the steering wheel. My heart is racing as it dawns on me that I almost died. If that car hadn’t stopped in time it would have plowed through my tiny car like it was nothing. That would have been the end of me. Mia’s small round face races to my mind. She would have been left without a mother.

I scream and slap my palms against the steering wheel, over and over, until they are numb.

“Why is this happening?” I cry.

It must have been a while that I sat there, I don’t know. Somehow, at some point, I was able to pull myself together long enough to go just a little further. I am obviously in no condition to be out driving. It’s putting me and everyone on the street in danger.

There is a hotel a few blocks away. The sign above the main entrance reads “Vacancy” in bright blue neon. I pull in under the overhang and ring a doorbell for the clerk to let me in. A woman looks up from behind the counter and buzzes open the glass door.

She’s young I think, maybe eighteen. Too young to be here this late in charge of the office, in my opinion.

“How can I help you?” she asks as I walk to her. Her name tag says her name is Sara.

“A room please.” Despite my attempt to swallow the lump in my throat, my voice comes out broken and squeaky. She takes one good look at me and her light brown eyes fill with sympathy and she suddenly doesn’t look so young anymore. I know she feels my pain, even before I’ve spoken a word.

She’s been where I am now, I think. There is a look about her that says she knows exactly what I am feeling.

The hotel room is clean. Nothing fancy. Double beds with a thin flowered coverlet my grandmother would have loved, a night stand between the two, desk with a phone, notepad and pen. I throw my purse on a chair set in the corner and take off my shoes. Leaving on my clothes and make-up, I slide in between the crisp white sheets and burry my face into the overstuffed pillow. I could never sleep with such a massive thing under my head. It doesn’t matter I suppose, there won’t be much sleep for me tonight.

I weep for hours, holding my arm over my eyes, thinking of my life with Owen. We have been through so much together. We dreamed for more still. Traveling, showing Mia the world. Maybe expanding our little family. Enjoying each other, finding new ways to keep our sex life exciting. Now I don’t know if any of that will happen. In the span of one night he put all that on the line.

I always told Owen that if he ever cheated on me I would leave him, no questions asked. There would be no forgiveness no matter what. I meant it when I said it, and had it been years ago, perhaps the break could be so much cleaner. Easier.

But we have been together fifteen years. That is a lot of life together. Things are not so black and white anymore. We are in an area so gray that I can’t see which way to go, where the line between right and wrong is. One decision seems just as bleak as the other.

I love him. Not only am I still crazy for that man, but our love has grown too deep over the years. Our souls are so bonded that to tear us apart at this point could create a wound that cannot heal. I know that I can’t live without him and there is no doubt in my mind that he feels the same about me.

And at the same time, I hate him. I can’t stand the sight of him. How could I feel anything but disgust after what he has done? I agonize over my feelings, torn between love and hate and an ache so great it overshadows both.

At some point sleep overtakes me. It’s a restless sort of sleep filled with dreams of Owen and another woman. I wake up sweating, crying, then fall back asleep again. The cycle continues through the night.

The sun streaming in through the sheer curtains wakes me. I lay in bed for a long time staring at nothing. My face is relaxed, my body resigned.

When I finally make my way downstairs, Owen is waiting for me with Mia in the lobby. I knew he would be. He was probably up all night just waiting for me to use one of the cards so he could find me. I want to be angry with him for this, but I simply don’t care right now.

His red rimmed eyes speak volumes when we look at each other, but I am so desensitized that none of his unspoken words make it to my heart.

“Momma!” Mia cries out, and for the first time this morning my soul sings.

I take her from his arms and squeeze her. “I missed you, baby.”

“Are you coming home?” Owen whispers.

“For now,” I say, because I just don’t have the strength to make the decision that will change our lives forever.

6

Mia looks completely miserable. Almost as miserable as I am.

“Mommy, let’s go out!” she cries, pointing towards the front door. She wants to go outside, to see the sun, people, the sky.

I can’t bring myself to leave the house. There is too much gloom in my heart and my brain is stuck in a loop where Owen cheated on me and my life as I know it is over. What if in my own misery I miss a car coming down the street and she gets away from me for two seconds? God forbid! I can’t trust myself right now.

Selfishly I also think, what if someone sees me? I look awful; dark circles under tired red eyes, puffy nose, tear crusted cheeks.

My phone vibrates. I know who it is before I pull it out of my back pocket.

Jess: What the hell is going on? If you don’t come out soon I’m going to come drag your ass out! I know you’re in there!

My eyes widen.

Jess is mad. She’s been texting and calling like crazy and I have been trying my best to keep her away until I know more about my own stance on my situation.

Me: We are ok. Come 2morrow for playtime.

I look at Mia, “We’ll go out tomorrow, baby. I promise.” She looks so disappointed it almost makes me change my mind.

It’s been three days since that night where my marriage suddenly became endangered. Owen and I still haven’t talked. Not for his lack of trying. The moment he opens his mouth I turn away crying. It makes me so mad that I can’t hide the hurt from him. Ridiculous though it may be, it makes me feel like it gives him the upper hand to know how much power he has over my heart.

It’s Friday and he will be off tomorrow, which means we will see each other all day. Something needs to happen, we can’t live in this strange, angry silence forever. It’s not good for us and it’s not good for Mia. I decide then and there that I will speak with him tonight. I’m just not sure what I want to do yet. Do I stay or do I go?

I mull this over-all day. He’s broken my heart. Obliterated my trust. My pride is in shreds.

But there is so much more to it than just my feelings involved. I sit at his desk to pay our bills. Owen has an account set up with both our names where the majority of his check is deposited. He has another portion going towards his retirement, and yet another amount unknown to me that goes into a separate checking account.

He says he only uses that for special occasions, to buy me a gift or for anything that might be expensive that he doesn’t want to take out of my account. I smirk. He calls it my account. The truth is, I don’t feel as if any of the money in it is mine, that I’ve earned it. And because it’s fallen into my bucket of responsibility to keep our finances, everything is paid out of “my account.”

It’s not my priority, not my biggest concern, but it is something that’s always been in the back of my mind. What if something ever happened between Owen and me and we separated? How would I support myself? I have zero saved. I knew I should do something, but I also assumed we’d be together always.

For his part, Owen would never deny me financial support, but I don’t want to be dependent on a man if we are no longer together. Of course, for Mia I would expect it, but not for me.

God, how did I get here?

I met Owen when I was working as a teller. He came in to make a large deposit for his company. When he saw me, he insisted I be the one to help him. I was glad to do it, I found him so incredibly attractive. I went home with him that night.

A couple of years later I was managing the branch, then I went to work at their headquarters in the IT department leading a team that tested software. I always joked that one day I’d be the CEO. I had paid my way through some college, had my own car, and had even bought my own house by the time I was nineteen. I felt I was well on my way to be something great.

But in a marriage, it can be hard to juggle two successful careers. Owen’s job moved us so many times, all over the state and for a year in Virginia, and it became impossible for me to get anywhere with any company. Once I had Mia, it was over. I never went back to work.

I love Owen, and I was content knowing that he was happy in his work. Maybe I assumed that someday I could find something as fulfilling as he does. Now as the possibility of striking out on my own is all too real, it’s terrifying to know that I never finished school, have nothing of my own and have been out of work so long I can’t even remember the dates for a resume.

It’s also infuriating. I want to hate him for everything I gave up to make his life richer, but I can’t. Instead I just hate myself. I did this, put myself in this position. I feel even more powerless at the thought.

I put my head in my hands and take deep breaths, telling myself it’s going to be okay no matter what, wishing to God I could believe it.

* * *

That evening everything is as it has been. We quietly work as a team caring for Mia. He plays with her for a bit while I make dinner, then it’s my turn to entertain her while he gets cleaned up. We play with her together a little while in her playroom before it’s time for bed. It gives me hope that if we can’t work it out at least we will always be there together for her. She will always have her mommy and daddy.

I am in our room first, waiting for him, sitting restlessly at the foot of the bed. When Owen comes in and sees me, he knows the time has come. He sits beside me, but I don’t look up, just stare at my hands on my knees.

“You betrayed me,” I say matter of fact.

“Yes,” he responds, and then he is kneeling before me and takes my hands in his. For the first time since I found out he cheated I don’t pull away, though the urge to do so is still there. He is looking me straight in the eyes now, his soul bared to me, and I feel a little more on even ground with him. He is aching too. “I am so sorry, Cris. It wasn’t something I set out to do, I swear it. I was just so drunk and…”

“Why is it that people always use being drunk as an excuse, as if that makes it okay to do something stupid and hurtful?” I interrupt him, annoyed, and pull my hands out of his. He doesn’t move.

“It’s not an excuse. I’m just trying to explain the way things happened. Cassandra wasn’t someone I was attracted to really, but we were from the same town and our conversation sort of took off. When she asked to come to my suite it seemed innocent, like we could hang out in the living room. She wasn’t even flirting, so there were no red flags.” Just hearing him say her name irks me. Hearing that he’d been stupid enough to think a woman in his hotel room was acceptable makes me want to end things on the spot.

“Why the hell would you let her into your room to begin with? Why in the fuck would you think that was okay! How would you feel if I just went to a hotel room with a guy, no matter how unattractive I found him?”

“I was stupid to put myself in that position, I know that. I trusted myself too much. I didn’t think of her that way in that moment. It wasn’t a thought I had.”

I dismiss his words with a wave of my hand. “Owen, I’m not interested in that woman. I don’t give a shit who she is or where she came from.” Not true. I am so curious about her I can hardly stand it. Who is she? What made their conversation so damned appealing it landed her in his bed? What does she look like? Ugh! That’s the one that really gets me. Is she a redhead, blonde, brunette? What color are her eyes or her skin?

“And I don’t care why you did it either,” I continue. “It had nothing to do with me, so it doesn’t matter.” Another lie, though for my sake I really try to sound convincing. The events of the days, weeks, leading up to this have been playing and replaying in my mind, as I dig for clues as to what went wrong. Was it me? Am I just not good enough anymore?

“You’re right, it had nothing to do with you,” Owen says. “It was me. All me. You’re perfect, Cris, and you did nothing wrong. I am so sorry I tried to point the finger at you the other night. It’s that you caught me so unaware and I panicked.”

“Were you going to tell me?” I ask, my voice small now.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to lose you.”

I don’t want to lose him either, but I still don’t know what I’m going to do. The moment of decision is here, though, and it all hangs on my next question.

“Do you still love me? Not as the mother of your child, or as a friend you’ve known for a long time, but the kind of love you feel for a woman.”

Owen doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. It’s always been you, Cris. There is no one else I have ever loved like this, and there never will be. Please believe me.” His voice begins to crack and he shuts his eyes tightly before he lays his head in my lap and wraps his arms around my waist. “Please forgive me. I will never do this again.”

My own tears begin to flow down my cheeks and fall off my chin onto the top of his dark head. I cautiously bring my arms around him and cradle him to me.

“It’s not a matter of not believing that you will be faithful to me. It’s a matter of whether I can forgive you for what you have already done.”

He keeps his head down and his words are so muffled I can barely make them out. “I’ll do anything, Cris. Please don’t leave me.”

The plea and the pain in his voice are so evident that a sob bubbles forth from me. My fingers dig through his hair and I bring my face down to him, holding him to my breast.

“I don’t want to leave,” I cry into his hair.

“I love you, Cris.” His face still buried in my clothes, he begins to kiss his way up, first my stomach, then my chest, pushing me back on the bed as he climbs, his hands gliding up to cradle my head. He kisses my neck, then my cheeks and my lips so tenderly.

I let him because I miss him, because I love him. And because right now I can’t wrap my mind around choosing anything but him.

He pulls away only to look down at me. My tears sting and when I shut my eyes they roll down my temples. Owen rubs them away with his thumbs, then his lips are on mine again.

It’s too much and not enough. We both work fast to rid ourselves of any barriers, pants and shirts flying. When I’m fully naked he lifts me by the waist and tosses me further up the bed, landing on top of me hard.

He takes both my arms and pulls them above my head, holding me firmly by the wrists. His kiss is so deep and desperate it’s painful. Our lips never break apart, even as I hear him swallow back a sob. I hold on as tight as I can, because I’m terrified that if I let go now it may be forever.

Neither one of us climax, instead he stops, still inside of me, and puts his arms around me so tight, he lifts me off the bed a little. He’s trembling hard and buries his face into my neck. I hear him weeping, sniffling into my hair, and it’s so heartbreaking I forget my own pain and wrap myself around him tighter.

When it’s over he rolls on to his back and takes me with him, keeping his arm securely around me. We never lay like this. Neither one of us ever feels the need for it and right after sex usually we want to go to sleep or eat. As far as we’re concerned, cuddling is sweaty and uncomfortable. But not tonight. Tonight, we need this almost as much as breathing. We both know that if we don’t cling to each other we might drift away too far, completely out of reach, and lose each other forever.

7

There is sweat rolling down my forehead and between my breasts and thighs where my skin is rubbing against Owen’s. He is sweating too; I can feel the moisture caught up in the thick matting of hair on his chest as I dig my nails through it.

His hands are on my waist and he guides my movements, pulling me up and down as he thrusts into me. He stops for a moment, but I am so close that I start to rub myself on him.

“Cris, stop,” he warns. I don’t listen because I want this so badly and he comes, his arms wrapping around me bringing me close to him, just a second before my own orgasm hits me so hard I nearly black out.

We both stop moving and then suddenly SHE’s there again, looking at me, smiling.

Strangely enough, Owen and I have been boinking like rabbits. I would have thought it would be different, that his touch would be intolerable. It’s not like the idea of him cheating turns me on. But for some reason we are so hot for each other I’m actually sore. Two weeks of non-stop sex will do that.

And every single time, Cassandra’s face, the one I’ve created in my head, comes between us. It’s an image I can’t erase from my mind, him with her. Then I wonder if he thinks of her too, while he’s with me. Even worse, wondering if the sex had been as good as ours.

I was no innocent girl when I met Owen, in fact, I think I’d been with more men than he’d been with women. Never since him, though. He satisfies me in every way sexually. I know from my own experience that he is an amazing lover. But am I? Does he compare me to Cassandra?

My blood boils as I become angrier and then I can’t stand his hands on me anymore. I push off his chest. He tries to keep me there, but I throw my arms out against him and roll away. There is so much distance between us now, and even then, there is not enough room on this king size bed for the three of us.

Lying on my back, my forearm over my eyes, I let out an aggravated breath, willing myself to hate him a little less right now.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers with a hint of shame, reaching for me. I practically jump out of bed the moment his fingers make contact with my skin. He pulls back his hand slowly. “Cris, I…”

“Stop,” I whisper. My eyes begin to burn and I race to the bathroom before he has a chance to see me cry. He says nothing, nor does he make any attempt to follow me, simply lets me be for a long time while I shower and simmer down.

He’s in bed on his iPad when I come back. When he looks at me he looks so tired, the green of his eyes more of a muted brown than the usual green gold. “Do you feel better?” he asks.

I nod and climb into bed, coming a little closer to him, but still making sure not to touch. It will be better by the morning, it always is. Then it gets worse again. Will that ever change?

It has to. This cycle is so tiring, and it’s not only wearing me down, I can see it in Owen too.

When we are out I search for that woman in every face I pass, watching him carefully for any sign of recognition. My ears are constantly attuned, always listening for her name. Cassandra.

His attempts at distraction only serve to make me more suspicious. He reaches for me and I pull away. Yes, we fuck, but emotionally we are not connecting. Quite the opposite, we are so far removed from each other, I wonder if there will be any getting back from this.

Yes, he feels this as much as I do. There will come a point where he has had enough, and regardless of the direction, he will want it over.

Even knowing this, I have not hit that pivotal moment in which I myself have had enough. I do my best to compartmentalize my feelings and try to process them and work my way through them. There are days when I think that I have, that I can move beyond all this and fully forgive him. Then I have a breakdown and I know I am far from it.

I haven’t told anyone yet, not even my father. God, especially not my father, not after what my mother did to him. He would be here in a nanosecond if I told him. I just can’t bring myself to tell on Owen. My dad would hate him and I don’t want that. But I should tell someone, I think. This is building up inside, and I’m afraid I’ll blow up any moment.

* * *

Today is a good day. Owen and I had amazing sex last night, then actually had a conversation. There was no awkward afterwards, no anger. For the first time in weeks that woman never made it into our bed. It was just Owen and me.

When we lay to sleep, he put his hand on my lower back, just like he always used to, and I didn’t move away. When I woke up it was still there and it felt nice. Like home.

Breakfast is all about the flirting. I’m all giggles and he is all touches and soft kisses to the back of my neck. It feels good, like it was before, as though something terrible never happened to us. The thought hits me that this may finally be the turning point I’ve been waiting for, where I begin to heal and forgive.

It’s a Sunday and we spend most of the morning lounging, playing with Mia and watching TV shows. Owen tells me that his office is having a cookout this evening at Latta Plantation Nature Park, which is not too far from where we live.

I sort of cringe at the thought of the mosquitos that call that place home, the last time we were there I ended up with fifteen welts. And I’d also been looking forward to putting Mia down to bed early and enjoying more one on one time with Owen, exploring this renewed sense that everything can be okay between us.

Then again, grilled burgers and hotdogs sound so good and I know everyone in his office would be excited to see Mia.

The weather is absolutely perfect when we arrive, deep blue skies, sunny, slight breeze rustling through the trees, not a mosquito in sight. I made a fresh fruit salad, always a safe bet, and I am carrying that while Owen holds Mia. There are already a lot of people there, most of whom I’ve met before. Mia is immediately taken from Owen’s arms and passed from admirer to admirer, something which she loves. And of course, we do too because it gives us some freedom.

“Yo, Robertses, what’s happening!” I hear someone call from a distance and see that it’s Ramon, one of the managers that works under Owen, lifting his koozied beer bottle to us in greeting.

“Yo, Ramon!” Owen calls back with a wave, then looks back at me. “Will you be okay if I leave you for a bit? I want to talk to Ray about some work stuff before he has anymore beer.”

“Yeah, yeah, do your thing. I’ll just say hi to everyone in the meantime.” He gives me a quick peck on the lips and leaves me. God his feels nice. Normal.

I go around the tables saying hi to everyone I know and introducing myself to anyone I don’t. It’s not in my nature to be outgoing, but as the wife of their manager I have always felt it to be part of my job description. Sort of the First Lady of Crawford Co.

Owen sits with Ramon for a while, then I see him start to do the rounds too. He winks at me here and there, or comes and gives me a touch of reassurance, before moving on to the next conversation.

After a while I settle down at a table with my plate and Mia’s in front of me - a burger for me, a hot dog (no bun) for her - though I know there’s no way she’s going to sit down and eat now. She is having way too much fun with the other children there. She is the littlest one and the kids just love her. Her little legs can hardly be seen beneath her yellow sundress as she races around after the others, and she squeals each time one of them tries to pick her up.

I’m so distracted by everything going on around me that it startles me when I hear a voice right beside me.

“Owen’s in trouble. She’s one beautiful little girl!”

“Hey there, Mike! Long time no see.” I stand up and give him a hug. Mike is one of the company’s salesmen and travels so much we rarely get to see him. It’s strange that I like him as much as I do being that I’ve only seen him four or five times. Maybe it’s that he’s such a kid and he reminds me of my little brother. He’s a pretty man, tall with a swimmer lean body, black eyes and hair. I think he knows it too, but I forgive him because of his boyish grin. “Nice tan. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, I flew straight to Cali after Chicago. Me and some buds hit the waves.”

“Nice! New tat?” I smile and look to his right where I see a snake wrapped around his bicep, then I look to the girl wrapped around his arm and my eyes inquire, “New girl?”

Mike beams and pulls his shy date forward a little. “This is my friend Cassandra. She’s from the Chicago office and is in town visiting for a few days….”

He keeps on talking but I can no longer hear his words, as blood races to my head and all I can hear is the hard pounding of my heart.

“Cassandra?” I ask. In a split second my smile has vanished. All my attention is now focused on the one face I have been searching for six months.

“So nice to meet you,” she says extending her hand to me, but all I can do is stand there and look at her. “Everyone calls me Cassie, though.”

“This is Owen’s wife, remember, I don’t know if you remember,” Mike continues.

Cassandra has pulled her hand back and looks fairly uncomfortable, her smile wavering.

“Yeah, yeah, I think so.”

It’s her. It has to be. How many women have that name? It’s not that common that I know of. And she’s from the Chicago office. Owen lied to me when he said she worked at the hotel bar. My stomach turns and I feel bile rise in my throat.

I look over and spot Owen heading my way fast. He looks like he might faint too. After so many years together he can read me better than anyone else. That, and I have never been one to hide my emotions well, they are always written all over my face.

He is at my side in a matter of seconds, but it’s too late. I have taken her in, every detail. She is pretty, though she doesn’t look at all like what I thought. While I envisioned an exotic beauty, this girl looks very much the girl next door. Long strawberry red hair, blue eyes, porcelain fair skin and freckles that give her a look of sweet youth and innocence.

She looks nothing like me. Is that why he liked her?

“Owen, my man!” Mike greets.

Owen nods at him in quick acknowledgement then reaches for my arm. “Babe, can I talk to you for a sec?”

“No!” I pull away, not taking my eyes off her.

“I think Mia needs us,” he urges. I don’t move.

I want to tear her to pieces, to yank on that red hair and drag her to the ground. The images that come to my mind as I look at her are enough to drive me to tears right then and there. They stream down my face and I wipe at them furiously. His lips kissing her with passion, his teeth nibbling on that unblemished skin. His hands all over her. His body on hers.

I turn on him and slap him in front of everyone so hard my palm stings. Who cares what they think! I take off and grab Mia from between two other little girls, much to her dismay. She fights and screeches all the way to the car.

“Cris! Cris! Stop, it’s not her. I swear it’s not her.” He tries to take Mia from my arms but I put my body between him and her. “You can’t drive like this; you’re not thinking straight.”

I feel like I am about to lose my mind. He’s right. I can’t risk her.

Disgust rolling off me in waves, I face him. “Then I suggest you take us home right now unless you want everyone to know exactly what you did because I am not holding back, Owen.”

We are on our way home in less than a minute. I am crying, downright sobbing, looking out the window. Owen is saying something; I can’t even understand him. He’s rubbing my arm, trying to console me, but the contact is painful. It burns.

Several drivers passing by have seen me and look so worried. One man even mouths, “Are you okay?”

I mouth, “No,” back at him and he drives away fast when I cry even harder.

It’s near impossible not to scream at Owen. Not to let loose. Mia is in her car seat, clearly distressed over my state. For her sake, I need to control myself.

The moment we get home I run out of the car, slamming every door in my wake and when I reach my closet I lose it. I start to scream, just scream, like a crazy person. I AM crazy right now. Completely out of control. My heart aches to such a degree that my mind simply can’t handle it and it breaks down.

Owen races in after me with Mia crying, frightened by me. But I can’t stop screaming, loud as I can, the past months of anger and pain exploding from me. Then I am on the floor, hugging myself, trying to catch my breath.

He is next to me. “Cris, fuck, what have I done, Cris!”

He leaves me and then he is next to me on the phone. “Please help me,” … “I fucked up,”… I hear parts of his conversation.

Then I hear Jess’s voice, she’s yelling at him. “Don’t worry,” … “Fix this!”

Then Mia’s cries fade away.

He is beside me again and he is holding me, rubbing my back. His voice is broken and he is shaking. “It wasn’t her. I swear it, Cris. It was just a coincidence. But when I heard her name I knew what you would think. That woman will never come into your life again, I promise. It wasn’t her. Please forgive me. Please…” He repeats the words. Over and over until they begin to make sense to me.

It is a while before we both calm and then for a long time we sit there, huddled together. I hold on tightly to him. I want him vanished from my life, yet I don’t know if I could breathe without him. I hate him, and I still love him beyond anything.

It is him that finally breaks the silence when he asks the one question that has been weighing so heavily on my mind. He sounds tired. Resigned.

“What will it take?”

I don’t answer. I don’t know.

8

Jess and I sit on the living room floor quietly watching Mia and little Daniel playing. They don’t actually play together, it’s more of a side by side thing, where they occasionally hand each other a toy. Or take one away and then we have a difficult situation on our hands.

It’s not as loud as it normally is with all the kids. Her eldest is at a friend’s house and her middle child is with his dad. It’s been an easy day except for this lingering thing of me not talking about the events of the other day.

I look at her. She is looking towards the kids smiling, and because I need to tell someone, it just comes out. “He cheated on me.” My voice is monotone. “It was only once he says, and I believe him. He loves me and wants us to work through this. He says he’ll do anything. But I just can’t…” I shake my head and sigh heavily, wishing I could breathe out all of my troubles.

She doesn’t turn to me. Her lips just sort of pull down at the sides and I know she heard me. “Yeah, I pretty much figured it out with what happened the other day,” she says, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She’s a little hurt. We have gotten close and I know she would have been there for me. But until now I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I blow out a breath – I do that a lot now a days - and brush my hair out of my face. “I don’t know. I guess I was embarrassed that it happened to me. And ashamed for Owen that he did this to someone he’s supposed to love. I haven’t told anyone else, not even my parents.” Though I suppose his co-workers are probably having a field day with the rumors I started the other day at the picnic. I do regret that!

She turns towards my fireplace and chews on her lip, something I have noticed when she feels a little anxious. I hope I didn’t make her uncomfortable. She’s silent for so long I look away from her too, until she says, “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Kevin and I went through the same thing.”

My head whips around so fast my neck cracks. “What! Why haven’t you told me?” I say rubbing at the soreness. Now it’s my turn to question her.

She looks at me, sort of. Her blue eyes kind of go back and forth between me and something behind me, so much so, that I automatically look back to see if there’s someone standing back there.

“It happened years before I met you. Reilly was one,” she starts. Reilly is her seven-year-old.

“Still, that’s something that might have come up at some point,” I grumble.

“Not really.”

“Wow, I can’t believe it. Kevin cheated on you? Well I guess you forgave him if you are still together.” It gives me hope.

“He didn’t cheat on me.” Her eyes evade mine completely now and the pale skin of her face and entire neck become flame red.

“Oh, but you just said…” Then it dawns on me. Kevin didn’t. She did. “Oh,” is all I can come up with.

No! I just can’t see it. Maybe she isn’t the best one to help me through this after all.

She hides her face behind her hands. “Ugh, now I wish I had said something sooner. Not when you’re going through this. Not when you would only see a monster.” Her hands are so white in contrast to the bright red of her face.

I shake my head. “I don’t see a monster. Not even with Owen,” I say. “But…why?” I ask her, genuinely curious. She is so beautiful, her husband so handsome. And they seem so happy too. “Who?”

She suddenly looks at me with a grin, and that wicked gleam that sometimes pops into her eyes is there again. “It was the pool boy.”

“What!”

“I’m just kidding. Not that it matters who.” She is serious now, the gleam gone just as quickly as it came, and she brings back the memories. “It was a contractor working on our master bath. There was no good reason that I can give you. I mean, is there ever? I loved Kevin. We had a good marriage. But he was at work and this man, we’ll call him Bob, was there every single day.

“It started pretty innocent at first. He would sit and have lunch with me and Reilly. Then it was a kiss. And then it was more. It wasn’t even that good. No, that’s not true. It was good. Very exciting because it was wrong. But it was always better with Kevin. Then after, the guilt was awful. All I wanted was to put it behind me. I never wanted to see Bob again, I wanted him out of my life and to forget that I’d ever done this. So, I tried to talk Kevin into letting him go. He saw right through me. Who knows, maybe he’d already suspected it. I had to fess up.”

Jess just didn’t seem like the type to cheat and try to hide it. Never in a million years would I have thought her capable.

“How did he take it?”

She shrugs. “Well, sort of like you. There was a lot of screaming and crying and anger.”

Maybe I should be talking to him, I think, he sounds like he would know more of what I’m feeling.

“So how did you get through it?”

She sighs and looks heavenward. “Ay, ay, ay! It wasn’t easy. It took a long time, a lot of begging. I didn’t want to lose him; I mean I loved him for Christ’s sake. After about four months we had a huge fight. There was some name calling, mostly ‘slut’ is what I remember. I loved him, Cris, but it was really wearing on me too. It was getting so old and tiresome and I just wanted it to end. Every day I felt more and more like a piece of garbage, more because of how low I had to put myself to grovel, than by what I had done in the first place.

“So one day I said, ‘Why don’t you go fuck someone else and then we can be even!’”

My mouth pops open. “You didn’t!”

“I did. Took a receipt I found balled up in my purse and wrote ‘Excused’ on it and handed it to him. He was pretty shocked.”

“What did he do?” I was on edge listening to her story, my sorrow completely forgotten.

“He did it. Not a week later he found someone and he did it.”

Oh my god! “What did you do? You had to excuse him, I guess?”

“Yeah. It hurt and I was so angry. I guess I never expected him to actually do it. He told me it wasn’t good, that he wished he hadn’t done it. Wishing it away didn’t make a difference, though. So now we were even and we were both just as hurt. It seemed like forever before we could have sex without resentment. But I had given him that ticket and had promised that if he forgave me, I would forgive him that one time too.”

We don’t talk about it anymore, concentrating on the children, or pretending to at least. In reality, I can see Jess grinding her teeth as she relives those days, and I get lost in my own thoughts too.

Mia sits on my lap and cuddles into me, her blue eyes heavy. I play with her curls as I think of everything that Jess has just admitted to.

Jess picks up a very tired looking Daniel and starts gathering her stuff. I walk them to the door and just as she steps out I stop her. “So what you’re saying is that I should sleep with someone else?”

“What? No!” She steps back in and closes the door a little, though there isn’t anyone within hearing range. “What I am saying is that this is hard on the two of you and if you want to stay with him, then you need to figure out something that works for you and do it. Or you’ll lose each other.”

She leaves me with that thought. I don’t want to lose Owen, but is there anything that will fix this?

If I slept with another man would I forgive him then? Would he forgive me?

Would I forgive myself?

* * *

The sour flavor of vodka and goldfish mingle in my mouth even as my eyes struggle against the dry grit that is holding them shut. My stomach roils and my head has a very distinct case of a nail being driven into it, right between the eyes.

I manage to get one eye open and the first thing I see are the culprits on my nightstand. Why, oh why, did I do this to myself? I remember a day when I could drink six or seven of those and was absolutely fine the next morning. Now, I can hardly get through one Bay Breeze and I’m already hung over. I think last night I may have finished off the vodka.

I swallow back the nausea as I roll onto my back. This is awful!

The sun is out, its light filtering through the curtains. Mia will be up soon. Bemoaning my lack of good sense, I turn onto my other side in hopes of finding relief for my poor head.

Owen is facing me, his hair a tussled mess. His long lashes fanned across his cheeks give him an air of innocence that is lost while he is awake. Did we do it last night and I was just too drunk to remember? That would be a shame because he looks so delicious. The thought makes me smile despite everything and I reach out to him, wanting to touch his sleep warmed skin.

And then he speaks. “So you want to fuck another man.”

My hand stops just before my fingers make contact with his forearm. The Earth stops spinning and my stomach drops along with my blood pressure as my sluggish brain struggles to move. Realization of my actions the night before, stupid words too truthful of my feelings and thoughts, is an ugly thing that I must face now.

My heart beats erratically, as if it doesn’t know whether to race and give me the power to flee, or stop and end me right then and there.

“I…I…” Words escape me. This isn’t how the conversation was supposed to go, if it even happened at all! Apparently, my primal brain decided to go for it last night while the rest of it was out of commission.

His eyes open, deep dark green, and cold. Though he remains where he is, it’s not hard to see that he’s angry. And tired. But in an instant, the fury drains from him and he sits up, rubbing his eyes and face.

“I was awake all night thinking about what you said.”

“What did I say?” I remember, unfortunately, but I need confirmation.

Owen looks at me with a disgusted smirk. “When I came in after my meeting and you were sitting in bed with your drink and your goldfish. You were obviously wasted. I sat beside you and took your glass and took a sip. It was straight vodka.”

Gross! As he is telling me the story the images begin to truly form in my mind, and then I remember it so clearly, the drunken haze gone. I think I’m going to hurl, and it’s not because of the alcohol. God, I feel sick!

Jess’ words had swirled in my head yesterday. All night and all morning as I laid there listening to Owen get ready for work. And after he left I stayed there still, thinking. I’d gone through my day with that constantly in the back of my mind.

Owen had the chance to experience another woman. He lay between her legs, ran fingers over skin different than mine, tasted her lips. Felt her sex.

Instead of growing angrier as I always do, I grew curious. What would it be like to be with another man? I don’t think it’s an unnatural question for anyone who is in a relationship, though many of us squelch the forbidden thought. But is it still so forbidden for someone in my place? Is the question still so taboo when the vows of loyalty and fidelity have already been broken?

We have been together fifteen years. The memory of all other men has mostly faded away, because I never needed to remember. Yesterday I tried. The faces, the scents, the touches. It was all gone. I am not sure if I’d even recognize any guy I’d slept with that long ago if I saw them right in front of me.

Owen and I had had a small argument the night before. He’d wanted to fuck, I wanted him to sleep somewhere far away from me. We ended up compromising. He got to sleep in our bed as long as he didn’t try anything.

It didn’t matter. I could hear him breathing and was so completely aware of all his movements that he might as well have been all over me. So, that got me to thinking even more about a solution. Jess’ solution.

Kevin sleeping with another woman may have been rough for Jess, but as far as I can tell it saved their marriage. Would it do the same for us? It’s hard to tell. Though I must admit, the thought of it excites me, and not a small bit. There’s something about the mere thought of being with someone who isn’t my spouse. The appeal of the forbidden. Is that what Owen felt too?

The day had progressed slowly, the one thought endlessly churning in my mind.

I want to do this. No, I don’t. Keep your mouth shut, woman, you’ll kill an already wounded marriage!

In the end, my better judgment won and I’d decided against it. Besides, it was very unlikely it would go over well with Owen. It wouldn’t with me if the tables were turned.

We just had to figure things out, to get over this bump in our marriage. People do this every day, forgive, forget. Life goes on. I mean, I see old couples together all the time. They look happy, still in love and holding hands. Yet you know they have stories to tell, hurdles they’ve had to deal with in their marriage. No one is perfect. If they can do it, so can we.

Decision made, I’d gone to work on dinner, making shrimp and pasta carbonara with white wine. I also made a pizza for the after party, as we always get hungry after sex. And we were going to have a lot of that, I determined. It’s time to take back my life!

So, I plucked and preened and waxed and perfumed. I couldn’t dress in a nighty since he would be home at six and Mia would still be up, but Owen isn’t into that anyway, saying he’s just going to take it off, so it’s not worth it.

At seven, he sent me a text.

Owen: Running late.

Me: How late?

He didn’t reply. At eight, I called. He didn’t answer, instead sending me another text fifteen minutes later.

Owen: Took Ray out for a drink. Pretty loud in here. Will call on my way. Shouldn’t be too late.

Without responding I set the phone down on the kitchen counter. It took all my strength to walk away from it and not throw it against the wall. The fact that it’s pretty new helped.

“Where’s Daddy?” Mia asked when I carried her upstairs to her bath.

“He’s probably out fucking Cassandra,” I wanted to say. What I really said was, “Your daddy will be home when you wake up tomorrow,” and, “Daddy loves you very much,” when I put her down for the night.

The moment she was out, I headed to the fridge for some self-medication.

I can’t say for sure the moment I became aware that he was in the room with me, slushed as I was. What I do recall was the feeling of peace and calm as he sat beside me and took the glass from my hands.

“Looks like you’ve been having fun,” he said.

“Looks like you been havin’ fun too. And I think her name is Cassandraaaaaaaa.” Her name came out in a sort of song, and I laughed, not sarcastically, but truly amused at myself.

Owen wasn’t. “What are you talking about?”

“Is okay, I can fix this. I have the sholuuushun!” More laughter.

“Fix what? Solution? What are you saying?”

Smiling at him as my head slid down to the pillow and my lids grew heavy over my eyes, I half whispered, “Is okay, all I need is fuck someone else too.” I slapped him on the shoulder and tried to wink with a closed eye. “Then it will all be better.”

I guess that’s the last I said. Poor guy, to have been left with those last words. Poor me too. I want to melt into the sheets I’m so embarrassed. But I’m also pissed.

“Where were you last night?” I ask him now that my outrage has returned.

“I told you I went to grab a beer with Ray. He’s having a rough time at work and I needed to have a one on one talk with him.”

“How long’s a beer take to drink?” It had to have been at least eleven before he got home.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, Cris,” he says defensively. “I just had a beer with Ray down at the BrewHouse. You can ask him yourself. I gave him a ride home afterwards because his car wouldn’t start up. I couldn’t text or call because my phone is a piece of shit, and every time I sent one text I had to restart it.”

Ray lives on the far end of a four-acre lot in Matthews, an hour and a half roundtrip at least.

“I’m sorry. I expected you home sooner and I wanted to surprise you with a date night. I wanted to move on. Bad timing, I guess.”

“So I am home late and you decide you want to sleep with someone else.” He shakes his head in disappointment.

Well, the time is here. I’ve already put it out there and there’s no going back now. Better to just get it done.

Drunks usually speak the truth. It’s what I want, what I will do in the end. I can run around in circles trying to avoid it just to come back to it anyway. The seed has been planted in my mind and it’s going to grow. I can feel it. I have made my decision and now I need to let Owen decide his own fate, because in the end, I meant it when I said I want to move on.

“No. I didn’t decide I wanted to do this because you were late. I decided I wanted to sleep with someone else because you did it to me, and now I want to know what it feels like too.”

“So it’s not because you want us to be even, then?”

“Yes, that is part of it,” I admit. It’s the truth.

He remains silent for a moment, thinking inwardly, staring at the white covers.

“Do you still love me?” he asks.

“Beyond reason, I think. Probably so much that I hate you a little too, for what you did to me.”

He nods in acceptance. “So you want to hurt me.”

“No, I don’t want to hurt you. I want to heal my wound. My heart, my pride, all of it, is torn to shreds, Owen! Now the only way for us to survive is to be on equal footing. Or we end it now, cleanly, because I fear that I will tear us apart if we don’t.”

“Will you trust me again if you do this?” He is looking at me now, his eyes searching for a part of me that will tell him this is all a bad dream. He doesn’t find it.

“The real question is, will you trust me if I don’t?”

“You can’t be faithful to me?”

“No,” I say flatly.

He turns to look at the wall, his jaw working furiously. He pounds a fist against his forehead and closes his eyes tightly. “Who is it going to be? Do you already have some asshole in mind?”

“I don’t know, there is no one right now.”

“So you’re going to go out looking for a fuck?”

“No. You will sign a ticket for me, so that at any point during our marriage I can ‘fuck up’ once, and you must forgive me. One night. Just like you did. I will redeem my ticket, so you will know when it’s over, and that it will never happen again after that.”

He laughs. “Wow, you’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“I can hardly think of anything else. You have a choice, Owen. At least you get that courtesy.” I lower my tone so that he knows the seriousness of my words. “This is the price you pay if you want to keep this family. If you want to keep me. You’ve asked me repeatedly what it will take. I am telling you now. The choice is yours.”

He gets up, pulls open his nightstand drawer and pulls out a notepad he stole from a hotel somewhere, writes something on it, and hands it to me. Saying nothing he goes to the bathroom, closing the door gently behind him.

When I look at the words I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and hold the paper to my chest. I feel oddly relieved, a weight lifted from my shoulders, a barrier to the future removed with those two words.

The Ticket.

9

I examine myself in my bathroom mirror, checking and double checking, making sure that every hair is in place and there is not one blemish visible on my skin. I’ve chosen to wear a simple but tight black sleeveless shirt and a dark green A-line skirt that has crystal and lace accents on the bottom and pair the outfit with my usual black wedges. My long hair is set in loose curls and pinned back with a clip on my right side.

I look pretty enough I think, but the butterflies in my stomach make me grimace.

I’m going to see him today. Bo.

It’s his mother’s seventieth birthday and three weeks ago we received the purple, gold and green invitation to celebrate at his house in Huntersville. It’s going to be a “Big Easy” bash, with a zydeco band and dancing if I know her as well as I think I do, and lots and lots of Cajun food.

God, maybe I shouldn’t go. The mere thought of seeing Bo again, after over half a year, still has me so nervous I can’t think straight.

I’d finally gotten to a point where he wasn’t in the background of my thoughts every day, all day. Where I wouldn’t go to the Jensen’s house and stare at his pictures the entire time I was there. And where I wouldn’t catch myself fantasizing about what I would do if I ever found myself alone with him.

Time, coupled with everything that happened with Owen, had made him a distant memory. As a matter of fact, up until three weeks ago all I could think of was my husband.

Things have been wonderful. We have found each other again, our souls reconnected; I think I love him more now than I ever have. That ticket he gave me was all I needed to get out of my rut and my fury evaporated. It had given me a sense of control back, power in a way, even if I never chose to exercise it.

Owen for his part has done everything he can to regain my trust. He never goes out, even with a co-worker, and if he does he brings me along. We have hired a sitter and have made it a point to go on a date night at least once a week and we even took our first vacation alone, leaving Mia with my dad for two days while we went to Asheville. It was tough, but boy did we use that time wisely, going to dinner, exploring the town, visiting Biltmore and other historic sites. And lots and lots of bed time of course!

These were all things we did but took for granted before we had a child. Now they are a luxury. It felt like it did when we were first together. It was the definition of a perfect marriage.

Until I received this deep purple envelope in the mail, the name Bo Rougier on the top left corner. It was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Owen Roberts, so it took me a minute to understand who it was coming from. But when I did, those six months of marital bliss vanished into thin air.

I tore the paper open so fast I cut myself. When I saw it was an invitation to Bo’s house, my first thought was, “Will Owen be going?”

It’s a terrible thought, I know, but I could not handle having the two of them in the same room. Besides, Owen would see through me in a heartbeat, and I so want to see Bo.

Then the second thought hit, and I wildly rummaged through my underwear drawer until I found it and pulled out that little piece of paper. The ticket. No longer just a piece of paper, now it was a living thing in my hand, full of possibilities.

So, these last few weeks have dragged on. Owen hasn’t questioned me, but I am sure he knows that things have changed. I have felt myself drifting from him. I’m not as enamored, or as adoring, spending more and more time thinking of Bo and the few times I saw him, studying those moments in my mind, going over every detail.

“Where are you?” he’s asked me several times, catching me off guard staring blankly at nothing in particular. I don’t say anything, just smile and shake my head. I can’t say I feel guilty. There is too much excitement building in me for that. Perhaps anxious about the unknown is more like it.

So today is finally the day. I get Mia dressed and we are off.

Bo lives in a twenty-five hundred square foot farmhouse, built in the 1980s, on a three-acre lot. I know this because anytime his mom talks about it I take note and memorize it all.

There are dozens of cars there when I arrive, and I’m horrified when I see there is an attendant directing everyone to park parallel on a gravel drive.

“Oh my God!” I cry out.

He points behind a minivan, but before I can get to the spot, he’s already directed the truck behind me. I am left with a small space, which I suppose for the average driver would be plenty of space to park a Civic in, but for me, he might as well have asked me to park on a dime. I move forward a little, then turn my wheel, move back, turn my wheel, move forward, the tires screeching and crunching so loudly on the rocks beneath I know there’s no way my struggle has gone unnoticed. So it goes, and I still can’t get the car in far enough.

I roll down my window and holler to the attendant, “Can I just leave it like this?”

The guy walks over with a no-time-for-this-shit pace and motions me to get out of the car. “Geev me yor kees, I move,” he says in a heavy accent I can’t quite place.

I do so gladly, and he parks it in one try. It’s not so bad, maybe no one saw. Then I see about twenty people hanging out in the open garage looking at me and laughing. Even that isn’t so bad, I think as I grab Mia and the gift-wrapped casserole dish I bought Mrs. Jensen. That is until I notice that one of the people there is Bo. He’s watching me with too much amusement from his seated position on one of the lawn chairs they’ve set there.

Dear lord, just strike me down now!

I bee line it to the front door, not stopping to say hi. My face is burning. Why did he have to see that!

The front door bursts open before I reach for the handle.

“I thought I saw you trying to park there!” Jess cackles.

“Shut up or I’ll pinch you,” I threaten as I walk past her with Mia in tow.

“Ah, don’t be mad,” she laughs and picks up my girl. “I can laugh cause I’m your friend and I love you. Besides, no one else saw.”

I roll my eyes at the back of her head as she walks by. “You know she’s perfectly capable of walking.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be able to kiss these yummy cheeks then!” she says smooching Mia.

“Jessie!” Mia says in the same baby voice she uses around her daddy.

I follow them in and take in every detail of the house. It’s not at all what I expected a bachelor pad to be, though I don’t know what exactly I expected. I guess I thought I would see black leather recliners and posters of cars and hot women plastered all over the walls. Maybe an oversized television with lots of video games strewn about.

Instead his house is tidy, clean, and smells of pumpkin spice, though I suspect that’s because his mom is here now. It’s an open floorplan type home, some dated furniture, a pine dining room table and console and ceiling fans that match.

His living room is leather, not black recliners, but a brown couch, loveseat and an old rocking chair. And the walls don’t sport pictures of half-naked girls, but instead have pictures of his family. His parents, his kids, a son and a daughter he shares custody of with his ex-wife. There are no pictures of her here, though I have seen one or two at Mrs. Jensen’s house.

The closer to the back I go the busier it gets. There are several groups of people gathered, eating standing and chatting loudly. Lively music thumps from somewhere outside making the windows rattle slightly, washboard, accordion, banjo, maybe a harmonica, and gets louder every time someone opens a door.

“There is a buffet set out there and a beer and wine bar. They may have some liquor if you prefer,” Jess shouts my way and points out a set of triple glass doors that lead to an oversized pool deck. “I’ll watch Mia so you can go say hi to Mrs. Jensen and eat something in peace.”

“What about you?”

“I already ate and Kevin and Reilly have the other kids. I feel kind of lonely,” she says squeezing Mia to her. “You should get out there. Did you see how many people are here? Who knew Mrs. Jensen was this popular?”

“Well, she is very friendly,” I say walking away.

I go out through one of the sliding glass doors. A line is formed along three long tables covered in purple and green that have been placed to one side of the pool, loaded with deep pots, large casseroles, and an assortment of dishes.

The amazing smell of Jambalaya, Gumbo, and Rabbit stew fills the air, among other New Orleans’ specialties. There is a server at the end of the line offering little pieces of andouille and I take two. They are spicy delicious and they take me back to a less complicated time in my life.

It’s a warm October day and there are a few people swimming and others I can see in their cover ups lounging about.

I hear Mrs. Jensen’s loud laughter and head her way. She is at the far end of the pool, a glass of red wine in hand. Her bright floral dress and perfectly coiffed hair let me know she has no intention of getting in the pool, though she is wearing several colorful beads around her neck and she looks pretty tipsy, so who knows.

Beside her are Bo and another woman. He must have gone around the house, I think, to beat me here.

I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. It’s time to channel the old Cris, the one that wasn’t afraid of any man. Confident. I wanted to see him after all, and here’s my chance. He wants you, I remind myself. There was no mistaking his looks the last time I saw him.

Emboldened, I walk over, telling myself that I am beautiful, attractive, sexy. Damn, I want to roar!

When I get to them Mrs. Jensen stands and gives me a drunken hug. Her large hoop earrings clack against my small ones.

“Cristiana! I’m so glad you could come! Sit, sit!” She pulls me down to sit beside her on the lounge, her long nails lightly grazing my skin as she pulls them away. “Where are Owen and the baby?”

I look at Bo, expectantly. But he’s not looking at me now. He’s having a discussion with the woman sitting beside him.

“Um, Owen had to work. Mia’s inside with Jess.”

Bo’s still not looking my way. There is no evidence that he even knows I am here. What?

“Ah, ok, I’ll have to go steal her for a few minutes. I have something for her she’s just going to love!” Without warning she stands and leaves me sitting there alone. I barely acknowledge what she’s said, I am so dumbfounded. Was I wrong about Bo’s interest in me?

I don’t know what to do. On the one hand, it’s weird to sit here with Bo right beside me completely engulfed in his conversation. On the other, who the hell is this woman he’s with?

I stay because I want to listen to what they are saying, and because I want him to see me, to look at me the way he had before. But their words are too muffled. He makes no effort to look my way.

The minutes seem like hours just sitting there, feeling self-conscious, and I finally leave when I realize this girl he’s with, is WITH him. Confused, I head to the bar. Mrs. Jensen never mentioned a girlfriend. Then again, I made it a point never to ask about him.

While the bartender makes my vodka and cranberry, I take the opportunity to look over at the secretive pair again. They are still sitting together, but now his kids are with them.

She takes his five-year-old daughter, Sammy, and ten-year-old son, JB, and holds them to her for a selfie. It dawns on me then who she is. The ex-wife, Laura. At least she looks like what I remember seeing at Bo’s mom’s place.

I frown. Why is she here? Are they back together? Maybe he’s just sitting with her so that she’s not so uncomfortable. She is the ex, after all, and probably doesn’t know many of the people here other than his mother.

The bar is close enough that I can kind of make her out, and far enough that it wouldn’t look creepy, so I take my time inspecting her. I want to know what kind of woman he’s chosen in the past.

Honey gold hair up in a messy bun. Very tan, lots of sun exposure that I can see. She’s wearing a bright orange bikini, no cover, and looks like she may have had some breast augmentation. Her body isn’t perfect, but she’s beautiful. Gorgeous even.

“You got some beef with someone or somethi’ stink?” the bartender asks handing me my drink. “You should smile. Turn that frown upside down.”

I wrinkle my nose at him. Yeah, something stinks Bud, them big melons over there!

For over an hour I bounce around, from group to group, glancing his way every chance I get. He is with her the entire time, and it irritates me that he never leaves her side.

After a while, I find myself inside, alone, looking out, and I see him pull off his white T-shirt with one hand, leaving only his blue swim trunks. There are beads of sweat trailing down, between his shoulder blades, to his lean waist. I try not to pant as I gawk. My goodness!

“He is one hot man,” Jess whispers in my ear and I jump.

“You scared the s-h-i-t out of me,” I spell out so Mia doesn’t understand.

“Sorry, just seemed like you needed to be snapped out of it. You need a mop for that drool? Maybe I need to call Owen out here.”

I roll my eyes at her. “I’m just site seeing.”

“Well, we all know what that can lead to.” She winks at me, but it doesn’t look like she’s kidding.

“Why aren’t you in the pool, Barbie?” I ask, using her first name she dislikes because she does in fact, look like a Barbie Doll.

“Don’t call me that, you know I hate it. Why the hell my mother named me that I’ll never know. Besides, I’m a summer doll. This is freaking fall, I don’t care how much you heat a pool, it’s cold! Anyway, here’s your kid back, I gotta get going.”

“You’re leaving? But we hardly talked!” I panic thinking I’ll be left here all alone.

“Yeah, kind of hard to do when you’re stalking some hot piece of ass, ain’t it?”

“Oh hush!”

She giggles maliciously. “I kid, I kid. Maybe. Anyway, Kev’s tired and the kids are whining, so you know how it goes.”

I sigh. “Well, thank you for taking Mia. It was a nice break.”

“You gonna hang here for a bit?” she asks.

I consider my options. I don’t know anyone here. Mrs. Jensen is sitting drunkenly in the living room rocking chair, watching Mr. Jensen snoring on the loveseat.

“I don’t know, what do you think?” I ask Mia.

“Momma, Miss Lydia say she has a toy for me, but she didn’t give it to me,” she pouts.

I look at Mrs. Jensen, “Well, maybe a little longer. I want to sit and chat with her for a bit.”

“Okay,” Jess hugs me and Mia. “But watch those eyes. I see nothing but trouble in them.”

“What? No, I’m not looking.”

She shakes her head at me. “I can see right through you, lady. I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do what we did. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you loud and clear,” I dismiss her concerns with a wave of my hand. “Bye, Jess, I will see you tomorrow.”

I have been sitting on the floor, chatting with Mrs. Jensen and playing with a few random toys another kid had left out while Mia stacks dominos, when the feeling of someone walking up behind me makes me look up.

Bo slaps his stepfather’s knee, “Hey there, Dan. Gonna join us at some point?”

Mr. Jensen’s eyes slit slightly open and he smiles dazedly up at Bo. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Bo and the woman he’s been hanging out with all afternoon sit behind me, and I can’t stand the feeling of my back to them, so I adjust my position and face them. Seeing them sitting there together bothers me to say the least, but when I see she’s holding Puggy… well that just adds insult to injury. I didn’t even know that little dog was here.

Sitting here on the floor I feel awkward, somehow vulnerable. Very much like I don’t belong. While before I was having a nice conversation with the Jensen’s, now I am quietly fiddling with the hem of my skirt, rolling the sequin between my thumb and forefinger.

Mrs. Jensen clears her throat. “Thank you for such a wonderful party, Boey!”

“You like it Momma?”

“Oh yes, and your stew was to die for!”

“Wasn’t it though?” the woman asks.

Mrs. Jensen mumbles something under her breath I can’t make out. Then looks to Bo. “Bo, baby, you gonna be able to watch Puggy for me next weekend?”

“Yes, just remember I have the kids so I’ll have to bring her here.”

“I can watch her!” the woman says.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to bother you,” Mrs. Jensen replies waving her hand, then reaches over and takes her little dog back.

“It’s no bother at all! I’d love to help. Besides, were family!”

Family? I’m confused now. And then I think I’ve had it wrong all along. The Jensen’s have a daughter that lives in Wilmington. This girl is Bo’s half-sister. I glance at her. I suppose that could be her. I never really paid too much attention to the pictures, though I thought she had darker hair.

My mouth gets ahead of my head and I blurt out, “So you two are siblings?”

Their heads snap my way in unison, and Bo bursts out laughing. She does not.

“We’re dating,” the woman nearly snarls at me and looks at him annoyed as she introduces herself as Dawn.

My hopes of cashing in my ticket are dashed, done, ended by this blonde bombshell who I now know without a doubt is his girlfriend.

Bo stands up and takes Puggy from her hands and gives her back to his mother.

“Momma, I gotta take Dawn home. She has to get her kids from their dad’s. But I will see you in a bit. I love you,” he tells her and leans down to hug her. Puggy growls at him and he backs off. “Whoa, dog. What happened to being friends?”

“All right, Boey. Be careful.”

He looks down at me and nods his head, while Dawn walks off without a word.

I get up too. It’s time to go. The sun is setting, along with my libido.

“Can Mia stay with you for a minute?” I ask Mrs. Jensen. I can’t trust Mia to stay put, and that pool out there makes me nervous.

“Of course, you leave that precious little girl with me.”

I’ve got a bottle of water in my hand and I walk to the kitchen to refill it. The house feels empty, as does my heart, as if though I’ve lost something even though I never really had it.

I’m halfway to the kitchen when the garage door opening makes me look back. It’s Bo. I smile at him but keep walking until he stops me with a single tap to my arm.

“Cristiana,” he says.

I turn to him and our eyes lock for the first time today. And there it is again, that look, so intense and deep, it sends a heatwave through my core.

Mouth dry, I somehow manage to squeak, “Yes?”

“Thanks for coming. It meant a lot to my mom to have her girls here.”

And to you? I think. Did it mean something to you?

“Yes, of course. We love your mom,” I say.

He nods. There is tension in his face, like he’s struggling to find his next words. “Okay, I have to go. Thanks again.”

Then he leans in and with his arms around my waist pulls me to him.

Of their own accord, my arms wrap themselves around his shoulders, and I press my breasts against his chest. My face is at his neck and I breathe him in, closing my eyes briefly to savor every second. My hands move over his back and this moment, the feeling of his body so close to me is instantly emblazoned into my brain.

And it’s not just me. He holds me longer than he should, his large hands going from my waist to my bra clasp. His face is in my hair and I can hear him taking me in too.

Then just like that it’s over, and we pull apart almost violently, and he leaves without looking back.

I stand staring at the closed door. He came back in for that, I know it! Did he feel that same strange void when he left? Did he feel the need to touch me, somehow, in any capacity? That if he didn’t, some defining moment would pass him by? Most importantly, did he feel that same electric connection that I did?

I turn and am shocked to see both Jensens watching me. The looks on their faces says they saw something they shouldn’t have. The moment was too private.

Looking away I walk with my head held high and a smile on my face.

10

Bo Rougier. That’s him. The small picture attached to his Facebook profile proves it. It’s too small to make out the details of his handsome face, much to my disappointment, but his image is engraved in my head and I don’t need a visual to remember every bit.

The idea of looking for him came to me after Jess told me she’d found an old friend by going through another friend’s Friend List. She sounded like such a stalker and I wondered what she had been searching on me.

Well, now here I am doing the same thing. I found him easily in Mrs. Jensen’s friends list.

I am sitting on the floor of my bedroom while Mia sleeps, my laptop in front of me. The ticket is lying beside me.

I don’t know why I feel the need to hide since Owen is at work, having stayed late to finish up some paperwork. This already feels incredibly wicked even though I haven’t done anything yet.

A few weeks have passed since Mrs. Jensen’s birthday cookout. After seeing Bo with that girl, I figured my chance to cash that ticket had passed. Who knew when or if I’d ever be willing to do such a thing again.

Actually, I am not so sure I’d be so interested in using it with any other man. But with Bo… I would have followed through that same day given the opportunity, though seeing him with Dawn brought an instant end to that fantasy. It’s one thing to risk my own marriage, I won’t come tear up someone else’s.

That all changed this morning, when Jess came over, and while I know she wanted to keep the information from me as long as possible, biting her lips to keep from speaking was a dead giveaway.

“What! Just say it already,” I’d demanded.

She shook her head, blonde ponytail swinging hard, but blurted out, “He’s single again!”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“Bo! I ran into Mrs. Jensen on my morning jog…”

“You jog too? How do you have time for that?” I interrupt.

“Anywho, never mind that. Well you know how she talks.”

I nodded. Mrs. Jensen can traverse ten subjects in ten minutes.

“Well, she apparently couldn’t stand how the girl made herself so at home without even knowing them, and had been out with Bo like once. She invited herself to their house for dinner when he told her he was going over there, then the birthday party and he wasn’t really into her and felt like she was desperate, so he ended it that night when he took her home.”

“Wow,” I said nonchalantly, while inside my blood rushed through me and straight to my cheeks. “Well, good for him?”

Jess crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “Really? That’s all you have to say.”

“What? What do you want me to say?”

“Uh, that you’re freaking excited. Come on! I saw the way you looked at him, Cris!”

“Nah, I… what? No!” I pfft and waved her foolishness away.

“Seriously, this doesn’t make you want to jump for joy?”

I laughed nervously. “Maybe a little.”

“I knew it!” she exclaimed.

I plopped down on the living room couch and wiped my face. “Jess,” I started and looked up at her. “I am sooooo attracted to him, it’s unreal. I have never been this attracted to anyone in my life,” I admitted.

“What?” she half-said half-gasped as she sat beside me. “Not even Owen?”

I shook my head. “Jess, it’s to the point where I feel like I may go crazy because I can’t get him out of my head, and now with you telling me this… me thinks shit just got complicated again.”

“What do you mean?”

I sighed. I wanted to tell her more, I would have, but in that instant my phone rang. It was Owen. Like he’d read my mind. After talking to him, I let the conversation go. Jess didn’t push, though she did give me that look that said we weren’t done.

Under normal circumstances I would tell her everything. She is the friend that knows too much about me. Lord, the things I tell that woman. But with Bo, I don’t know if it’s that I have been so unsure myself, maybe it’s just so hard to admit feelings that should go unrealized. Either way, I know I need to figure things out first before telling her more.

I am ready to do that now.

My heart is racing and I swallow hard as I click on the Message button. The little box appears and I begin to type with trembling hands.

Me: Hi. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m your mom’s neighbor, Cristiana.

My finger hovers above the send button. Do I dare do this? Should I say something more on the first line, just blurt out that I want to sleep with him for one night, or should I do some small talk first?

I press send. Request sent, it says, and I want to take it back immediately. What did I just do? What if he tells his mom? What if he thinks I’m a wacko? A whore? Or worse, what if he doesn’t even remember me? My brain is screaming with all those horrifying thoughts.

There should be a way to delete what I just sent! I try everything, even typing “how to delete a Facebook message” in Google. I’m too late.

Bo Rougier has accepted your request, it tells me, and almost instantly I get his reply.

It was too fast, barely giving me time to dwell on all the possible ramifications of my mistake.

Him: Of course I remember you. Cristiana Roberts. With the little blue-eyed girl.

Okay, so he does remember me.

Me: Yes, that’s me.

Him: What can I do for you? Is everything okay with my parents?

Oops! Of course he would think I was contacting him for his parents.

Me: Yes, everything’s okay. Hope I didn’t worry you.

Him: Good. Is there something I can help you with?

He is responding quickly, letting me know he’s online.

I swallow hard, crack my knuckles, rub my eyes. You can do this, Cris. Just do it! Biting my lip the entire time, terrified of putting something out there I can’t take back, I begin to type.

Me: Due to somewhat recent events in my marriage, I have acquired a ticket. I want to use it with you.

Him: A ticket?

Me: A ticket. For one night in bed with another man. I want to redeem it with you.

He doesn’t respond immediately this time, though the little picture beside the line tells me he’s read it. An hour passes and still there is nothing. My anxiety begins to build.

I sit there until Owen gets home. I check before I go to bed just in case I’ve missed an alert ding from my phone. Nothing. Sometime around two in the morning I wake up and my first thought is of Bo. I quietly pick up my phone and check. Still nothing.

The following day is full of disappointing quick peeks at my messages. Nothing every time.

By the time Owen gets home I am a nervous wreck, tired and anxious. He tries several times to start a conversation with me, but I am not in the mood.

“How was your day?” he asks.

“Good.” I say.

“Did you see Jess today?”

“Yes.”

And so it goes on. When we get into bed, Owen tries to pull me close, but I move away.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asks. “Did I do something wrong?”

I want to scream at him yes, he did something very wrong. He threw off the balance in our relationship and now I am angry that my one attempt to regain some sense of control over my life has left me with frustration, fear and emptiness. Instead I bury my head further into the pillow and pull the covers over my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers accepting the blame like he has all these months.

It fills me with regret and shame to let him feel that way. But sometimes misery needs company, and he’s earned the spot.

* * *

Jessica stares at me speechless. I don’t think I have ever seen her so surprised. She finally shakes her head and practically yells, “You did what!”

I needed to tell someone about Bo and my stupidity. Who better than Jess? She already knows most of it and is my best friend after all, even if she is a cheater too.

“Well, after we talked I sort of got the ide…”

“Oh no you don’t. Don’t blame that crap on me. It was not my best idea and I only told you that to encourage you to find a solution.”

“And that’s exactly what I did!” I huff. “It just so happened to be the same as yours. And aren’t you the one who told me he’s single now?”

“Well, yeah. But… okay, so I take responsibility for encouraging poor behavior there, but I think it was more just that I wanted to talk about that pretty man, not for you to run off with him.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s had almost two days to think about it and he still hasn’t answered. I think it’s pretty obvious what he thinks. What if he’s with that girl again? Or worse, his ex-wife!”

“Nah, I don’t think so. Mrs. Jensen hasn’t said anything about that to me. Though, she did say something that struck me as weird.”

“What?”

“Did you know he still supports his ex? I mean, as in he owns the house she and the kids live in. She doesn’t work.”

“Are you serious?”

“That’s what his mom said,” Jess nods seriously, her eyes wide.

“When did she tell you this? She never said anything to me.”

“We’ve seen her more than you have, I guess. Anyway, seems that flooring business is really booming for him to afford that. I mean, why is he still supporting her?”

“Well…” I frown. “That is kind of weird. What else did she say?” I am dying to know as much as possible about this man, any little tidbit that will make me feel like I know him, like I am closer to him.

“There’s not much else. She sort of tells me the same story over and over.” Jess wrinkles her nose and that devilish spark comes into her eyes. “Well, if you are dead set on doing this…”

“I am. Was. Would have been if he’d said yes.” I shove a handful of goldfish into my mouth and shrug.

“So check your messages! He might already have booked the hotel room and here you are moping. Man, I am so jealous. You already have a sexy man in your bed and you are planning a hot night with another one!”

We are in her children’s playroom. Her five-year-old, Joshua, has just come home from school and Daniel and Mia are playing contentedly and having snacks. It’s very loud in there, so we have to speak up.

Josh looks entertained with a cartoon that’s playing on a small television, but when I really look I can see that his head is slightly turned, his left ear pointed straight at us. I wonder when they will start repeating everything they hear.

“Sh! The kids.” I nod over at him, his ears looking awfully perky. “I checked right before we came over. Nothing. God, I hope he doesn’t tell his parents I propositioned him!” I put my face in my hands. “Maybe the earth will swallow me before I see him again.”

“Look, why don’t you do us both a favor and check?”

“How is this doing you a favor?” I narrow my eyes.

“I am dying from the suspense! End the torture already.”

“All right, all right.” I pull my phone out of my bag and tap on the Facebook Messenger app. At first I can’t comprehend what I see. Then it sinks in.

“He messaged you, didn’t he?” Her excitement couldn’t be more evident.

“Yes.” Dear lord, I can barely breathe.

“Well? What does it say? Geez, speak woman!”

“It says, ‘I am sorry I didn’t answer you sooner. You left me in shock. I was at my son’s soccer game and had quite a few people sitting around me when the message came in. It didn’t seem like the place to discuss a ticket.’”

“Ooo-kay. Is that all it says?” She is practically taking the phone out of my hands. There was a second message, but I didn’t get to read it for myself. Instead Jess squeals it at me. “It says, ‘I have carefully considered your offer.’”

“And? Jess!”

She laughs as she pulls the phone beyond my reach when I try to grab it. “Hold your horses! Let me see, let me see.”

“Jess I am going to kill you!”

“He accepts. OMG, Cris!”

My heart nearly explodes. “He said yes?”

Jess rams the phone back into my hand. “Go upstairs this second and lock yourself in my room and get back to this man. I will watch the kids.”

I nod my head and walk up the stairs slowly, still stunned, thinking of exactly what words I am going to use.

“And I want to read it all when you come back down!” Jess yells up at me before I close the door.

He said yes.

* * *

I text him after we exchange numbers.

Me: Hi.

Bo: Hi. So tell me about this ticket.

Me: I can be with anyone I choose. One night.

Him: How did you get it? Why would your husband agree to that?

Me: Why do you think?

There is a long pause.

Him: Why me?

Me: I want you. I did from the moment I saw you.

No point denying it now.

Him: Why didn’t you say something before? Would have been nice to know you were attracted to me.

Me: I didn’t have a ticket then.

Him: So you’ve wanted me since you met me?

Me: I don’t think this is coming as a surprise to you. You knew how I felt. As a matter of fact, I think you went a little out of your way to make me uncomfortable because of it.

Him: What can I say? I like you too.

Me: You’re okay being with a married woman?

Him: That’s a loaded question. I’m not sure how to answer it.

Me: Try.

Him: I’m okay being with you.

Me: Have you ever been with a married woman?

Him: Does that matter?

Me: No, I guess not.

Him: So what are the rules? Where? When?

Me: First rule is pretty obvious. No one needs to know. Not your friends and definitely not your parents.

Him: Obviously.

Me: Second is that this won’t go past one night. Our history won’t matter and neither will our future. That night would never have happened. And absolutely no emotions. You’re already going to be in my pants, you don’t need to try to get into my heart too.

Him: So you just want me for my body.

Me: Yes.

I laugh as I type.

Me: We both need to get bloodwork. I’m on birth control, but I want us both to go in knowing we’re clean. Have all our bases covered.

Him: Condoms?

Me: Of course. Bases covered, like I said. I can bring some, but I would rather you did.

Goodness I am getting wet just thinking about it.

Him: I’m getting hard.

He mirrors my thoughts, making me smile.

Me: Do you need a minute?

Him: No, just a little difficult to type with one hand.

Me: Lol! Yeah, me too.

Him: I have a feeling we’re going to have a lot of fun in that one night. You sure you don’t want to make it two?

I’m sure I want to make more than that, but my ticket is good for just one, which is unfortunate because I think it will be a great night too.

Him: Ok, so your lack of response tells me that’s a no. Where? When?

Me: New Orleans. Three weeks. You need to get yourself there and have your own room.

Him: Done and done.

11

The ticket. I stare at it and it burns a hole in my hand. I have to do this. I need to do this. I want to forget. And if I am being completely honest, I want Bo so badly I half wonder if I wouldn’t be doing this anyway.

This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. It’s also one of the things I have wanted the most.

There have been so many times where I’ve thought of calling the whole thing off. What am I thinking! How can I hurt Owen this way? The fact that its planned makes it somehow worse than what he did to me. He betrayed me, true, but it was in the heat of the moment. Unplanned.

What I am doing is premeditated.

At times, I feel terrible about it. But the truth is that when it comes down to it, I know that if I don’t do this Owen’s indiscretion will never go away. It will always loom over our lives, big and ugly. Worse than that, I will always wonder what if.

It’s just after dinner when Owen calls to let me know he is on his way. I grab Mia and take her to Jess’ house. I don’t know how he’s going to react. Actually, I do, he’s going to be pissed as hell. I need to give him room to express himself without worrying Mia will hear any of it. If he wants to yell, cuss, whatever, then she will be far away. I will get the brunt of it though.

“You sure you want to go through with this?” Jess asks when I hand Mia over.

“I thought you were excited for me? Didn’t you tell me you were jealous?”

“I was. Am. I am! But, I can’t help but put myself in Owen’s shoes. I have been there you know. That shit hurt! Nothing good can come from this. What if you lose him over this? Are you willing to risk that?”

“He risked losing me.”

She purses her lips but nods and accepts what I say. “Yeah, I know. Whatever you decide, whatever happens from here on, I am your friend and I love you. I will be here.”

I wait for Owen sitting on the living room couch facing the front door. The moment he walks in he knows something is up.

He gives me a long look, closes the door behind him and comes to sit in the chair opposite me. The living room isn’t that big, but right now it feels like we are miles apart. When our eyes meet, there is a myriad of emotions going through me, and I can see them in him as well, yet again we can’t connect.

“Where’s Mia?” he asks.

“At Jess’.”

He leans forward, his hands are clasped, his forearms on his knees. He seems calm, collected, and serious.

“I thought we were past this.” He gets to the point, already having figured out the gist of the problem.

“What gave you that idea?”

“I don’t know. The fact that you’ve seemed happy. We haven’t talked about this in months, it didn’t seem to be an issue. And I’ve done nothing but my best to regain your trust. Was I wrong?”

“Not entirely. I have been happy,” I say honestly. “These have been some of the happiest months of my life with you.”

“What is it then? Tell me, Cris, what else I can do. Because I’m out of ideas.”

“Owen, there is nothing more you can do. You have been perfect these past few months. But the only reason you’ve had the opportunity to be perfect, is because you essentially bought yourself that chance.”

He sits up suddenly. “What are you talking about?”

I set the handwritten ticket on the coffee table. He reaches for it automatically, but freezes the moment his eyes confirm what it is. His face turns to ice, though he spits fire at me when he speaks.

“What the fuck is that?”

“You know what it is.”

“Have you been holding on to that this whole time? What, are you trying to cash it in or something?”

“Yes.”

“The fuck!” he yells and stands up, all cool and calm gone. “Who does that? You said you forgave me!”

I stand now, angry too. Though I’m pretty small, I know I can be terrifying. He takes a step back when I get closer. “The fuck you say? Who does that, you ask? Who does what? Cheats on the person they are supposed to love? Tries to hide it? You are lucky, I am telling you, giving you a choice. And hear my words, Owen, and hear them well, because I will not repeat myself. I Never Forgave You.

“I told you that I would let it go, IF I could do the same as you did. And IF you did not agree, we would go our separate ways. You agreed. I think the problem is that in your mind, you assumed I would forget. ‘Oh she’ll let it go just like she lets everything go,’ I am sure you thought. That there would be no real consequence.

“Sorry to burst your bubble. We are all going to pay for your sin.” There is conviction in my words, venom, and intolerance.

“Please don’t do this.” His voice is soft now. Pleading. It touches me deep inside because I know I am hurting him. But I am still hurting too. I am not lying, the only way for me to get beyond what he did is if I do this. “Let’s see a marriage counselor,” he implores.

“I’m sorry.” He has suggested that before. I don’t want that. What if they tell us to just end it then and there? That I am the problem? It’s not what I want. “I have already booked the flight.”

“What?”

“It leaves Friday. I will be back on Sunday. I can take Mia to my dad’s if you feel like you can’t handle it.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “I… what? You’ve already booked it?”

“Yes.”

“How did you pay for it?”

“I used the money from DTM.” After realizing I had nothing, I searched for work from home and applied as a search engine tester. It doesn’t pay me much, about ten dollars an hour, and working only a few hours a night doesn’t add up quick, but it’s a start. And it’s my money.

“Where are you going?”

“New Orleans.”

He winces. It was my favorite city to visit before we had Mia. We enjoyed several trips there together. It hadn’t crossed my mind that he might have considered it our city. But it is done now.

“Who is it?” he asks.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes! Have I met him? Will he be able to look me in the eye after he’s fucked my wife!” His voice drips with anger and jealousy.

“Owen, I will not go into the detail of it.”

“Will you be safe? Is he decent? What if he’s a murderer? How do you know he doesn’t have an STD?”

I feel my blood boil. “Do you think me stupid? Did you know these things about Cassandra before you fucked her? Because if you did, then we have bigger problems.” It takes a lot of self-control not to remind him that after his affair we both had to be tested. The humiliation of it still stings, explaining to my doctor that I needed a test for sexually transmitted diseases when she knew I was married.

“No, no, God! Cris!”

I take a deep breath and try to see things from his point of view. “I know, and you’re right. I am being safe. I don’t want to discuss him with you further than this.”

Owen’s shoulders slump. He wipes his face with the palm of his hand. “You’re really doing this?”

“Yes.” I stand very still. Will he accept? What will I do if he doesn’t?

He nods in agreement, almost defeat. “Then will it be over?”

“Yes.” I am certain of it.

“Then do it.” He takes the ticket from me and walks to the front door, but stops before he opens it. Without looking back at me he says, “We will be even, do you understand? If you do this, all of this is done and you will never bring up my affair ever again.”

“Where are you going?” I ask.

He slams the door behind him without answering.

* * *

I haven’t seen Owen in three days. He will not respond to any of my texts or calls or even my emails. I’m not trying to apologize for anything, and I certainly haven’t changed my mind. All I need is confirmation from him that he understands what’s happening, of where Mia will be and when I will be back.

Though I have no idea where he’s going all day, he’s definitely been home. He leaves before I wake, and comes home sometime after I go to bed. But I find his dirty clothes, those he’s been leaving for me to take care of. That along with the dirty dishes I find in the sink in the morning. Though he won’t eat anything I make. I think it’s more of a protest to my actions than him thinking I’m poisoning him or anything like that.

I get it, really I do. Unfortunately, I do. But it breaks my heart when Mia looks for him. Last night she stood at the living room window for about an hour, searching. When I asked what she was doing, she said, “Waitin’ for Daddy.”

As if that wasn’t bad enough, she squealed with joy when she saw a black truck coming down the street. It wasn’t him. Actually, I think it may have been Bo.

“Mommy, where is Daddy?” she asked.

“Working, baby,” I said pulling her away. “Working so hard so that we can have nice things. A house, food, toys. But he misses you terribly. He comes in and gives you a kiss on your forehead every night!”

“He does?”

“He sure does!”

She smiled at that and hugged me. It tore me up.

The truth is I have no idea if he goes into her room at night. It’s a terrible thing. I sent him a message telling him she misses him. No reply.

I realized if he’s this affected, I definitely need to leave Mia with my dad. Jess offered but I don’t want to involve her more than she already has been. It’s not fair to her.

So, this morning I took her to my dad’s. I decided it was time to tell him what has been going on. It was hard. I didn’t know how he would handle this. When my mom cheated on him, it broke him. He was devastated to the point where he lost everything. His job. His home. And even my brother left with her for a while. It took him almost an entire year to rebuild his life. But he did.

My dad took me completely by surprise; not only did he say nothing negative about Owen, but he said he felt sad for him and understood that he is also in pain.

He wasn’t so easy on me though, when I told him about my plans to take a trip. Of course, I said nothing about the ticket, just that Owen couldn’t watch Mia and I was going with a friend.

“Where are you going? Who are you going with? Is it another man? Cris, you know that revenge is only going to make it worse,” he said on the phone last night.

“Daddy, please don’t ask so many questions, you make me feel like a terrible person.” Like a whore, I didn’t add.

“It’s just that I don’t want you to ruin your marriage. If things have been good, if you’re happy…”

“Daddy, please. If you can help me out with Mia, then do it. If not, I can find someone else.”

“What, and miss out on a few days with my baby. Of course, I’ll take her. Just please be careful, Cris. You’re my baby too.”

Mia is excited to see Abuelito. He’s always been great with kids, and I feel very comfortable leaving her. But I miss her the second their waving figures disappear from my rearview mirror. I burst out in huge sobs, and do a U-turn. They’re gone by the time I get back to his house, and I just keep driving. I hate being without her. I guess that’s one of the tough things about being a mother. You need a break, then hate being without them when they’re gone for more than two minutes.

I leave tomorrow at five in the morning. All day I spend getting the house ready for my absence. Even though Owen isn’t talking to me right now, I don’t want to leave him with a dirty house. I clean, do laundry, buy groceries. I make spaghetti and meatballs, and chicken fajitas, and put all the fixings in containers, ready for him to serve. I pay the bills and water the plants.

In the evening, when the house is quiet, and it all begins to set in, I miss him. I want to call everything off, but at this point, it wouldn’t matter. It’s as though I’ve already done it anyway.

So I write him a note instead and set it on his night stand.

Owen,

I know it’s impossible to see now, because it hurts. But maybe that is why I need to do this, so that you can truly see. I need that.

I miss you. Please don’t hate me. I am coming back, I promise. When I do, this will all be over. For both of us, and if you take me back, then we can finally move on.

Cristiana

I go to bed, though it’s impossible to sleep. The wheels of my mind rotate continuously, thoughts of Owen, Bo, Mia. Over and over. What am I doing? It’s a mistake, I am sure. But I don’t want to stop. The resentment and guilt over Owen. The desire for Bo. The need to feel in control over my life.

At about eleven I hear the front door, though I don’t ever hear Owen’s steps or any other sound.

I get out of bed and search for him, needing to see him one more time before my trip. Maybe, just maybe it would change my mind.

There’s a muffled sound that comes from the walk-in closet in the office that alerts me to his whereabouts. I open the door to find him sitting in the dark, his back against a stack of boxes full of old documents.

“You okay?” I ask, though even I know it’s a stupid question.

He gives me a meaningful look as he takes a long drink from his beer, licking his lips and belching loudly. I wave the smell of too much hop and barley away.

Then he says, “What does it say about me as a man, that I would let my wife leave with someone else? Am I weak?”

I shake my head and sit beside him, taking his beer from his hand. It’s rare that I drink the stuff, but there are times when it just feels good to take a nice deep swig. Usually they are rough times.

“I don’t know. That’s something only you can say,” I tell him.

“Psh, it means I’m pussy whipped. Pathetic. So scared to lose you I’m willing to sit back and let you do whatever the fuck you want and wait for you hoping you come back, you bitch.”

I don’t respond because I know it’s said in anger, but the word stings.

“You’re mine, Cris. Say it.”

I sigh. “No. Not now.”

He lets his head fall back to the wall and takes his beer back, downing the remainder before he says, “What if I don’t want to take you back after you’ve spread your legs for someone else? Have you thought about that?”

Yes, the thought had crossed my mind, that what I’m doing could be a whole lot more damaging to my marriage than what Owen did.

“Then let me go now,” I say gently. “Let’s end it now and save ourselves more pain.”

He laughs and it’s so full of sarcasm it makes me cringe.

“Isn’t that what love is, Cris? Pain?” He shakes his head. “Nope, I’m not letting you go. Do what you have to do. Hurt me as much as I did you. Then we can be fucked up together.”

“I’m not trying to cause you pain, Owen. I’m trying to ease mine.”

“Yeah, you are. You are.” He pats me on the knee before he gets up and as he walks away he mumbles, “Just don’t forget who you’re coming home to.”

12

35E, middle seat. It’s a sure bet it will be right between two big men whose bodies will somehow spill onto my seat and armrest. Happens every time. With my bag and my body set at sort of a sideways angle to avoid hitting elbows and heads, I make my way down the aisle to the rear of the plane. I take in the face of everyone I pass as I go, looking for the one I came to see.

To my disappointment I don’t see Bo. He hasn’t boarded yet. A moment of terror seizes me in which I think he’s stood me up. My legs freeze up and it’s a struggle to make them move again. Maybe I’ll be making this trip on my own.

Well, I wasn’t wrong about at least one of the passengers. There is a pretty big fellow sitting there already and he has to get up to let me through. Not only does he have to remove his laptop from my seat, his knee and arm come over too, when we sit again. Literally, my ass goes right over his hand on the way down. I can only hope the other passenger isn’t so invasive.

We sit there for a good ten minutes watching everyone moving about the cabin, taking their seats, putting bags that are much too big in the overhead compartments, and chattering. None of them are Bo. My stomach is in my throat. Has he boarded and I’m just too damned short to see so far up the plane? Ugh! The suspense is killing me!

“You’s okay, lady? You’s ain’t gonna puke on me, are ya?” The man beside me asks as he burps and blows it my way. The smell of tacos and sour beer fills my small space and I waive it away irritated.

“Dude, really!” I complain, and shove my knee against his in an effort to regain some ground. Now, I’m normally not so defensive, but my nerves are totally on edge.

A middle-aged man with a pair of wings on his blue shirt and a no-nonsense sort of smile forces his way up the aisle and stops next to us.

“Ms. Roberts?” asks the flight attendant.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Today’s your lucky day,” he says looking at the man beside me. “You’ve been upgraded to our first-class cabin.”

“But how?” I ask, already up and squeezing my way through before the attendant has a chance to explain.

“Coming through!” he exclaims and easily moves up the plane with me in tow. I follow him, past envious passengers, the bathrooms and galley, and through a panel of blue and gray striped curtains into first class.

“Here you go, this young man here has covered your ticket. Enjoy your flight.”

Bo. He is sitting in the oversized seat looking up at me with that devilish smile that I see in my mind all day. My heart skips a beat and I can feel my cheeks and neck burn. He came.

“Thought you might find this a bit more comfortable.”

“I thought you stood me up,” I admit and take my seat.

“No, I saw you sitting down there and thought there was no way in hell I could leave you there to your fate. So I upgraded you.”

“Thanks, that was thoughtful. I don’t know if I can pay you back though.”

“Nah, don’t worry about that,” he waves the thought away. “We’ll figure something out,” he winks and grins at me. There’s no missing the suggestion in it.

It’s awkward at first, with either one of us barely saying a word.

“You comfortable?” he asks.

“Yes, very, thank you.”

Try as I may I can’t think of anything to break the ice. At least on my part. Thankfully there is no lack of sound with all the chattering and chuckling, luggage rolling and being stored, lap belts being buckled and the obligatory cough and hack. We sit there next to each other in uncomfortable silence. Maybe he’s as nervous as I am.

I look at Bo without turning my head, hoping he doesn’t catch me staring. He’s a big man, very tall. I can see why he travels first class. The seats on a plane are not meant for a man of his stature. Even these larger spaces can’t hold him comfortably, his knees are practically digging into the seat in front of him. His hands are big too. They are resting on his lap. And oh, God does he smell good! I don’t know what it is, I don’t even think it’s cologne. Just clean soap and him.

He is wearing khaki shorts, a blue golf shirt and sandals. Very casual. He doesn’t have on any rings, only a large watch with an orange face on his left wrist. I can’t tell what brand from this angle. It doesn’t matter, I don’t really care about that stuff.

My eyes strain to look higher. I can just make out his handsome face within my peripheral vision. I am so attracted to this man I can literally feel the pull of his body on mine, like a freaking hot Sun to a little planet. This man that is not mine. And it hits me that I am sitting next to a virtual stranger, on my way to New Orleans to have my way with him, and he with me, then come back home to my husband and child as if it didn’t happen.

My nerves are already frazzled when we take off. Flying doesn’t bother me. Taking off and landing on the other hand do. The plane speeds down the runway and I focus on the seat tray in front of me. My white knuckled hands clutch on to the arm rests. As the plane turns in midair, the sun streams in through the window, momentarily blinding me.

Bo closes the window shade and I can’t see out anymore and I panic. I swallow hard and clutch the arm rests even harder. “Can you please open the window!” It comes out annoyed and demanding.

“Why?”

I glance at him quickly. He looks amused. I am not. “I can’t see where we’re going.”

“Why do you need to see?”

“Because if we are about to hit something I might be able to yell or do something. I don’t know, please, just open it.”

He opens the window and I feel instantly calmer. It’s irrational to think that I would have any kind of control if we were to crash, I know. I can’t help it. And now I feel like an idiot too, for having voiced any of it. This is sort of the first impression and I am not coming off as cool and collected and sexy as I would have liked.

So, it’s surprising to me when I feel his large hand cover mine and squeeze it gently. It’s warm and callused and the contact of his skin with mine makes me forget all about the plane.

He leans into me a little. “I get nervous on take-off too. You know what’ll help?”

“What?”

“Vodka.”

Laughter bursts out of me and I shake my head. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself. So, where you stayin’?”

“Um, it’s a place called Maison Bordeaux. I stayed at the Royal Sonesta once and saw it across the street. It’s one of those guest houses.”

“Oh yeah, it used to be a brothel.”

“What? No. Wait, was it?”

“I don’t know,” he says chuckling. “Haven’t they all been?”

“Well, I don’t know about that. Anyway, it’s right off Conti, closer to Rue Bourbon.”

“Ok, yeah, I know where about that is.”

“Where are you staying?” I ask, sort of hoping it’s close to me.

“A buddy of mine has a condo over Pirate’s Alley.”

“Really! That is awesome! I’ve always wanted to see what those look like. God, to live there!”

He seems fascinated by my excitement. “Guess today is your lucky day in more ways than one,” he winks at me. “You can come with me and look for the place. I’ve never been to it. Hopefully it’s decent.”

The two-hour flight to MSY is smooth and is over in no time at all. We share a cab from the airport to the Quarter, where we are accidentally dropped off one street over, but I don’t mind the walk since it means more time getting to know Bo.

Our conversation has become easy, with comfortable silences in between. I can’t say that I learn too much more than I already knew about him because he’s all his mom talks about. But I am enthralled nonetheless.

He adores his children. Our kids are the main topic of conversation. I now know that Sammy loves chocolate chip mint ice cream, just like he does, and she twirls her hair with her fingers when she puts herself to bed. His son, JB, is great at all things sport, and aspires to be a commentator on ESPN.

I on the other hand brag about how Mia knows her ABC’s and can write her name. She’s not vocally gifted when it comes to song, but she has an ear for music and I’ve even started her on piano lessons just to get her used to the sounds and notes.

We agree that Bo will come to my hotel and wait downstairs while I check in, then we will both walk to his place so that I can finally get a look at the apartments above Pirate’s Alley.

Maison Bordeaux is a very small, very cute, and very old guesthouse. The only indication that the white building is anything more than just someone’s residence, is the writing above the arched doorway that reads, Bordeaux Inn.

I’d seen it the last time Owen and I had been to the Quarter. Having stayed once at the Olivier House, I absolutely loved the experience of staying in an old mansion. I wanted to do it again, so I looked up old guesthouses online and recognized the place.

We walk in through a double door entrance, into a long wide hallway with black and white marble floor and high ceiling that leads to a lush courtyard. There are rooms to the left and right of the hall that I peek in as we walk past looking for an attendant.

To the left is the dining room, with a long glossy cherry table that could easily seat twenty. To the right is a seating room filled with antique chairs and velvet covered camelback loveseats and an old baby grand by the front window.

We move further down past a bathroom and the kitchen. In a room at the very end and to the right we spot an older woman sitting behind a massive wooden desk. She peeks up over small round glasses and smiles.

“You must be Mrs. Roberts,” she greets, standing and coming around to us. “And is this, Mr. Roberts?”

“Oh, no. Um, he’s just helping me with my luggage,” I lie. I can feel Bo beside me snickering.

“Very well, I was expectin’ you. You’re our last guest of the day. Welcome to Maison Bordeaux. My name is Wendy. I live here full time, and will do my very best to make your stay comfortable. If you’ll follow me.” Her accent is very thick, with her R’s almost nonexistent.

“I’ll wait here,” Bo says and sits on one of the long benches that line the Foyer.

I follow Wendy out the back doors and through the courtyard, up a set of stairs to my room on the second floor. On our way there, she gives me a quick history lesson on the house.

“My great-great-great grandfather, or is it great-great, I can never remember. Theo Bordeaux, was one of the first men of color to own property here. He bought this here place for his family. It never left our hands until sometime in the 1970s when my parents hit hard times and they lost the house. It then became a house of ill repute if you know what I mean.”

Oh goodness, the house really had been a brothel! If Bo were here to hear this!

“Well, I was born here, you see. I couldn’t let this happen. So, my husband and I saved our money and we came and bought the place. Had to kick the lot of them out!” she laughed. “Well, we cleaned it up and moved in, but we quickly found how expensive it is to keep a house of this size and age. So, right as we’re thinking of filin’ for bankruptcy, I think, let’s open it up for guests. And the rest is history.”

“Wow. I love old places. I’m so glad you were able to buy it back. Were you able to keep any of your grandfather’s, or great-great-great, grandfather’s original belongings?”

“Sadly not. But you know, I have these walls. That’s good enough for me!”

She opens a room and leaves me to explore on my own. I don’t spend too much time there because Bo is waiting downstairs and I’m anxious to get back to him. I drag my bags in and put them on the floor in front of the bed, then do a quick peek out the French doors that lead to a tiny white iron balcony.

The room is facing Conti Street, and I can easily see Bourbon Street as well. As a matter of fact, I can hear it even with the doors closed. What can you do? It’s the price you pay for staying in the French Quarter near its busiest street.

I use the bathroom and glance at my reflection in the mirror. Not too bad. After quickly brushing my teeth I race back down.

* * *

We make our way down Royal Street, heading towards Pirate’s Alley, walking side by side, not saying much. Then Bo looks at me and takes me by the hand, leading the way.

The heat of his skin on mine, his hand so large completely dwarfing mine, warms my entire being. It feels so comfortable, my hand fitting his perfectly. Like it belongs. I close my eyes to savor the feeling of it, and I instantly trip on the uneven sidewalk.

Bo catches me easily.

“You know better than to close your eyes in the Quarter, chère,” he says with amusement. I swear his accent is getting thicker by the minute.

We walk just a little further to a three-story building, freshly painted brick gleaming white.

“Here we are,” Bo says pulling out a small sheet of paper, I assume confirming the address. “Gotta go up to the third floor.”

I follow him up two flights of stairs. Bo searches through the outer pockets of his luggage, pulls out the key and lets us in.

At first I stand by the door feeling strange walking into someone else’s home, intruding on their privacy.

“Well come in, chère, I won’t bite. Not yet at least,” he jokes and I shake my head laughing. But I have to admit the thought of him biting me turns me on beyond belief. I glance at him. Is he going to bite me? Here? Now? Dear lord I feel a little gross from the travel, but if it comes down to it I will let him. He’s looking away, exploring the space himself, so I guess not.

I clear my throat and swallow down the heat, allowing myself to walk in and look around, the wide wooden planks gently squeaking beneath my feet.

“This place is amazing!”

“Yeah, it’s okay. Pretty old. I think Lionel said they used to be much larger apartments, but they were divided up. You can tell, see there where the molding doesn’t quite match?” He points up at a corner in the ceiling. “I bet that wall wasn’t originally there. The floor’s beautiful though, he refinished them himself,” he says kneeling down and running his fingers over the old grooves.

I remember his mom saying he got into the flooring business after he’d installed repurposed old wood planks from a boat for his house and loved the process so much. I can see that he really appreciates it. I watch him as his hands explore the wood in a sort of hypnotized state, imagining those hands doing the same to my skin.

“Beautiful,” I say referring to him. “Do you like old things?” I ask.

“I like old wood. The way I can change it, make it new again, giving it new life. But it still always keeps its integrity. The smell, the veins, everything that makes it unique. That doesn’t change.”

“Mmm. That’s how I feel about old buildings. I love the way they smell and feel.” I close my eyes, desperately trying to feel the past in the atmosphere. I’ve always done that in New Orleans. I swear you can feel it’s history on your skin, it’s ghosts.

The tiny one bedroom is clean and tidy. Uncluttered. The kitchen is simple, dated perhaps, with white appliances and laminate countertops. The furniture is mostly mission style, straight lines. There is a reddish-brown leather couch and loveseat in front of an old bricked off fireplace, both with wool plaid throws that make me itch just looking at them.

Behind the couch there is a long table with a large glass lamp and several pictures I stop to look at. I notice the same man in almost every photograph.

“Lionel?” I ask pointing to one of the frames.

“Yeah.” Bo walks over. “That’s him with his parents, him with his brother and sister. That’s actually a group of us on a trip to Costa Rica two years ago.”

I squint and see Bo in the background, so tan he was almost unrecognizable.

“And that one is him and his new husband, Charles,” he says.

The question is out before I can stop it. “Are you bi?”

“I’ve never met a man I’m attracted to if that answers your question,” he replies easily, completely unfazed.

“I guess I’m asking if Lionel is an ex of yours.”

“No,” he laughs. “I met him years ago on a fishing trip to Virginia. We hit it off and became really good buddies. He’s been up to NC a few times and we’ve gone fishing, but this is actually my first time here.”

“Okay,” I smile. “It would be weird if you were staying at an ex’s house when you’re here to see me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Charles wouldn’t be too excited about that either. Come on,” he says taking my hand once again and leading me out. “Let’s go get some food.”

I look back longingly at the little apartment, not sure if it’s the desire to live in a place like this one day, or that I wish we’d be making use of it right now.

* * *

“I love this place,” I say, dreamily looking at the buildings around us, with their iron balconies and plants and flowers of all colors cascading over the railings. We are sitting at a bar of a little café nestled in Pirate’s Alley. “It was a dream of mine to live here. Maybe somewhere like your friend’s apartment. I loved it!”

Bo frowns and looks towards the apartments above. “Really? Looked haunted to me.”

I look up too. “You think? I think it just looks old. Haunted by memories perhaps. The stories these buildings would tell if they could talk.”

“Oh they’re haunted, all right.” The bartender, a beautiful blonde woman, places a vodka tonic in front of Bo and a Bay Breeze in front of me. “I know it for a fact. I love these by the way,” she nods to my drink.

“How’s that you know for a fact it’s haunted?” Bo asks.

“I live up there. That place right there,” she points up to a window at the building across from us. “But spook or no spook, I agree with you, there’s no place like New Orleans!”

“Well looks like you’re right below my buddy’s place,” Bo says.

“Are you staying at Lionel’s?”

“For a night.”

“Okay, yeah. He said someone would be staying there. Okay, well, I hope the chain rattling doesn’t keep you up all night!” she teases, pushing off the bar.

“Selena Dean!” someone to my right hollers and the bartender hoots back and leaves us to greet someone.

I turn to a slightly pale Bo. “So you’re only staying here tonight?” I ask.

“Um... my cousin Nate has a big thing tomorrow. Gonna go have some gator. My plan was to head up there first thing.”

“Oh.” I know I’d said only one night, but I don’t really like hearing that he is already planning to move on from it first thing tomorrow morning, like tonight never happened. “Is he having a big thing because you’re in town or because he’s got a gator?”

“He’s havin’ a big thing cause it’s a Saturday,” he says winking. “The gator was just a bonus. Yeah, every Saturday all the neighbors come over and cook and play music. They have a sort of makeshift band, I guess you can call it.”

“Sounds nice. Where is it?”

“He lives down about two hours from here, in Bayou Teche.”

“Oh yeah, I remember your mom telling me about family there. Did you spend a lot of time in the swamps?”

“Well, probably too much,” he chuckles. “All my summers growin’ up. Then as a teenager, me and Old Nate got into lots of trouble out there.”

“You, trouble? I don’t believe it,” I laugh.

“Well believe it. I’d run away every chance I got. Poor Momma had to drive out there, she hates the Bayou by the way. Hated the bugs, the swamp, the gators, the roads. It was too wild for her taste. Everything that I loved about it.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten, eleven. That phase lasted a few years unfortunately.”

I nearly choke on my drink. “Ten! How does a ten-year-old get there? I mean, it’s not like you could have taken a bike!”

“Bus, hitchhike. Luckily my uncle was always happy to have me there. There were long stretches of time where Momma’d just let me stay there, I think it wore her out to drag me back once a week.”

“So why’d you do it? Weren’t you happy at home?”

“I was. But then my dad died when I was eight and my mom was left with all the bills and no income. She had to take on two jobs. Even then it wasn’t so bad because she was all mine when she was home. Then she met Dan. Had Brynn. I felt like they took away what little I had.

“Dan tried desperately to be there for me, but I wouldn’t let him. So, I ran, maybe some of it was to ease my own ache, but probably a good bit to cause my momma pain. Not something I am proud of.”

“What turned it around? I mean, I can see you get along with Dan and you and your mom adore each other.”

“Like I said, it took a while. I was eighteen, livin’ in LaFayette. Me and Old Nate had taken a job with an oil company out there. They were starting us at thirty thousand a year with large bonuses. We thought we were gonna be rich. Then the minute we’re hired, we’re fired because they had budget cuts. We’d already spent all the money we thought we’d be makin’. So, Nate calls my uncle, who comes and gets him. But he turns to me, and says, ‘I came to get Nate cause it’s my fault he’s turned into an ass and it’s time I set him on the right path. You call your momma.’”

“What did she say when you called her?”

“I never called her, called Dan instead. He came and picked me up, then drove me straight to Jacksonville to join the Marines. I didn’t even question it. He’d tried talking to me about it before I just never listened. It was time for me to listen. Momma wasn’t too happy I tell you. She let him have it. But it was the best thing he knew to do for me.”

“How did that go? I mean, the military.”

“Well, they broke my sorry ass down and made me worth somethin’.”

“And your relationship with Dan now?”

Bo thinks before answering, taking a swig of his vodka tonic and setting it down before he speaks. “I loved my daddy. He was a good man who loved his family. He didn’t leave us by choice. But he did leave us. It took me some time to realize that even though my dad died, because of Dan I still have a father.”

I wanted to question him more about his father. How did he die? How old was he? What did he do? What kind of man was he?

But I remained quiet because I could hear the strain in his voice when he spoke, and the red that crept into his eyes as he kept tears at bay.

So instead I lift my glass to him, and say, “To your dad and your father, then. And the man they both helped you become.”

He smiles and clinks my glass, and we both down the contents. Of course, it takes me a few minutes, but I get it done.

“Where to now my friend? A tour of the Quarter?” I ask.

“You tell me, my lady. I’m all yours for the day.”

* * *

“So, Cristiana. That’s different, very beautiful,” Bo says. I smile at the compliment.

“Thanks. It’s actually Maria. Well, Maria Cristiana. Very Mexican. They called me Mari until I was about five years old. That’s when I put my small foot down and decided I wanted to be addressed by my middle name.”

“Maria is pretty too. Mari,” he tries it out but can’t quite get the soft “r” and I giggle at his effort.

“It is, but it’s not unique. I mean, I am proud of my name and its tradition in my family. My great grandmother, my grandmother and my mother all were named Maria. Not to mention five of my cousins. I like it, it’s beautiful. Believe it or not I named my daughter that. Maria Miaella.” I giggle at the thought of it. I wanted to keep tradition. Maria for my mother, Miaella for Owen’s. “Anyway, I like Cristiana more. I haven’t met anyone with that name.”

“I haven’t either. Cristiana,” he says again. I love the ways he says it, with a hint of a drawl.

“So Bo. That’s a beautiful name too. Is it Beauregard?” I ask thinking of the old name.

“Well, actually it was supposed to be Beumont, dear lord my mother. But you know in those times, no one knew anything about drinkin’ and pregnancy. She’d gone out with her friends that night to celebrate before she couldn’t anymore because she’d have a baby then. So, they’d really gotten ripped when her water broke. I came so fast she didn’t have time to sober up, says it was probably because she was so relaxed I just popped out. When the nurse asked her what my name was, she couldn’t remember anything beyond Bo. My dad had no idea I’d been born until the next morning so he had no say. That is how I was named.”

Oh my! I can absolutely picture Mrs. Jensen having Bo and trying to remember his name. Too funny!

We’ve been walking around the Quarter for a couple of hours. Bo insisted I be the one to guide him, instead of the other way around. It’s a challenge to be the one to show a local around, though Bo swears he’s never been to half the places I’ve taken him.

We walk through the 1850 apartment and Muriel’s in Jackson Square, and while we are in the vicinity we light a prayer candle at the St. Louis Cathedral. Then we tour the Hermann-Grima House and Madame John’s and stop to quench our thirst at Lafitte’s bar.

“So have you been here?” I ask between sips of water. He’d raised a brow at my lack of alcoholic beverage, but there is no way I am going to end up with a hangover.

“I don’t remember, maybe. I was a drunk the few times I came to the Quarter,” he says with a grin.

“Weren’t you raised around here?” I ask a little confused.

“Metairie. Sort of. I told you I spent most of my time in Teche. I didn’t actually spend any time in the Quarter as a kid. My mom avoided it. Said there were too many unsavory types around. Guess at that time they did have issues keeping the vice under control. It wasn’t until I was a teenager and then Old Nate and I started sneaking out here. As you can imagine we were up to no good.”

I shake my head. “I can believe it.”

“What?” he asks when I stare at him too long biting my lower lip. His eyes stay focused there and he swallows. I let it go deliberately slow. His eyes pop back up to mine and I give him a knowing smile. He whistles and chuckles before taking a deep drink of his beer. “Jesus, woman!”

I giggle because it makes me genuinely happy to affect him so.

“Anyway,” I start, “I’m going to ask you something. Please don’t feel like you have to answer, because really it’s none of my business.”

“Shoot.”

“Um, so you know how your mom likes to chat?”

“Yee-e-e-ss?”

“She said you still support your ex-wife?”

He laughs out loud. “Dear lord in heaven! My mother.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, not at all. There’s nothing to hide about it. I don’t know if you would call it supporting Laura. When we decided to have children we both agreed that she would stay home and raise our kids. She has always been the main caregiver. Our kids had nothing to do with our divorce, and they are my kids, all I want is what’s best for them.

“So the house was paid for. It’s not a mansion, nothing’ big, but it’s comfortable for them, something they could grow up in. I wasn’t going to move them out of there. Got my place cheap, it was a foreclosure, and I have been workin’ on it for a while. I wanted it to feel like home number two for JB and Sammy.

“And it made no sense for me to make Laura go back to work to support herself, and have to pay a sitter to watch them. So, in my mind, the best thing for them was to give them all the house, pay her alimony so that she can continue to be their main caregiver.

“We agreed that when Sammy turns thirteen, and she can be home alone, then alimony will be terminated and Laura has to return to work. Or until she wants to be with someone else, there’s a clause on that too. And of course, if she wants to go back before then, that’s her choice.

“Of course, child support will continue until my children are out of college. She has main custody. The kids are with her weekdays, and every other weekend they’re with me. And we share vacation time and holidays. I’m happy to do it. Like I said, our divorce had nothing to do with the kids. She’s a wonderful mother.”

“So… why did you end it with her?” I ask shyly.

Bo sits back, his fingers playing with the edge of his napkin. “We were never in love.”

My head snaps up. “What?”

“Yeah, it’s true for the both of us. I mean don’t get me wrong, I loved her. I still do. She’s great, fun, beautiful. Very sweet girl. But I always felt something missing. She got pregnant a few months into us dating and even though she said she wasn’t looking for marriage, I felt that pressure.

“I remember askin’ my mom how you knew if you were in love. And she said that when I met someone that made me forget to breathe, someone that turned me inside out and my world upside down, someone that I would go to the ends of the earth to get, then I would know I was in love.”

“That wasn’t Laura?”

“All I can say is I always breathed very steady with her. But, she was pregnant, and I wanted a family. I thought that was enough. I think she agreed because of the same reason. It wasn’t enough though.”

“What about Dawn?” Because I had to bring her up. “Did you feel breathless with her?”

“Dear Lord, no! No, I promise that when I do, you will hear it, everyone will.”

“Yeah, I’m sure your mom will let me know,” I say shaking my head.

“Right, that too. And you know what?” he says leaning forward, serious now.

“What?” I ask captivated.

“If I have to go to the ends of the earth to have her, there is no way in hell I would ever let her go.”

13

After a great afternoon bar hoping, visiting tourist shops and taking pictures of celebrity homes, we decide to head to our respective rooms to freshen up and meet up at six at the tequila bar across the street from me.

“I’ll be waitin’ with a grin on my face and a double for you, so be ready,” he warns.

Plenty motivated to spend as little time away from Bo as possible, I race to my room.

I don’t spend too much time picking out my outfit for the night, I’ve had that planned since the day I booked this trip. But I do take my time in the shower. I want to be perfect. Not one unwanted hair, only smooth skin. I want to smell good, feel good, and taste good.

Though I’m not one to normally fuss about lingerie, I did buy a sexy black balconette bra with lacy detail and a small bow between the cups that really accentuate my breasts, and paired it with a matching black thong.

Over that I wear a short sleeved, crimson jersey wrap dress that I found at a sale rack years ago, but I always hesitated on wearing it. Someone once told me that red drew too much attention on someone like me. Ever since then I have steered clear, making sure to keep it out of my clothes and make-up.

Not tonight. Tonight, I want to stand out, be bold.

Though the dress is long enough to cover my knees, it makes up for its modesty with its very low cut v-line and form clinging material. The woman who’d warned me about red was right. The color contrast against my skin is very provocative.

My make-up is darker, sexier I think, with my eyes fully lined and sultry, my cheeks a deeper rose and my full lips, for good measure, are red, as well. I set my hair in loose waves and shake them out with my fingers until they are wild. I look at myself in the mirror. I already look like I’ve been bedded. Good. I hope that gives Bo a few ideas.

Before going down I call my dad and check on Mia. “She’s doing good,” he says. “Gonna take her for some frozen yogurt.”

“Don’t sugar her up too much or she won’t sleep,” I tell him.

As I am talking to him, a call comes in from Owen. I don’t know what he could want, other than to remind me who I am coming home to, like he’d said. I let it go to voicemail because really there is no point. I throw my phone in my clutch and head down.

Bo is already at the bar when I get there. He sees me through the mirrored wall behind the bar and turns to me, just like he said, with a grin on his face and a double margarita for me.

“Wow, you look…” he shakes his head and whistles.

I instantly return his smile. “I look what?”

He laughs. “Like walking sex.”

I can’t help but laugh at that, a little breathless this time, and take a sip. “Goodness, it’s getting hot!” I say fanning myself. “I hope you got me a water too.”

There’s no denying that Bo is fun. The more time I spend with him the more I know I picked the right guy for tonight.

After my promised margarita, thankfully somewhat watered down, Bo takes me by the hand and leads me down Bourbon Street.

“Where are we going?” I ask him.

“I don’t know. Figured we’d go wherever the drinks blow us,” he says smartly.

The first place the booze leads us is a little tourist shop that’s offering a free T-shirt to anyone who can toss a ring onto a ketchup bottle, which of course you have to pay five dollars to play.

“I got this,” Bo says, and throws the ring so hard it knocks over several bottles and they break. The clerk ends up covered in the stuff, and Bo gets such a harsh scolding I feel the need to intervene. She still wins out in the end and we buy her a new shirt. We leave quickly and turn down the first street we see, all the while we can hear her yelling at us still in anger.

“Ooh, Bo, let’s go here!” Next I pull him into a small voodoo shop we pass on Chartres Street.

He groans but lets me drag him in. There are three women tending the place, all with amber eyes and dark skin. They are beautiful and eerie at the same time, but they seem nice enough as they greet us and I ease into a casual shop.

We peruse through all manner of skeletons and herbs, books and plastic dolls. There is jewelry made of different types of stones meant for different types of healing, and then at the very back of the store a section for sexual pleasures.

Of course, Bo is already there, going through the different oils and toys. One of the women is there helping him, and they both look at me expectantly when I walk up.

“She says these are meant to aid in arousal.” There is so much sexual mischievousness I can’t tell if he’s serious or trying to get a reaction out of me.

“I’ll take it, could be that it may be necessary,” I say thoughtfully.

Bo loses his little smirk and takes it back from me. “Not necessary.”

The woman whose been helping him looks at us both. “You’re a lovely couple. Would you like me to tell your future? I am sure I’ll see lots of beautiful children in your life.”

“Oh no, thank you.” We’d already done that earlier today with a woman over by Jackson Square. There was no accuracy in her prediction that I’d have two boys but never marry.

We continue on our way down towards the river. I spot a group of folks huddled around a horse and carriage.

“Bo, let’s do that next! I’ve always wanted to do a horse drawn tour of the Quarter!”

He obliges, paying for the tour, and like a true gentleman helping me up into the wagon.

“This is so exciting!” I squeal.

Bo’s eyes crinkle with his smile. “I couldn’t tell.”

We are taken up the side of Jackson Square, where the tour begins. Our guide points out several buildings and gives us a brief history lesson. All the while the clack-clack-clack of the horse’s hooves echo off the pavers and walls, and for a moment I am taken back in time. I imagine what it would have been like to live here a century ago, with the same buildings, the same sounds.

Bo who’d been enjoying himself at first, sitting back and enjoying the sights, is now sitting up stiff and uncomfortable, I notice.

“Are you okay?” I ask him.

“Yeah, yeah.”

I accept his answer for now, paying close attention to our escort since I don’t want to miss a thing. I am familiar with many of the places we are passing, but am just now actually touring them.

At the very end of the tour, when the sun has fully set, we come to the Saint Louis Cemetery. “Now for our last stop, this is the resting place of Mary Laveau, voodoo priestess,” says the guide.

Bo, fully pale now asks, “Did you know this was a ghost tour?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I thought I told you. Is that okay?”

“Yup, but I’m gonna stay in the carriage if you don’t mind.”

He looks somewhat distressed at the thought of walking through graves in the night, so I stay with him. From our spot, we can see Marie’s tomb anyway, and that is enough for me. Besides, I myself am beginning to get creeped out and the thought of being alone in an old mansion tonight is unsettling.

On our way back towards Bourbon Street we pass a Latin club. I stop in front of it and peek in, never having seen this place before.

“You want to go in there, don’t you?” he asks.

“Can we? I haven’t danced in years!”

“Well then let’s go in. Maybe I can teach you a move or two.”

“You dance?”

“After a beer I will.”

The club is tiny and crammed, the music loud and the beat strong. I feel it in my blood the second we cross the threshold. Bo has his beer and hands me my requested water.

We dance Salsa, Merengue and Bachata amongst other popular genres. We dance until we are both sweating. Bo was right, he really does teach me a move or two, though I’m not sure they could be considered actual dancing. Mostly they consist of him pumping his hips to mine and shaking his arms.

He makes several attempts at imitating me, which makes us both laugh hysterically until I had too many stitches to keep going.

He is so easy, carefree and charismatic. We walk and talk for so long I lose track of time. Being with him makes me feel wild, reenergized, young. Adventurous. All things in life that had dimmed, and I’d accepted as normal and the way things were. To feel them again, that buzz, that natural high of discovery… It’s something I never expected to feel again, and that I didn’t even know I desperately wanted.

At some point, we decide to make our last stop close to my hotel.

“This place looks good,” he points to a crowded bar with pop music blaring out of the open doors.

“Um, it looks full. I bet we’ll have a hard time getting service. Why don’t we go there,” I say pointing to a club a few doors down.

He looks over and smirks. “A strip club?”

“Why not? I think it will be more relaxing.”

Bo raises a brow in mock disbelief. “You sure, chère? Most girls wouldn’t like a place like that.”

“Well I am not most girls,” I say sassily, and walk towards it with a sway of my hip.

What I don’t tell him is that I’ve been here before. It’s a nice place, good music, plush red comfy chairs. The service is great, much better than at many of the overcrowded bars on Royal or Bourbon Streets. And if I am honest, the girls are very pretty and nice to look at.

“You really sure about this?” Bo asks as we walk in.

“Definitely.” I am no stranger to strip clubs. They don’t bother me, not having had a problem with jealousy when it came to Owen. In fact, I think it’s a blast.

But a big part of my enjoyment was that the girls were not allowed to dance for Owen, only me. It was a way of making me feel comfortable and at the same time, excite him, which in turn excited me.

The same would not apply to Bo. He’s not mine, I can’t make any demands on how I want him to behave in a place like this. The thought hits me as soon as we walk in through the tinted glass doors and I frown. Suddenly I’m not so sure how I feel about it.

A young girl barely dressed, but very modest when you think of where we are, escorts us to a small round table close to the main stage. She pulls a small pad from a pocket in her short skirt and takes our orders.

We chat for a bit, but mostly we sit in silence, watching girl after girl strip before us. I look at him from time to time, and it bothers me to no end to see him smiling. It’s during one of those moments that one of the dancers appears from behind my chair. How long she’d been standing there watching me, I don’t know.

“Hey gorgeous,” she purrs and slinks onto my lap.

I wrap my arm around her waist, more automatically than a conscious decision. But I know how these girls work, they will go after the female in a couple, at least that’s been my experience. I can certainly appreciate that.

Bo looks at us and grins, waggling his brows. I purse my lips and smile back.

“Hi, what’s your name?” I ask her. She’s a beautiful girl, very dark smooth skin, big brown eyes and large sexy lips. She’s wearing a black and white sequined bra and matching skirt so short it’s shorter than her black panties.

“Diamond, sugar. You can call me Di. So, you all from around here?” she makes small talk, looking from me to Bo, playing with my hair the entire time. Eventually we get to the point, where she asks if we want her to dance for us. Bo says yes, of course, and she takes us to an area half a floor above where we were, where there are couches set in cubicles that offer some privacy.

I ask if I can touch her because my hands want to do that, with her being on my lap and all.

U2’s Sleep Like a Baby Tonight comes on and Diamond begins her dance. She straddles me and runs her hands down my neck and over my chest. It doesn’t surprise me, I know they feel at liberty to touch too. She takes my hands and after kissing my fingers, uses them to pull down her bra and expose her breasts.

I don’t turn to Bo, but I can feel him squirming beside me and can hear him clearing his throat a few times.

Diamond leans into me and purrs in my ear, kissing my neck slowly as she comes back up. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t extremely aroused by this, especially so when she reaches down and rubs me between my legs.

But it’s just a small fantasy and not what I came to New Orleans for. The song is over and she is off my lap.

Bo pays her twenty-five dollars for her time, which she gladly accepts, then leans down to us smiling. “You all take your time getting back to your seats,” she says, nodding to his lap, then she leaves, her five inch heels clacking hard on the wood floor.

I look to Bo and see what she meant by taking our time. He shrugs. “What’d you expect, Darlin’? That was hot!”

There is a great mixture of amusement and aggravation doing battle inside me. Amusement wins out and I say laughing, “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

We head back to our seats and enjoy several more drinks, along with a variety of dances. After a while much of that alcohol has passed and I have to use the bathroom. I am only gone a few minutes, but when I come back there is already a woman sitting on the arm rest of my chair talking with Bo.

“This is Sandy,” Bo says chagrinned. “She wants to dance for you.”

I look at her. She’s a pretty lady, sort of. Shorter than me even with heels, but fit, short dark hair. But she’s got to be at least fifty-five, almost the same age as my mother, which makes it extremely awkward. I sit and she settles on my lap. I really fight the urge to turn her away, instead letting her do her thing. I never liked Owen to pick the girls that danced for me, but I guess I didn’t mention that to Bo.

The song must have been some sort of remix, I don’t know. It seemed to last about ten minutes. Maybe even longer. An eternity.

When it’s finally over Sandy looks at me expectantly. I turn to Bo, who had been the one to acquire her in the first place, only to see that he’s too busy to pay. Diamond is finishing her own dance on his lap, her bare breasts jiggling and her round bottom pushing hard between his open legs. With Sandy in my face I’d been unable to see that Bo was having his own kind of fun.

What was at one point merely bothersome turns into downright jealousy. I shrug at the lady and pull out ten dollars from my purse, nearly pushing her off me.

It’s getting late. The sun set some hours ago and I am drunk, the Bay Breezes and margaritas have been strong and there have been many. Either that or I’m a lightweight. I’m not used to staying up past ten, so although everyone is just gearing up for the night, I am beginning to wind down fast. My lids, my arms and legs, everything, begin to feel tired, and I know things need to get rolling or I’ll end up falling asleep without any action.

For some unknown reason Diamond is still sitting on Bo’s lap, her skinny, long arms wrapped around his neck. She leans in and says something to him, while her eyes smugly look me over. He replies and she laughs, making my scalp prickle.

He seems happy enough, maybe more than I want him to be. Annoyance builds more and more inside of me with every second those two canoodle. When he finally looks my way, his eyes glassy, I say, “Should we leave now?”

He mouths, “What?”

“I said, should we leave now?” I repeat.

He shakes his head, “What?”

The music is too loud and he can’t hear me. I touch Diamond’s knee and when she moves towards me I practically yell in her ear, “Can you ask him if he’d like to leave?”

She tells him. He turns to me with a frown and shakes his head and my stomach sinks. The combination of being tired, having one too many, and still being on an emotional rollercoaster, makes it so that his rejection is simply intolerable. I am so thoroughly irritated that I don’t even think about the tab. I just grab my bag and start walking towards the entrance, not once looking back.

There is a thick knot forming at the back of my throat and when the bouncer opens the door for me and I see it’s pouring down rain I nearly choke on it. It’s not a pretty sight I make, running across the street, trying not to get run over by all the tourists that don’t care about the weather. My shoes become hazardous puddles within themselves making my walk/run awkward and terrifying at the same time. My dress soaks up every ounce of water possible from the streams on the street and the material clings to my legs quite heavily, tripping me not once, but twice. Fortunately, it’s close and I manage to get indoors without an outright fall.

Avoiding mirrors in this place in impossible as there are several antique ones hanging on the hall walls, though I do my best not to look. I can only imagine what I look like. This is confirmed the moment I enter my room and go straight to the bathroom and literally gasp at my reflection. The lush waves I’d managed to create are now a long stringy mess attached to my face, my smoky eyes nothing but an inky smudge down my cheeks.

With my back flat to the wall I let myself fall into a puddle of wet dress and self-pity. Not only do I look like a drowned cat, but I feel like I just got dumped. Bo didn’t want to come back with me. My mind tries desperately to find a reason for it. Maybe he thought he was just here as a companion. Maybe he misunderstood the whole thing.

No, he definitely knew what he was here for, I think we both made that clear.

What if, what I really didn’t want to think, he just didn’t find me attractive enough once he was around me, and then Diamond shows up with that dark skin and luscious lips. Maybe I didn’t measure up.

The music on Bourbon Street is so loud it’s barely hindered into my room by the brick walls and French doors. Goodness but they do party hard here. Everyone is out celebrating, enjoying life, the town. Each other.

With my arms around my knees, I let my shoulders slump and take a deep breath. Then there is a knock on my door. My head pops up and I stay very still, listening carefully in case I mistook the loud thuds of the music for a knock. Then there is a hard pounding against the wood and I spring up and peep through the hole to see Bo standing there. He doesn’t look too happy.

I open the door slowly and throw him a fake smile. He doesn’t care much for it, and pushes past me. I close the door and turn to him, a bit surprised at how aggravated he looks.

“You left,” he says reproachfully.

“You said you didn’t want to come,” I throw back at him.

“When the hell did I say that!”

“You shook your head when Diamond passed on my message.”

“Who’s Diamond?”

“The girl on your lap!” I huff in frustration.

“What? She said you wanted to leave and that you wanted me to stay. Next thing I know you’re flying out the door. I got up and tried running after you, but security stopped me and made me pay the tab and apologize to the girl for dumping her on the floor when I got up.”

“Oh… but I thought… you seemed like you were having a good time.”

“I was. With you. It was hot watching the girls dance on you. Then that one got on me and I kept tryin’ to get her off.”

“Really? You must have not tried very hard. She was on you like half an hour!”

“Actually it was about three minutes. Either way, it was your idea to go there. All I wanted was to bring you back here.”

“You did? I wasn’t sure if you still wanted to, you know, do stuff with me. I thought maybe you changed your mind.”

“Are you fucking kidding me! The moment you stepped foot on that plane I wanted to take you to the bathroom and fuck you. At Lionel’s apartment, all I kept thinkin’ was how easy it would be and there’s a bed right there.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“He’d made it clear no sex at his place, and I knew once I started I wouldn’t be able to stop. Not to mention that you’d talked about everything you wanted to see while you were here. Fuck, all day has been a test of my will power being so close and not touching you. Half the time I thought I was going to explode if I didn’t get you into the nearest alley, anywhere, to be alone with you.”

Oh my. My mouth is going dry. “Well, we’re alone now. In my room. Sex is allowed here.”

His eyes are intense as my words seem to sink in, and in an instant, he is on me. The impact of his lips on mine is nothing less than atomic. I open my mouth wide and breathe deeper, desperate to take him in; I need more of his scent, to taste him better. He moans hard and pushes me against the wall, pressing himself against me and lifting me up so that we are at the same level. I wrap my legs around his waist and rub myself hard on the bulge in his pants.

I have no control over my body, my hands, pulling at his hair, moving his head to my neck and further down to my breasts. His hands are everywhere at once, on my back, on the crack of my butt and in between my legs. I bite his neck when his fingers slide past wet panties and deep inside of me.

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he moans into my hair. His hands are pulling the soaked fabric of my dress down along with my bra strap and his lips are on my nipples. It’s a wild thing when he takes me from the wall and throws me onto the bed, his mouth never leaving my body.

He tugs like a madman at my panties, somehow getting them off, then onto his pants. But I don’t have the physical capability of waiting any longer. As soon as the clothes have cleared his butt and he springs free I pull him in.

It’s not the length of him that does it, though he definitely has an advantage there. It’s the girth.

“Oh my god!” I cry out. It takes him a few tries before he can fully insert himself into my body and the feeling is so intensely delicious, tears stream from my eyes and I shut them tight. I am panting, meeting his thrusts, feeling a white-hot inferno overtake me.

He feels it too, I am sure of it. He pounds into me furiously, hands on my wrists tight and painful. He’s as crazed in this as I am, and my orgasm hits me fast and fierce and I am glad for the loud zydeco/hip-hop/pop playing outside my window because I can’t help the cries that come out of me. And I know he’s there with me when he roars and stiffens and then falls onto me, his face on my chest wet from rain and sweat.

My heart is pounding, my breathing ragged. I can’t move. He is still inside, still hard as steel and twitches every now and then. He is heavy on me, his dark hair tickling my chin. His breathing finally begins to even out as mine does. When he eventually lifts his face to mine, he gives me a gentle kiss on the chin and shakes his head.

“Sorry about that, I wanted to take my time, to blow your mind the first time we did it. I didn’t mean to be so… sloppy.”

“I didn’t think it was sloppy,” I laugh. Superb, all-consuming, passionate, are words I would use to describe the experience.

“Jesus, my pants are still wrapped around my ankles!” He gets up clumsily, leaving me lying in a puddle. I glance down at myself and can see why he called us sloppy. My dress is a wrinkled wet mess that is clinging to my stomach and arms. My bra pulled down over my chest, nipples hard and fully displayed, as is my crotch. He looks there and I quickly close my legs. He raises a thick brow and licks his lips. “I guess you’re right, sloppy is a bad word for it. Maybe frantic is better. We just waited too long and I wanted you too much. Come,” he says reaching out to me.

“Where are we going?” I take his hand and he pulls me up.

“To the shower. I want to do it right this time.”

* * *

One of my favorite and certainly unexpected things about the bathroom at Maison Bordeaux is the bathroom. In contrast with the 1800s décor of the guesthouse, this bathroom is positively modern. Large polished marble tiles line the walls of the bath, with small black and brown glass tiles used throughout as accent. The floating sink boasts two basins into which water pours from little holes in the backsplash. The shower, a large room itself, is fully enclosed and doubles as a steam room with two showerheads. The first and largest is a rainfall tile affixed to the ceiling. The second is a seven-dial hose nozzle. We use both.

A fully naked Bo turns them on, then walks to the control panel and turns on the steam as well. An orange light comes on to show that the level is on low, though watching him move, the muscles on his back flexing, as does his buttock, I think we’ll be making enough steam on our own.

After turning off all the lights but the overhead, which has just a soft yellow glow, he turns to me. “All right my lady, now let’s get you ready.” He pulls off my dress over my head and throws it to the corner, followed by my bra.

He doesn’t give me time to be shy, pulling me gently into the shower. The water feels hot on my cold skin, but that is forgotten all too soon as he pulls me into his arms and lowers his lips to mine.

The moment our mouths meet the heat rises and he is pressing me hard and rough against wall, the cold tile a momentary shock. Not enough to stop me though. I am so hungry for him I will take as much as he’ll give.

Suddenly he pulls away, breathless.

“God, I want to take my time but I feel like I can’t hold back with you.”

I pull him back in and whisper in his ear, “Then don’t,” and wrap my fingers around his thick shaft. “Fuck me, Bo.” He grumbles something I can’t hear before he spins me on the spot, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head. I lift my butt, standing on my tiptoes, to aid his entry. His head drops to my shoulder and he begins to thrust. His free hand is roaming my body, fingers grazing my nipples, then roving down between my legs and circling and pressing on my clitoris.

It’s definitely not a gentle fuck. It’s demanding and needful. The steam is getting to me; the air is too thick and too hot. Bo is too hot. But I can’t stop any more than he can. I can feel his desire when he bites the back of my neck. It drives me to the edge and I come so blindingly hard I nearly black out. But he holds me in place and pulls out just in time to finish on my back.

He lets me go and goes to turn off the steam. When he returns, I have my forehead to the wall, enjoying the feel of the rain on my back.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“We didn’t use a condom,” I whisper.

His face goes white. “I didn’t even remember that. They’re in my wallet. I was just so crazed I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say though I’m really not. He felt too good, bare the way he was.

“Guess it’s a good thing we both got tested. You okay?”

“Yeah, it just got hot in here.”

“Here, this will help.” He takes the nozzle hose and sets it at jet and runs it slowly up and down my back.

I let my mind wonder and I think of Owen. It’s not particularly a welcome thing being that I am in the shower, naked with another man. But I can’t help it.

I am with another man. And Owen is at home well aware of what I’m up to. The guilt of it is brutal. Then again, he did this to me. And I wonder, did he think of me like this when he was with Cassandra? While I stayed home, the dutiful wife, playing with his child, cleaning his house, waiting anxiously for him to return? Did he think of how much he would hurt me?

No, he didn’t. That much I am certain of. I am also sure he never in a million years thought I would have done the same back to him, that I would find myself here with another man. Thinking of him. Now that makes me feel like a slut. He feels present, too much a part of this.

My mind takes me somewhere new now. Imagining that, Owen here with me and Bo. A Cris sandwich. Four hands all over me, two very hard and passionate men. Wouldn’t that be something?

“What are you thinking about?” Bo asks startling me.

“Nothing good.”

“Tell me,” he urges.

“Is it always like this for you, this intense, I mean?” I ask.

“You mean sex?”

“Yeah.” I turn to face him and he begins to run the nozzle on my chest. I am thankful for the dimness of the lights, being as exposed as I am.

“I can’t think of a time where I wanted someone so much I couldn’t hold back. You?”

He moves the nozzle downward slowly, until he reaches my crotch, at which point he switches it to a pulse. I can already feel my temperature rising.

“I don’t know,” I say breathlessly. It’s true. I am a generally passionate woman and I like sex to be rough. Owen understands this, and he gives me what I want. But I have never felt this out of control and mindless. “No,” I say, correcting myself. Is that a bad thing? I don’t know that either, but it’s terrifying as hell.

Then the fear melts away when the nozzle makes a loud clang as it hits the floor and he kisses me. No pretense at taking it slow. It’s aggressive from the start and that fire that had barely ebbed is ignited anew. I let go of any thoughts of restraint because there is no room for it right now. It’s just impossible.

“Let’s go to the bed. I want to taste you,” he murmurs in my ear. His hands grope my butt and then his fingers slide in and gently play with my vagina and then my anus. “I’m want to fuck you everywhere. Please let me fuck you everywhere.”

Oh my God, I am going up in flames. I want to yell, “Put me out dammit!” but can’t speak through my moans. He picks me up and takes us out of the bath and into the room, completely uninterested in stopping to towel dry. He drops me onto the bed and drops his head to my sex and takes the lips into his mouth, his teeth gently grazing the soft skin there.

He moves his way from side to side, making sure to avoid my clitoris, each time my pelvis coming off the bed in an attempt to rub myself on him. He pins my hips and keeps teasing, nibbling on my inner thighs, tasting my entrance but never touching the tip of what is aching me the most.

I dig my fingers into his thick hair, trying in vain to guide his face where I want it. When I am near insanity he finally takes my clitoris into his mouth and inserts two fingers, running them over the spongy inside, making me come.

I want to taste him too, but before I can move he is inside me, finding his own release. He falls limply and brings me close to him.

“I am never going to get enough of you,” he whispers closing his eyes.

Sleep overtakes me before I can form another thought.

* * *

I’m roused from a deep sleep by an intruding hand between my legs and gentle bites to the back of my neck and shoulders. I moan groggily, unable to fully open my eyes.

When his fingers enter me I cry out Bo’s name. He’s breathing hard in my ear now, climbing between my legs and pulling my butt up until I am on all fours. He rubs the head of his penis on my entrance, lubricating himself before pushing in.

I arch my back allowing his hands to reach over and caress my nipples. The headboard clanks against the wall matching his rhythm, harder and faster with every second. It doesn’t take long for both of us to climax, and then it’s over and he lays back down and is out in a very guy fashion, the moment his head hits the pillow.

As for me, I look over to the alarm clock. Five thirty in the morning. My heart sinks. My night is over. Had I known this would be the last time he was inside of me I would have done something to make it last longer, pulled away, slowed him down. Anything!

We’d had sex so many times in one night, yet as intense as every fuck has been, and even though he has obviously satisfied me sexually every time, there has been no real fulfillment.

It’s simply not been enough. I want more.

14

I think it’s the emptiness of the room that wakes me. The bed is too cold. The night too far behind me.

It’s strange the way I feel. There is guilt; I suspected there would be. Strangely though, it’s not because of what I did, but because of what I feel now as I lay in my darkened room and remember everything that happened last night. There’s regret that he’s not still here. Longing to see him just one more time. Everything I feel revolves around Bo.

The mere thought of him all over me, inside of me, is arousing and I ache between my legs. I turn to his side of the bed and put my face into his pillow. God, it still smells like him.

I shut my eyes tight and remember him as I run my hands down my bare body, over my breasts, down my belly, wishing it was Bo’s hand. Masturbation is something I’ve never been shy about. It’s a part of life, at least for me. It’s a convenient, quick way to get off.

But not this time. After having been with Bo, my hand just isn’t cutting it. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, following the lines of light breaking through the darkness, and let my mind wander.

It’s when I hear the cleaning and delivery trucks outside that I finally get up and walk numbly through the room thinking about Bo. Has he left already? Did he make it to Teche okay? Will I ever see him again? Will I ever forget him?

If I had a hard time getting him out of my mind before, now that I know what he feels like, what he tastes like, it will be impossible.

Forcing myself to think of something else, I pull out my phone. I see a missed call from Owen, but ignore it and call my dad instead.

“Hey daughter,” he greets.

“Hey daddy, how are you?”

“Good,” he replies.

“How’s Mia?” I ask even though I can hear her in the background. “Did she sleep okay? Did she go down easy?”

“She slept fine, but she did ask for you and got up once for a few minutes.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“It’s fine. She’s been great other than that.”

“Can I talk to her?”

My dad puts her on and she starts telling me everything she’s eating and what she’s played with since I left. “Mommy you coming home today?” she asks sweetly, and it makes me ache to hold her.

“Tomorrow, baby, then I have a super fun week planned for you and me.”

“And Daddy?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Here, let me talk to Mommy real quick,” my dad tells her and takes the phone back. “Where are you?”

“New Orleans.”

“Are you with someone?”

“Daddy, I don’t know that you want to hear this.”

“I just don’t want you to… Please don’t make the same mistakes we did,” he says, though I know what he really means is not to make the same mistakes my mother made. “I can see the signs.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

He sighs in resignation. “Just tell me you are safe. I’m worried about you. Owen called last night, he wanted to talk to Mia. Said he might come get her today.”

I groan. Just hearing Owen’s name is a hard reminder of everything that’s happened.

“Well, if he does that’s fine. And I’m safe, I promise. I will be home tomorrow,” I tell him.

After I let them go I feel so much better, just having heard Mia was what my soul needed.

I have one more day in New Orleans, and in that time I need to get back to myself. Tomorrow I go back to my husband and daughter. But a whole day it is, and I don’t intend on wasting it in this room wishing for someone who’s already out of my reach.

Today I am going to walk the Quarter again, maybe tour a few of the old homes, have a beignet.

With that in mind I take a long shower and dress for an active day, in khaki pants, a white cotton shirt and sneakers and throw on a black hoodie I can tie around my waist if it gets hot. Though it’s chilly out, there’s not much wind and the sun is bright, not a cloud in the sky.

I throw my sling bag on and head across the street to the Desire Oyster Bar for breakfast. I’ve always liked the place with its eclectic style, tin ceiling, vintage light fixtures, small white and black tile floor and red vinyl chairs.

I am seated at one of the high tables next to a window where I can watch the comings and goings. At this hour, the streets are bustling with locals and workers as all the tourists sleep away their hangovers. Large trucks ride by with circling sweepers, store owners wash their sidewalks with soap and water, and bar employees take out large bags of garbage from the night before. It’s a ritual that happens every morning, this busy cleaning.

I’m watching without really seeing. There’s so much going on in my head and at the same time nothing at all. There’s all the sorting through my emotions about what I did last night. What I will say to help ease Owen? Will we ever get back what we had?

I am so involved in my thoughts that when the chair next to me swivels out with a screech, I spit out a large chunk of egg into my hand to avoid choking on it. Bo sits down with a playful plop beside me, that perpetual up-to-no-good smile on his face.

“What’s happenin’?” he asks casually.

“Uh, I. Hi” My mind draws a blank. From the shock of seeing him again so soon after I thought I would probably never see him again, or just from his nearness, I don’t know.

“I’ve been callin’ you. Where you been?”

“Oh. I haven’t looked at my phone in a bit. I thought you were… that last night was, you know, the last.”

“Well, I got to thinkin’. You said you were gonna hang out here for another day. I was about to head to Old Nate’s house when I remembered you said you’d always wanted to see the swamp. So, come with me.”

I swallow hard. Go with him? Spend another day with Bo?

The temptation is so great. As it was I didn’t want to say goodbye to him, and now he is asking me to spend another day with him. And he looks so good too. Tanned skin, days’ worth of salt and pepper scruff on his face.

“You gonna finish this?” he asks when I take too long to answer, and pulls my plate to him eating without shame. “I’m starvin’! I haven’t eaten since last night. So, what do you think?”

“About you inhaling my food?”

“No, darlin’. Go with me.”

“I don’t know. My golden ticket was only for one night. It already feels like I did something wrong.”

“Actually, it felt right to me,” he says around a bite of egg and waggles his brows.

Yeah, it felt so right that it could only be wrong.

“I don’t know. It was only supposed to be one night.” Owen only had one night. Or so he says. For all I know it could have been the entire time he was in Chicago.

“Come on, chère, let me be the one to show you the Bayou. You’ll never get another chance like this one.” God, that accent with that voice is going to undo every bit of will power I have!

“I…”

“Tell you what,” he says pointing at me with my own fork. “What if I promise to leave you alone? Sexually I mean. I’ll give you the tour. There’s nothin’ like it. And Old Nate’s house is old, from way before the Civil War. Been in his family since then. You like old places.”

“Yeah, but…”

“And he’s cookin’ gator. Tastes just like chicken.” He looks so cute trying to convince me that I don’t tell him I have had alligator every time I have been to New Orleans.

I look away from him because I am so damned attracted to him, and his offer even more so. I shake my head. “I don’t know… I can’t, Bo.”

He huffs and pushes the empty plate in front of me. I don’t think I had more than two bites.

“If I promise not to seduce you, and I bring you back during daylight hours, will you come then?”

So tempting! “No funny business?”

“No funny business,” he promises, though I feel the need to define funny business.

I bite my lower lip and nod in agreement. Why the hell not! What’s the harm? I’d told Owen I would spend the day touring New Orleans, I just never said where. It could be anyone giving me a tour. Everything would be fine. Besides, I’d always wanted to see the swamp and Bo is the perfect guide. And this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! When else could I get to experience that part of Louisiana, not the touristy side of it, but the truly wild side with folks who live there? Never.

And if Bo and I keep our hands to ourselves…

I convince myself that this is true, even though I can read between the lines. I ignore the fact that Bo never actually promised he wouldn’t touch me, only proposed the idea. Deep down I know the real reason we are going on this trip. But like a moth to the flame, I don’t care. I just want to feel the heat one more time. I want to burn!

On our way to the rental car place off Canal Street I finally pull out my phone and see two missed calls from Bo, and four from Owen. As I look it over with guilt in my throat, I get a text from him.

Owen: Hey.

I think about ignoring it. I don’t because I don’t want him to worry.

Me: Not today, Owen. I need today. I’ll see you tomorrow.

There is no response to that, not that I expected there to be.

I put my phone in my bag and out of my mind, along with my marriage, for one more day.

* * *

The drive to Old Nate’s house is long, about ten minutes east of New Orleans as the crow flies I am sure, it actually takes us over two hours due to all of the one-way dirt roads he takes once we are off I-10.

Though bumpy at times to the point that my teeth clack together, the poor mini-van feeling more like an old wagon than a modern vehicle, the view absolutely makes up for the body aches I am sure I’ll feel later today.

I am so distracted by the beauty of it all, the clear sky, the river as it gives way to the swamp with its large cypress trees and vines, that it startles me when Bo speaks.

“So, you a swinger?”

“What!” I nearly choke on my own spit.

“You heard me.”

“Nnn-o-uuo,” The word comes out long and doubtful. Oddly enough, even though it’s not the first time I have been asked this question, it’s the first time I have been uncertain of the answer.

“Have you ever been with another woman?”

I laugh. “No.”

“You seemed comfortable enough with the girls last night. I mean, until the one pissed you off.” He throws a bad boy smile my way that makes me giggle.

“No. I have never been with a woman, but my… my husband and I have been to strip clubs a lot of times. The rule was always, ‘no dances for him, only me.’ That way I wouldn’t feel threatened and we both would get some excitement out of it.”

The irony of it doesn’t escape me. So much for that rule.

“So did it?” he asks.

“Did it what?”

“Excite you?”

I give him a knowing look. “Is it exciting you to talk about this?”

“Sort of. Just leave the part about your husband out though.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Well… honestly, it did. It gave me a little taste of something that I never had. I think if I had been single longer I would have wanted to sleep with a woman.”

“Really?” He clears his throat and adjusts himself within his jeans. “Go on.”

“I mean, I don’t think I could give up a male partner, just the size of a man, the roughness, the penis,” I don’t know why I am telling him this, and worse, I don’t know why it’s turning me on talking about it. “But there is something about the softness of a woman. To have her skin in my mouth… I don’t know, I think I really would have wanted to do it.”

Actually, Owen and I talked about bringing another woman into bed with us a few times when we were in the throes of nasty sex.

Only I would fuck her, was what we said. But he would watch and he would be with me. It was all dirty talk, of course, things said to get the other off harder and faster. Words I always took back the minute things were done and made sure he understood nothing of that nature would ever be acceptable. He always said he wouldn’t want to share me with anyone else either, man or woman.

“So why didn’t you choose a woman for your Ticket. You could have gotten that experience.”

I shrug my shoulders. “If I’d met a woman that I wanted as much as you, I would have.” No point in lying.

His smile widens and when I look down between his legs I can see just how happy he is to hear that. I bite my lip and reach over to touch him.

He jerks a little, I guess he wasn’t expecting it. His bulge grows even more and I squeeze gently. He pulls over and stops the van.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this, trust me I do. But we’re here and we’ve been spotted.”

“What?” I look around anxiously. Shit, he’s right. We’ve pulled to the side of a long dirt drive lined with trees. Just a little further down I see a man signaling us forward. Bo grumbles but complies, pulling up next to other vehicles already there.

“You’re gonna have to get out first, chère. I need a minute.”

“Wait, what? No, I can’t go out there by myself.”

“Sure you can. Just tell them I’m on a call with a customer.” He pulls out his cell and begins his phantom call.

I look out the window and see someone walking around my side of the van.

“Shit!” I nearly fall out of the car and plaster a nervous smile on my face. Good for me I am not normally shy about meeting new people. Although this time may be the exception.

“Hey there, darlin’. Was that Bo I saw in there?” He’s a very handsome man, probably around forty, with golden straight hair, skin as tanned as Bo’s and crystal sky blue eyes. Tall, broad back with lots of lean muscle. Actually, if it weren’t for the coloring I would swear he was Bo’s twin.

“Yeah, he’s on a call.”

I don’t think I fool him much though, because he just laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that sexy way that makes a woman’s heart flutter. “Is he now?” he looks to the van then back to me. “So you his girl?”

“Uh… I’m Cristiana,” I say shaking his hand. “Cris.”

“Nice to meet ya, Cris. I’m Nate, Bo’s cousin.” My mouth drops open. This is Old Nate?

“I thought you’d be older,” I say and he chuckles so much like Bo that I get goosebumps. Dear lord, I imagined an old man with missing teeth, some very bad skin, I don’t know, pretty much anything but this Adonis. “I hope you don’t mind he brought me.”

“Nah, the more the merrier. Come on, let’s get inside and I’ll introduce you.” Before leading me away he takes a few steps back to the van and pounds the back windshield with his fist. “Yo, come out back when you’re done whacking off!” he yells.

I groan in horror, but force myself to follow him. This is going to be interesting.

* * *

Just like the man who owns it, Bonheur is nothing like I pictured a house in the middle of a swamp would look. I envisioned an old weathered house, the wood made gray with age. Some cobwebs too, and for some reason a claw foot tub sitting in the yard full of plants was ever present in the images I’d concocted in my mind. It was after all from before the Civil War, Bo had said. That had to put it at least mid 1800s.

The large white house, while definitely of that time, is anything but dilapidated. I walk behind Nate in awe. First off, the front yard is wild, we are in the bayou. But it’s a controlled wild, with a clear line between the swamp and groomed grounds. There is all manner of plants, ferns, flowering bushes. Oaks, Willows and Cypress all mingle and tower over us, creating a beautiful and lush canopy, Spanish moss swaying from their limbs gently.

The house itself is as southern as they get, with a two-story wrap around porch, large fans lazily spinning in the slight breeze, and a minimum of five old ladies sitting in rocking chairs by the front door.

Wooden steps creak underfoot as we walk up, and through a screen door into a wide hall the length of the house. At the other end are a pair of French doors left open to allow the breeze to go through the home. In with it brings the scent of various foods and the sound of chatter and a guitar in the distance.

“Nate, your house is amazing,” I tell him, running my hand up the smooth black railing of the stairs in the hall.

He stops in the middle of it and looks around proudly. “It’s been in the Chevalier family since 1790. Actually, we lost it for several years, my great grandfather bought it back. Then it belonged to a distant cousin of mine who sold it. I was able to purchase it years ago for almost nothin’. Moved it all the way from New Orleans.”

My head snaps to him. “You moved it?”

“He sure did,” a woman says coming in through the French doors. “I’m Jane, Nate’s wife,” she greets with a bright smile and we shake hands.

“Cris,” I say.

“She’s Bo’s girl.”

“Ah, good job, Bo,” she says over my head and I turn to see Bo standing behind me.

He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to him. “Thought you’d approve,” he winks.

It’s a little strange, pretending to be his girl, but I have to say it doesn’t take much effort to fall into that role.

* * *

Jane sends us upstairs to drop off our stuff before heading outside. I don’t say anything, though it just now hits me that although Bo said he’d take me home today, he had also said he’d be spending the night here with Old Nate. I guess I didn’t really think through that one, or maybe I just didn’t want to.

All of the bedrooms in Bonheur are on the second floor, with a long hallway the length of the house, just as they are downstairs. Our room is set at the front left corner of the house, with two sets of floor to ceiling windows on two of the walls, left open, white lacy panels blowing gently.

“They used these tall windows instead of doors to avoid paying more taxes,” I share a lesson smugly. “I think,” I add, unsure.

“Well, you’d know better than me.”

The old canopied bed set against the wall looks mighty inviting, so I pull back the mosquito netting and plop into it, laying on my belly facing the tiny bathroom.

“Was that a closet?” I ask. The room is cute, but very small, especially for a man Bo’s size I am sure. It has a pedestal sink, a toilet almost touching it, and right beside that a very narrow shower. Granted, the choices made in color, black and white tiny tiles and wainscoting add to the small charm, but it’s tight.

He chuckles. “You’d think. I hardly fit in here. It’s always been used as a washroom. There used to be an old copper tub in here. Jane had it put in the master suite. You should see that room, that girl’s got talent.”

“This place is so beautiful. They’ve really done an amazing job with it.”

“Looks old and creepy to me. You know this place is haunted,” he says peeking out of the tiny bathroom.

I run my hands over the soft quilt, noting the detail in the delicate pastel flowers. “What’s with you and ghosts?”

“Are you kidding me! I grew up surrounded by them. I don’t think there’s a house left in New Orleans that’s not got some poltergeist.”

Oh Bo, he’s afraid of ghosts and he went on that tour with me! No wonder he was so uncomfortable. “I’m sure there’s at least one,” I say, wondering myself if that is true.

“Well, I have yet to find it. Almost every place I’ve been to I’ve had something touch me, yanked on my hair or taken my blankets off in the middle of the night.”

I don’t say anything about the only thing touching, yanking his hair and getting him out of his blanket last night in my room being me, but I think it.

Bo closes the door and while he does his thing I send a quick video to my dad for Mia telling her how much I love and miss her.

“So we’re both staying here the night? I thought you were taking me back to the Quarter before nightfall,” I say to Bo when he comes out.

“Well, I still can if you’d like. But we’d have to leave before I can show you anything. I leave tomorrow too, same flight as you. If we leave here first thing, we can stop by your hotel and grab your stuff and still make it to the airport with plenty of time to spare. What do you say?”

It makes perfect sense to me. Of course, he knew I would say yes. We barely got here, I don’t want to leave yet.

“Bo, can you show me the old house where you and Nate grew up? The one you used to runaway to?”

“Wish I could. It was here. Burned down years ago.” There’s a small hint of sadness in his voice.

“Oh no!”

“No one was hurt. Old Nate had moved out and his dad was with me of all places.”

“Are you sad?”

“A little. But the people are still here. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Why do you call Nate, Old Nate?” I ask curiously.

He thinks on it for a second. “You know, I have no idea. Been calling him that since we could talk. Maybe it’s cause he’s older than me. Yeah, we’ll say that’s the reason.” Bo winks at me and I laugh.

He comes to me and I roll over onto my back. He bends over the edge of the bed, and kisses me on the forehead, then my nose and lastly my mouth. Our tongues meet and I taste him slowly, moaning into his mouth and reach up to him. He pulls my hands away and kisses my chin, then further down between my breasts before he stops.

“They’re waitin’ for us down there.”

I huff in frustration, “Tease.”

He leaves me lying there, chuckling with that deep voice that melts me.

* * *

The back yard consists of different seating areas, some on patios, others simply chairs on the perfectly trimmed lawn. There’s a slight slope as you get closer to the water, with a black iron fence in place to keep large animals from crossing into the space.

A young girl sitting by herself is lightly strumming a beautiful guitar with several other instruments set on chairs beside her.

Children run to and fro, playing tag, bumping into adults too tipsy to care.

Long tables have been set on the porch where women tend to the pots and casseroles on them, and ensure everyone is getting their share of helpins’.

An older gentleman, about sixty, has large cuts of meat in a roaster, with about five other men standing around him with beers in hand chatting animatedly.

“Ever had gator?” Nate asks as he and Jane come up to us. Boy do they make a beautiful couple!

“A few times,” I reply.

The man roasting the meat walks over to us with a plate full of delicious cuts and he hands us each a small piece.

“Cris, this is my uncle Jim. Nate’s dad.”

“Nice to meet ya, my lady,” says Mr. Chevalier and shakes my hand. Even though he’s older, and time has not been kind to him, I can see where Nate gets his looks from, having the same crystal blue eyes and bone structure.

Bo told me that James struggled for many years, losing his job at an oil refinery, then bouncing from place to place. He said it really wore him down. But now, in his later years, Nate has been able to take care of him and give him the retirement he deserved.

Years ago, when he was dragged home by his father, Nate was told the truth behind their finances. He stepped up to the plate and began to help, then put himself through school and is now an engineer at the electric company. He certainly has the means to offer his dad a break it seems.

“What did you think of the room?” Jane asks when we walk away.

“It’s beautiful! You two did an amazing job with this place.”

“It’s all her,” Nate gives Jane all the credit.

“What can I say? I do have talent.”

I giggle at her lack of modestly. “Well, it is beautiful. And this gathering, you have this every weekend?”

They both nod. “It keeps us busy,” she says.

“Well I love it! Makes me miss home. We used to have big family reunions every Sunday.”

“Not anymore?”

“No, we moved from California when I was sixteen. I still went back a few times, but then after I got mar…” I stop myself. Shit! I almost told them I was married. “Uh, it just got harder as I got older. I don’t have much family in North Carolina.”

Bo squeezes my shoulder when he sees how nervous I’ve become.

“Will you show Cris around, Jane? She loves old places.”

“I’d love to!”

“I’ve seen the place. Mind if I have a beer with Old Nate here?” Bo asks me.

I look at Nate, unbelievably handsome Nate, and still have a hard time getting over his nickname. “Of course. We’ll be back.”

Janes shows me all of the unique details of the house, what was kept, and what aspects were changed to reflect their lifestyle and/or for modern convenience. I had the opportunity to see the large copper tub, which as Bo had said was in their grand master bedroom.

One thing that caught my attention was the number of photographs in the house. On desks, tables, hanging from walls or in albums. They were all of Jane and Nate’s family, and yes, even Bo made quite a few appearances.

I stopped to look at a group of black and white prints hanging on the second-floor hallway wall. They were of Bo and his children, presumably at Jane’s wedding. The kids were much younger then, hanging on to a tuxedo clad Bo, looking handsome as ever, undeniably happy with his children around his neck.

“Do you like children?” Jane asks.

“Mm, I do.”

“Have you met his kids?”

“Once,” I say.

“Do you want kids? I mean, it’s probably too nosy, but you know when you’re dating someone with kids…”

I chuckle at her. “I know what you mean. It’s not nosy. I have a daughter.”

“You do? Where is she?”

“She’s with my dad. Do you have children?” I turn the question to her before she asks me more. It’s not that I think she’s prying, it’s that I don’t know how much I can answer safely.

“If I could I would. I’d have three.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No! Don’t be. There’s nothing to be sorry about. I can’t physically have a baby, but that’s not going to stop us from having a big family. Well, we haven’t told anyone, but we’re expecting! Oh my God, I had to tell someone,” she squeals.

“What! Wait, I’m confused.”

“Well, we went through an agency and there is a young woman who simply doesn’t want to have a family. She’s too young. So, she found us. The baby is due in February.”

“Oh Jane, congratulations!” I give her a tight hug.

She wipes away at her tears. “Don’t tell anyone, got it. We’re not planning on saying anything until next year. Just in case, you know, she can still change her mind.”

“My lips are sealed. Besides, I don’t know anyone here, who am I going to tell?”

We head down and find a nice spot to sit and get to know each other a little more. It’s such a beautiful day, the sun, the breeze, the scent of everything deliciously wafting my way.

Jane leans in. “So, tell me everything. Where did you meet Bo? How long have you been dating? You know he’s never brought another girl here before. Well, other than Laura when they were married. But not since then. You do know about Laura, right?”

She’s throwing the questions out there so fast I can’t answer them, instead I giggle at her and shake or nod my head. “I, um…”

“Am I being nosy? I’m probably scaring you off with all my questions. I’ve always been told I pry too much.”

“No, no, of course not. I… we’ve only known each other a short while.” I like Jane. Actually, I like her so much I feel compelled to be honest with her. But I hold back because I don’t want to be the one who scares her off.

Jane is that type of person you like instantly. Beautiful on the outside, with possibly the darkest skin I’ve ever seen, long black hair, big brown eyes, large lush lips and a curvaceous body any man would drool over. Even more so beautiful on the inside, with a happy playful soul, yet you can see she’s a feisty thing. Her smile is genuine and heartfelt, her manners soft and sophisticated, and her attention is so focused on you it seems like there is no one more important.

There’s a perky side to her that really makes me miss Jess so terribly!

“Well, you must be something special because I’ve never seen him so smitten. I mean, just look at him, he can’t take his eyes off you!”

I turn quickly to catch Bo looking our way. He smiles, his dimples lining his face, and raises his beer to us before going back to his conversation with Nate and a few other guys. They roar with laughter at something and Nate slaps him on the back.

Jane shakes her head and I see her watching Nate with so much love in her eyes I feel a twinge of jealousy at how free she is to do so.

I decide to turn the conversation to her, more curious about them now. “How did you and Nate meet? Have you been together a long time? You seem really in love.”

“Oh my,” she says playing with the hem of her skirt. “Child, it is such a long story. Suffice it to say that it was this house that brought us together, and we weren’t so in love then. More like in hate. At least on my part. But you know, things happen.”

“You can’t leave me like this! Now you have to tell me.”

“All right, how about if I tell you, you tell me a little more about you and Bo, cause girl I have a feeling there’s way more to that story than you’ve only known each other for a short while.”

“Deal.” I agree because I am too intrigued.

“Well, I was living in New York City, and a friend of mine was researching her ancestry and she sparked that interest in me. I start searching, wanting to know where I came from. I knew there had been a large part of my family that came from New Orleans on the Underground Railroad. But there were some that stayed, and I wanted to know what happened to them.

“So I trace them back to an old family, the Chevaliers. I see that the house they served in still exists and is for sale. Now don’t ask me what the hell I was thinking wanting to buy this house in Louisiana where my family had once served. But there was something about it, when I saw the pictures of it in such a shabby state. Maybe I felt like it should be mine, sort of an inheritance.

“So I show up ready to buy it, and don’t you know, not only has it been purchased, but it’s been fully dismantled and in the process of being moved to this swamp! Oh, I was livid. This was my house, where my people had worked, granted they were no longer slaves at the time, but they suffered and bled for this house. So, I drive to the site and there are tons of workers, and no one knows what to say to me other than, sorry lady. Not good enough. I make them call whoever dared move this house.”

“Nate,” I say complete engulfed in the story.

“Yup. I waited three hours. He shows up and I let him have it. And instead of fighting me, telling me that I should go home and give up, he laughs like it’s something funny. Laughs! Then he has the audacity to invite me to see the house being built.”

“So what did you do?” I know how the story ends; obviously, they end up together. But it’s still so exciting!

“I go back home, settle any outstanding business and move to Louisiana. Luckily a lot of what I do I can do from home, so it doesn’t matter where I am.”

“What do you do?”

“Graphic designs. I have an online business.”

“Nice.”

“Thanks,” she adds chipper, then her eyes widen and she goes back to the story. “So I live here now and come every single day with the mind of making his life hell. I don’t know why, I just felt the need to pick on him. I ask lots of questions, tell him everything he’s doing wrong. And all he is, is amused! It drives me crazy. Then one day when I interrupt him and the contractor to tell them my opinion on what the study should look like, Nate tells him, ‘Well, do what the lady says.’ From then on I take over the house plans.

“Nate starts bringing us breakfast and sometimes lunch. I don’t know when it happened, but somehow we fell into a routine. Then when the house is done, I know I really have no say in what happens to it because at the end of the day, it’s his. We are walking around the house doing the final walk through and I say goodbye, and he says, ‘The house can be yours under one condition. Marry me.’”

“And you did.”

“I did,” Jane says.

“So, I’m confused. At what point did you fall in love?”

“With Nate? Oh, from that very first day. Actually, what I didn’t tell you is that I slept with him that first night. I was so mad at him, I just needed to get some of that anger out.” She cackles and claps her hands.

“Jane!”

“Yup, every night I’d get even,” she said laughing even harder. “Oh, lordy.” She wipes the tears from the corners of her eyes. “So now you know about me. Tell me about you.”

I sigh. “I hope you don’t judge me too harshly.”

“After what I just told you, never!”

“Well, I’m married and I am here cashing in my ticket for one night with Bo so that I can forgive my husband,” I blurt out.

Her mouth parts and a strange little gurgle comes out before she closes her eyes and gathers her thoughts. “Okay. I can’t say I expected that.”

“Sorry.” I regret telling her.

“No, no! Don’t be. Listen,” she says touching my knee with a slender hand. “We all have stories to tell. It just makes me sad to know you’re not really with Bo. He deserves a good lady, and the way he looks at you,” she whistles.

“I guess he’s attracted to me.”

“You think? Maybe a little more than that if I had a say.”

“It can’t be more than anything,” I say. “Besides, I am sure he’ll find that perfect girl. He’s pretty perfect himself.”

“Uh, okay. He’s not the only one my heart aches for. I can’t help but wonder what happened that earned you a ticket to have an affair?”

I can see the concern on her face and feel compelled to tell her more, but before I can answer a commotion behind us by the water stops me. “What the…?”

There are two muddy men down at the shore, wrestling hard, each trying to throw the other further into the river. Several others are hooting at them while a few simply stand and watch by the little fence that’s now been somehow knocked down.

Nate’s father comes stomping out of the house, down the back porch to them, leaving in his wake a trail of cigarette smoke as he exhales through his nose. It’s clear he’s not happy and the crowd disperses as he approaches. “You two jackasses, stop that now you hear!”

The two men continue their childish fight and Mr. Chevalier walks into knee deep water waving his hands at them wildly.

Jane turns her back to them and continues our conversation. “Every time,” she mumbles.

I try to look away but it’s hard to. After several failed attempts by Mr. Chevalier, he yells, “Jane, will you please control your husband?”

“Mah husband?” she yells over her shoulder in a faked southern accent. “He’s your son! I ain’t getting in no nasty water for that man-child.”

“Son?” I squint and sure enough, one of those muddied men is Nate. And the other is Bo. “Oh my god!” I get up and run to the water’s edge. “Bo! What are you doing?”

Mr. Chevalier goes a little further in, looking more nervous now than angry. “Woman, git down here and do somethin’ afore these two ijots get eaten!”

Just as he says that the water laps over my foot, and even though I am full aware it’s nothing, with the word alligator fresh in my head I’d swear I just had a chunk bitten off! I let out a blood curdling scream that stops those two boys in their tracks.

Bo rushes out of the water to me. “Cris! Are you okay?” he takes my hands and looks them over, then the rest of me. Concerned and confused all at once.

As a matter of fact, everyone around me has that same sort of look on their faces. I’m a little embarrassed, but the ridiculousness of my own reaction makes me laugh.

“No, yeah, I’m fine. I was just scared something was going to happen to you. There’s alligators in that water you know.”

Nate comes up behind him and puts his hand on Bo’s shoulder. “You’ll have to forgive this knucklehead, he’s always thinkin’ he can take Old Bessie up there,” he says pointing to an actually old and rusty Jeep parked behind the house. “Now he owes me a hundred.”

“Let him have it!” Jane says from her seat. “Rusty clunker.”

“Hey woman, watch yourself! That there is a piece of modern history.” Jane waves him away and walks over to the food tables. “Sassy woman,” Nate says, watching her with unmistakable heat in his eyes.

Mr. Chevalier stands beside Nate. “I expect you boys to fix that fence, some kid could get eaten if a gator ‘sides it’s time for lunch.”

“It’s my house, Pops,” Nate starts, but quickly changes his mind with the look his dad gives him. “Yes, sir.”

His father grumbles something inaudible as he walks away.

“If you folks will excuse me, I’m gonna go in and clean off,” Nate says.

“So what was that about?” I ask Bo.

“Nothin’. Old Nate likes to egg me on that I can’t win it from him every time we see each other. I ignore him but then he dares me.”

“Oh no, not the dare!” I shake my head laughing. I find myself doing that a lot with him. “So what was it this time?”

“Who could go furthest into the water. Loser owed the other a hundred bucks, winner got the hundred and Old Bessie.”

“Ah, I see. You were trying to keep the other from getting further. And I made you lose with my fake gator bite.”

He chuckles. “Probably saved my life.”

“Yeah, you could have been eaten!”

“Actually, I think my uncle would have killed us before that. See, when he was a kid he was bit on the calf by a snapping turtle. Told everyone it was a gator bite for so long I think he believes it now. Now he’s on a mission to keep us all from getting attacked.”

I laugh because that’s what I do with Bo. My face is starting to hurt from it.

“Guess I should shower,” Bo says.

I look him up and down and take a deep breath. His clothes are clinging to every bit of him, rivulets of water dripping from his hair down his face, arms and legs. If it wasn’t because he has leaves and other bits stuck to him I’d want to lick him all over.

“Should I come with you?” I ask hopefully.

“Believe me I would love nothing more, but with these nosy people they’ll all know what we are up to.”

“What are we gonna be up to?”

Bo gives me a sly smile. “For now, a very cold shower.”

15

It’s about three o’clock, everyone has either retired to their space within the house to digest, or has gone home for the afternoon. According to Bo, this was just lunch, the actual party doesn’t start till dark.

I myself am sleepily swaying on my new favorite porch swing, thinking of nothing in particular. Bo comes out freshly showered and changed, smelling clean and looking as delicious as ever.

“You wanna take a little ride with me?” he reaches for my hand before I can answer.

“Yeah, where to?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Suspicious of where this may lead, I go and freshen up first, then meet him out at the van and we are off.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

We don’t drive far, never leaving the property, but far enough that walking wouldn’t have been an option. Bo takes us through a narrow winding road that ends at a small boathouse by the lake.

There are several row boats and kayaks and fishing gear. Also inside is an airboat, which excites me to no end.

“Are we going on that?” I ask. “I’ve always wanted to do an airboat ride!”

“Sorry, not today. That belongs to my uncle, he would have my hide if I touched it. We are taking this baby out for a little tour of Teche,” he says, untying a little rowboat and tossing in some oars.

I jump excitedly. “Yes! Bo I would love it!”

Looking very satisfied, he leaves me there for a minute while he retrieves something from the van, coming back with a small cooler full of waters and snacks. “Just in case we’re out here for a while,” he says. “You can swim, right?”

“I can float.”

“Good enough. In you go!”

I get in, not smooth like I would like, but struggle to get myself steady. He helps me, chuckling the entire time. When we are finally in, he does a few safety checks and sprays everything, including my hair, with Deet.

“Remember to keep arms and legs inside the craft at all times, because as you know, you may not get them back!”

I snicker at his warning, but bring my limbs into me even tighter. And we are out of the boathouse.

There are no words that can fully describe the beauty of the bayou or the emotion it evokes within me. There are simply too many elements, too much life and stories. It’s the sort of place that records everything that happened before us; like the small shack stuck in a narrow clearing, now in shambles and taken over by nature, but still clinging to its existence. There are remnants of old docks, that instead of detracting from the loveliness of it all, add to its romance.

We slow down at a clearing, where the cypress trees are far apart enough from each other that the sun is able to penetrate. Tilting my head up and closing my eyes, I watch the light go in and out through my lids. I take in a deep breath of the warm humid air, letting the thick scent of moss and water wash over me.

“Show me your breasts.”

My breath catches in my throat and my head snaps up. The way he asks for it seems more of a demand than a request, as if he has the right to ask for any part of my body he wants. For a second I am tempted to say no. This was not part of the deal.

Instead, my trembling hands reach down to the bottom of my shirt and I pull it up, little by little, over my bra. Bo’s eyes raptly follow the movement as I inch my way up. He’s at ease, very much enjoying the show, while I’m hardly breathing.

“Pull down your bra,” he commands.

With the tips of my fingers I push down on the white lacy edges, until my breasts pop over the top.

“Put your hands down.” His eyes are glued to my chest.

It’s hard to do, letting go, but I do it, putting my hands on the board I’m sitting on. I feel so exposed and vulnerable, and exhilarated.

The light from the sun is shining right on me. Bo can see every detail. My nipples go from rosy to brown as they harden to little pebbles. I want to feel self-conscious, but I’m so aroused I don’t care if I’m not perfect.

He adjusts himself and there is hunger evident in his eyes and I know he’s just as turned on by this as I am.

He reaches out his right hand and the boat rocks a little. “Don’t move or we’ll tip,” he says as he slowly circles my nipple with his finger.

I bite my lip and moan as he does the same to the other one. The moisture and pressure between my legs is building.

“Your breasts are beautiful, Cris. When we get back I’m going to put them in my mouth. Would you like that?” With his palm, he gently grazes my nipples, back and forth.

“Yes!” Oh god, I think I might come just from this! I can’t take it anymore and I reach for the button on my pants. I have to get relief!

“Don’t touch yourself. I want to be the one who makes you come.”

“Then pull this thing over and fuck me already!” I look around the swamp like a crazed person, and suddenly all I see is a tangle of roots filled with bugs and slime. There doesn’t seem to be a way out.

Bo chuckles at my desperation and begins rowing through the trees, while I hold my shirt down. I’m squirming, even as I try to be patient. I just want his hands all over me already!

It takes an eternity to reach a small wooden boathouse tied to an old dock that I guess was at the water’s edge at one point. Now it sits in the very center of the swamp.

“We came here a lot when we were younger,” he says as he jumps out and ties our canoe to the cracked railing. “Wait a sec, I just want to make sure it’s safe.”

“Bo, that thing looks like it’s gonna cave in!”

“Nah, it should hold us okay. Nate still uses the house from time to time so he makes sure it’s safe enough. Just want to make sure there isn’t a snake or something hidin’ in there.” He walks into the old dark structure and disappears from sight. He’s out in less than a minute and reaches his hand down to me. “It’s good.”

The moment both of my feet are on the grayed out wooden deck I grab him by the neck and pull his head down to mine. I kiss him like my life depends on it. He seems a little stunned at first, but quickly his desperate need rises to my level and he is holding me painfully to him.

“Let’s go inside,” he groans into my neck.

I shove his head down further wanting him to deliver on that promise of his mouth on my breasts.

“Just suck on them please.”

He moans and complies, pushing my shirt up and pulling my bra down to expose me again. I cry out when his lips make contact and moan harder the harder he sucks. He switches from breast to breast as his fingers apply pressure between my legs and I rub myself on him as hard as I can.

I grind until I come, but before I can enjoy the after bliss fully, he turns me around and pulls down my pants to my knees and he is inside me from behind. My hands are on the splintered rail, the swamp before us, with the sounds of toads and flies all around. There are three alligators not twenty feet from us, just floating watching us mate.

There is something so carnal, so primal, about having sex outside, exposed this way, that sets you free. I have a need for more, so much more than this.

I turn away from him and take my pants off fully, tossing them onto the boat. He looks a bit dazed, but he follows when I take his hand, and lead him into the small boathouse.

I, myself don’t know where we are headed, all I care about is a flat surface. And I am not disappointed when I see the bed is through the first door. I don’t take much time to look around, I have much bigger things in mind. My eyes take quick notice of the clean interior, a small kitchenette with mini fridge and tiny sink and electric stovetop. A small door I can only assume leads to a bathroom and a twin bed pushed against the far wall, set below two large glassless windows.

Perfect, I think, and push Bo to it. I take off the remainder of my clothes, and he does the same. I straddle him, and kiss him deeply as I sit on his dick. His hips begin to pump into me, and I roll over, pulling him so that he’s on top, missionary style. I pull my legs back so that he can see me, see everything, and with my fingers, rub on the wetness between my legs, gathering as much as I can, then using it to wet my anus.

His eyes bulge and they are glued to that part of me, when I take his penis and begin to rub the head of it there. He swallows hard.

“Shit, are you sure? Don’t we need lube?”

“I’m so wet, Bo. I need you there. But be gentle. Just be gentle.”

He takes over, rubbing the head, then applying pressure. A little in, a little out, a little further in.

It does hurt, somewhat. But once it’s in, and he begins to thrust, he fills me so completely, that the sting turns to utter pleasure. His fingers dig into my ankles as he pushes my legs further back.

I can feel his penis thicken, my anus being so sensitive, that I know even before he screams he is going to come. He drives himself in as deep as he can go one last time, and holds it there hard, where I can feel him throbbing with each spurt of semen into me.

Somehow through his haze he still thinks of me, and with his hand, brings on my own release, even while he is still buried deep inside of me.

It’s a little sore when he pulls out. He practically falls off to one side and I roll to the other, facing the window, feeling the gentle swampy breeze on my face.

I help him wash after which he lazily walks back to the bed. He’s almost instantly snoring away softly. I jump into the tiny shower, and stare out a little round window into the swamp with a smile on my face.

I want to feel guilty. I will, I’m sure. But not right now. Later…

* * *

My eyes pop open and I catch Bo staring at me.

“How long was I asleep for?” I sit up, subconsciously covering my chest with my arm.

“After everything that we did you’re still coverin’ yourself?”

I can feel the pink in my cheeks, but still don’t release my boobs. “So was this what you wanted to show me?” I ask looking around the small space.

“Actually, this was pretty much it. I wanted to show you how quiet it is out here. You asked if you could see where I ran away to. The main house is gone, but this is part of it. I think my uncle’s had this since he was a child himself.”

There is a new appreciation for the place, not that I didn’t feel already connected to it. I smile imagining Bo as a youth coming here, brat that he was. The many adventures two young boys would have had here.

“So, Nate still comes here? Could someone come now?” I quickly stand and start dressing.

Bo laughs. “No, no one will come right now. I made sure of it.”

“So they know we came out here?”

“I just said I wanted some alone time.”

“What they must be thinking!”

“It doesn’t matter, chère. They don’t expect different from a couple.”

Right, a couple. Only we’re not. But they don’t know that.

Bo and I straighten ourselves, cleanup a little inside and replace the sheets.

“For the next couple,” he teases. “You ready? We’re gonna take the long way back.”

“The long way?”

“Yeah, with maybe another stop or two.”

My mouth goes dry at the huskiness of his voice as he says that. I’m already wet before we even leave the boathouse, all too aware of what every stop is going to bring.

16

The evening festivities have begun, and when Bo said the real party wasn’t until dark, he really meant it. There is absolutely no concern for noise levels, as there are very few neighbors close enough to hear anything anyway, and those that do live nearby are getting drunk here with the rest of them.

A large slate fire pit is ablaze, with several folks seated on the built-in benches surrounding it, passing around what Jane described as the best shine this side of nasty. May have been, but there wasn’t a sour face in the bunch, so that tells me it was good enough.

Nate’s band has set up right next to the house, with him on the bass, his father on the viola, Jane on the banjo and two other women I don’t recognize playing the harmonica and spoons. A group of women hoot and holler while they dance before the group.

A gentleman around ninety years old joins them, his knees wobbly, and they all surround him. A young man tries to remove him from the ladies’ hold, saying, “Gramps, you’re gonna break somethin’!”

But the girls push him away, holding on to Gramps. The young man gives up with a wave of his hand and walks away leaving Gramps grinning from ear to ear in the arms of his new lady friends.

I can’t help but grin too. He deserves a little female attention, I think. Hopefully he doesn’t have a wife here that really might take a shoe to his head over it.

We are on the porch swing, the sound of the crickets and frogs so loud they easily blend into the music being played by the Chevalier Five. Men, women, and creatures alike all sing the song of the swamp and of the beautiful people and their culture.

The night is balmy, cool, with the slight dew that forms on our skin making it feel cold enough to wear a heavy sweater and drape a wool blanket over our legs. I put my feet on Bo’s lap for extra warmth and snuggle in, turning my attention back to the band.

“Who would have thought a big city girl can play the banjo like that!” I cheer Jane on as her fingers fly over the strings so fast you can barely see them. She doesn’t pay me any heed, her face contorting with every change in chord, she is so concentrated.

“She’s full of surprises,” Bo says, squeezing my feet, shooting me a sweet smile and turning back to the band.

I don’t look at the band anymore, though. Now I watch Bo. I stare at him for a long time. He is smiling, not his usual devilish self, but the relaxed sort that says he is in his element. It’s easy to picture him here, in this place. He belongs in this wild. It’s a part of him.

Goodness but he is beautiful! Fireflies and embers light up his features and I think that I don’t ever want to go a day without this, without seeing his face, without being able to openly look at him this way. Tomorrow I will have to look away, but tonight he’s still mine.

Bo turns to me and our eyes meet and we speak without words. His smile fades slowly as he looks at me. I can feel it, the day coming to an end. So is our time together, our short, barely lived story almost over.

He pulls my face towards him, his warm hand cupping my jaw, his fingers in my hair. Our lips, just barely parted, interlock. It’s a soft kiss. Even when we separate, his hand remains and he puts his forehead against mine.

“I need you.” His voice conveys so much emotion that I know that what he’s asking for is more than something physical. I nod, and though my brain warns me against it, we stand quietly and walk into the house.

I am fully aware that I shouldn’t do this, even as my heart pushes me to take his hand and allow him to lead me through the back doors and up the creaky wooden stairs to our bedroom.

The large space is warm despite the windows that lead to the second story gallery being left open. The filmy white curtains blow in the slight breeze and fill the room with the scent of the fire down below along with the music and other strange sounds unique to the bayou.

I begin to undress the moment I hear the door close behind me, and I turn to see Bo doing the same. I make no pretense at hiding my nakedness from him, baring myself completely in the low light created by a single lamp. There is no reason to cover myself, he has loved every imperfection, every scar and stretch mark.

Bo leads me to the old bed and pushes aside the mosquito netting. I get in and lay on my back, opening my arms and legs to him.

He comes to me slowly, almost carefully. Our eyes connect and I search for something, I don’t know, a hint of the same emotional chaos I am feeling right now perhaps. He’s doing the same with me, searching, asking. His eyes never leave mine when he positions himself at my entrance and pushes himself in, painfully slow.

I take in a breath as he slides in because he’s so deep, not only physically. He’s inside me in a way that I never intended for him to be and he puts me in a hold that I can’t break.

He kisses me then, slowly taking something from me, my soul perhaps. I can’t push him away. I want to tell him to stop. This isn’t fucking. The kisses are too deep, the caress and the thrusts too slow. It feels more intimate than any sex I have ever had. We are making love and beyond anything we have done, this is where I think the truest betrayal lies. But my need for this connection to him is so intense that instead of pushing him away I cling to him more.

He comes inside, his mouth on mine, his fingers entwined with my own. After he’s done Bo rolls over onto his back, taking me with him, all the while he’s still inside of me.

I am straddling him now, and knowing that he’s climaxed already, I take my time simply enjoying the feeling of him beneath me, between my legs. I bend down and kiss him slowly, his mouth, his neck, gently pumping my hips as I do.

His hands rove over my back, my buttocks and legs. He shuts his eyes when I kiss the lids and leaves them closed, a contented look on his face.

I run my hands over his chest, and commit every hill and valley and little freckle to memory. I note the curve of his lips, the length of his eyelashes and the gray hairs that mingle with his black ones in just the right places.

He’s not as hard as he has been, but it’s enough to still keep the connection. I don’t know if it bothers him, this exploration of mine, I’m guessing not since he’s making no effort to stop it.

“You didn’t come,” he whispers.

“I don’t need to. Will you just hold me?” I surprise myself with the request, I’ve never liked cuddling. I climb off him and he brings me down closer to him.

We lay on our sides, facing each other. His breath is warm on my face and he kisses me softly, on my cheeks, my nose, each eye. I let him.

When my mother left my father, I was there as witness. Putting the pieces of his life back together seemed like an impossible task. I love my mother, but it was so hard to understand how she could leave a man like my dad. He loved her beyond anything.

I still remember that day like it was yesterday. She was wearing a flowered dress and she mouthed bye as her cab drove her away to the airport.

Forever I rejected the thought of ever leaving Owen. Even after his affair, I had a hard time with the idea. But now I can see how someone can be blinded, even crazed, to the point of saying the hell with everything! I feel that way right now, laying here the way we are.

For a minute, I entertain the idea of grabbing Mia and leaving, of running away fast and far with Bo.

In a moment of sudden clarity, I jump away from him and out of bed. He looks as surprised as I am.

“What’s wrong, chère?” he asks as I throw on my clothes.

I stop and look at him, so sexy, hair tussled, naked in those messed up sheets, and I say. “I don’t know.” Only I do. Bo consumes me to the point of insanity.

He looks confused when I leave him and head to the kitchen for some cold water and some sense.

17

We have set the alarm for five thirty. The hardest thing about leaving this early isn’t necessarily the waking up part, but the part where I don’t get to say goodbye to anyone. We pack up our belongings as quietly as we can, and I glance longingly into the darkened room before I close the door. We’ve given this old house yet one more story, one more secret for its walls to keep.

It’s so quiet and calm now, everyone gone or sleeping. I leave a thank you note I hastily wrote for Nate and Jane, telling them how much I appreciate that they made me a part of their family for the day. I place it on a long buffet table in the main hallway, but before I walk away from it Jane pops out of the kitchen and grabs it.

“You weren’t thinking of leaving without saying goodbye!” she cries.

“I thought you’d be asleep.”

A very sleepy Nate comes around yawning and rubbing his eyes. “She wouldn’t let me sleep in. I would have been all right not seeing his ugly mug this early. No offense.”

“None taken,” Bo says.

“Nate!” Jane snaps.

“But of course I’m glad to see you off, chère,” he corrects, sounding so much like Bo.

“Aw, thank you. You didn’t have to, but I am so glad you did.” I open my arms to Jane and we embrace. “Thank you for everything. I wish you and your family the best.”

“You promise to keep in touch?”

“Will you send me pictures of the baby?” I whisper

She nods.

“And you know you always have a home here. You’ll let Bo bring you back, won’t ya?” Nate asks.

Jane elbows him, “What?” he complains.

Neither Bo nor I respond to that. I give Nate a hug goodbye and they watch us from the door as we load up and drive away. I wave to them until the house disappears from sight.

* * *

It takes us much less time to get back to the Quarter. It’s always that way with time when you don’t want something to end. We drop off the rental, then walk back to my room.

Bo sits on a stuffed chair while I finish packing up. He doesn’t say much, mostly playing with his phone. I glance his way occasionally, wondering what he’s thinking. He looks at ease, not bothered in the least, which sort of bothers me.

“Well, I guess I am done. Shall we?” I ask.

“Yup,” he says, grabbing my bag out of my hand. We don’t quite make it to my room door before he turns to me.

“Just once more?” he asks. The luggage is already on the floor, as is my sling bag. His lips are on mine hard and heavy, and he’s pulling off my shirt. “Take it off. I want to touch all of you.”

I comply, yanking at it all. Just once more. Maybe this time it will finally be enough.

The coupling is desperate, needful, at least on my part. We don’t take our time because we don’t have any.

“Tell me you are mine, Cris. Say you are mine. Say it!” His demand takes me aback a little. “Say it Cris,” he pushes when I don’t answer.

“I am, I’m yours.” I say it because we both know it’s true, at least right then it is. God, maybe even forever. And in my mind, I try desperately to freeze time before it’s over, wishing with my entire being that I could.

Both Jessica and Owen said they’d regretted the instant they’d slept with someone else. That they wished it had never happened and tried their best to forget, to put it behind them.

I don’t want to forget. It feels too right and I am sorry that I don’t regret it.

I hold on to Bo with all my might, closing my eyes tightly, recording deep in my mind everything about him. The way he feels, the way he smells. His warmth and the weight of him on my body. I don’t want to let him go. Everything inside screams at me to hold on forever, that this is where I belong.

“Bo,” I whisper. There is a knot in my throat that prevents me from speaking anymore.

He doesn’t say anything, but I feel him shaking and his arms tighten around me. His face is buried in my neck and he is taking deep breaths.

When he finally comes up he looks into my eyes for a long time. He looks pained, like he is feeling the same way I am.

He rolls away and puts his fist to his brow. He’s upset.

“Bo?”

He gets up without looking at me and punches the wall before going into the bathroom. “Fuck!” he curses and slams the door shut.

I am lying there naked, unsure of what just happened. It takes me a minute to muster up the courage to get into the shower with him.

We wash and dress quickly, not one word uttered, and race to the airport.

18

I hate this time of year. It’s not the glitter and gold and red of the Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving, or the winter wear or all the commotion on the streets that brings me down, but the way the sun hangs low in the sky even at its peak. The shadows cast through the brown trees and the chill in the air, it all signals the end of everything that defined that year. Like something is dying and all you have left are the memories to hang on to.

Driving away through the streets of the French Quarter, leaving the wrought iron rails, hanging ferns, music, food… there is a heavy weight on my chest that makes it hard to breathe. I feel like I am leaving a part of my soul behind. Like some part of me is dying.

I look next to me and see Bo, and I know it’s not the winter, it’s not the Quarter that I am leaving behind. It’s him.

He is sitting to my left in the back seat of the yellow cab, looking out the window too, pensive, lost in whatever thoughts are going through his mind. I want so badly to reach out and touch him.

I am not naïve; nor am I blind to my own feelings. I know exactly what I feel for him. I’m in love with him. Beyond anything I’ve ever felt. There is a need for him, everything him, that is bone deep and all consuming. To know that he is going from my life forever…

There is a blaze within my heart, an ache so great I can hardly breathe. Not since Owen’s affair had I felt anything even remotely close to the loss I feel now.

I turn away from him and bite my lower lip to keep from screaming from the agony of it. If only we had met under different circumstances. If only I hadn’t set those boundaries that I now so desperately want to cross. He came into this knowing he couldn’t fall in love, it was only sex, and only for a short time. I did too. At least my head did. If only my damned heart had been in on it.

Bo helps me with my bags when we arrive at the airport, taking my carry-on for me, and we walk side by side to the gate, sitting next to each other while we wait for our flight. Still no word. Is he ready for this to be over?

My heart is both breaking and filled with joy. Breaking for Bo, the man I love and am about to leave behind, to see but never again touch. Filled with joy that I will see Owen soon, the man I love. Strange to say it, but it’s true.

I am not surprised when we are seated on the plane next to each other in one of the rows with extra leg room. Bo had gone up to the counter and I suspected he’d changed my seat.

He gives me the window and I am glad for it. Bo holds my hand as we take off and squeezes it, then lets it go as soon as we are in the air. I stare out into the sky, watching the white fluff come and go, not really seeing at all. In my mind, I am still in the Bayou, still there with Bo, wrapped in him.

The landing is uneventful, with Bo taking my hand once again, then letting go the moment the plane has made full contact with the runway.

He brings my bag down for me from the overhead compartment and we start to walk down the aisle towards the door. I am so sad. It’s all come to such an abrupt end, and without a goodbye.

Then suddenly, just before we reach the front of the plane where the pilot and flight attendants are waiting to thank us for flying with them, I am pulled to a stop.

Bo turns me around and holds me roughly by the arms. He looks so angry it startles me.

“So this is it?” he asks.

I’m genuinely confused by his question. Confused but excited. “I don’t understand. You always knew this was just a one-time thing.”

The woman behind us is clearly annoyed that we’ve chosen this moment to have what should be a private conversation. “Excuse me! You people getting off?”

Bo gives her a look that makes it clear he’s not in the mood. The woman shrinks back, but I can still hear the complaints being mumbled by everyone else in line.

During all the time we’d been together, not once did I see this side of him. Serious, determined and in charge, the carefree Bo is gone.

The male flight attendant, the same one from our original flight to New Orleans, strongly urges us forward. “Please, if you two can make your way.”

Bo pays him no mind. “Fuck that one-time shit, Cris. It was never going to be just one time anything.”

He’s looming over me, his nostrils flaring. It’s a little frightening to see, though the very feminine part of me comes to quick attention.

“But, you agreed,” I say in a mousy voice even I can barely hear.

“I agreed to be with you in New Orleans. I never agreed there would be an end. For almost a year I’ve waited for you, Cris. If it wasn’t because my mother kept me away, I would have come for you sooner. She insisted you were happy and that I would destroy your life. But I knew, I fucking knew, that you were supposed to be with me. I felt it in my gut.”

I’m speechless, standing there hanging on to every word, my mouth open.

I realize then, that the cabin is quiet now. No one is pushing to move forward anymore; they are all as consumed as I am in this deReillytion of love.

Dear lord, he is declaring himself!

I can hardly wrap my mind around what is happening.

“You’ve known since you met me? I didn’t know you’d noticed me.”

“I noticed. Less than five minutes you stood in front of me and I couldn’t get you out of my mind. It was like a picture that blinded me to everything else. I would go over every bit of you again and again, from the jacket you wore on a hot day, to the bun in your hair. You had no make-up on, and I wondered how anyone could be so flawless. You were the most goddamned beautiful woman I’d ever seen and I wanted you out of my head.

“I tried, trust me I fucking tried. But I knew there was a reason I couldn’t, because you were meant for me. Then you came to me, I don’t know why and I don’t care, but there you were asking me to be with you.”

Someone in the background coughs and everyone looks back with irritation at the disruption.

“I don’t know what to say,” I tell him because it’s true. My thoughts and emotions are all jumbled and torn.

“Don’t say anything. Go back to your life and tie your loose ends, because there is no way in hell I am going to let you go. Not now.”

I stand there as motionless as the rest of the crew and passengers, in complete disbelief, unable to utter a word, when just as suddenly as he stopped me, Bo turns me and pushes me forward.

We continue to walk, too fast, it’s all too fast. I see the end of the walkway and then we are in the terminal and there are hundreds of people racing past us, herding us towards the baggage claim.

Owen is there with Mia. I am still reeling from everything that I can barely register what is happening. My ears are deafened to anything but the sound of Bo’s footsteps so close behind me. It feels like my ears are full of water and everything sounds so far away.

“Mommy!” Mia screams and hurls herself out of Owen’s grasp, running towards me heedless of anyone. She jumps into my arms and I catch her. She is warm and smells so sweet. I had never been away from her for so long.

“I missed you, my little love, I missed you so much!” I tell her.

“I love you, Mommy!”

Owen is there beside me now, and I think I see new lines on his face. He seems so tired. It is so awkward and I wonder for a moment if this is what it will be like from now on. I knew it was a risk.

I glance around the terminal looking for Bo. Owen also looks around. I see the fear in his eyes that he might see the man I’d just been with. I knew that fear all too well, having seen Cassandra’s face in every woman I saw. Hell, I feel it now.

Though Bo is nowhere in sight, I do see a few folks that had been witness on the plane. They all look at me accusingly, though I’m not sure if it’s in Owen’s favor, or Bo’s. Perhaps neither.

I ignore them and look into Owen’s green eyes for the first time in too long.

“Hi,” he says.

“You’re here?” My eyes well up, and I scrunch my face as the tears overflow. There’s simply too much emotion to contain. Sadness, relief, love and ache.

“I wanted to see you already, so I picked her up and raced over. Is that okay?” he asks unsure.

I smile and wipe at my tears, trying to control myself, but I am shaking so badly I know everyone can see it. “Yeah, of course.”

We collect my luggage and head out the sliding glass doors. As Owen walks away to get my car from the daily parking lot, Bo steps into my line of vision. His eyes are so intense and so full of meaning my heart stops. Tie my lose ends, he’d said.

Just as he steps into the cab, Owen pulls up in the car. He puts my luggage in the back then settles Mia in her car seat so I can drive her home.

Before I can get into the car he grabs me and pulls me into a tight embrace. He is trembling too, and I hear the deep sucking of breath as he tries to calm himself. I am surrounded by him. The familiar feeling of his strong arms around me and his scent bring me back to reality. I am home again. I hug him tight to me, and my throat constricts.

“I missed you,” he whispers and buries his face in my neck.

“I missed you too.” I close my eyes tight and concentrate on the feeling of him with me, this man that I have held so many times before. The man that I swore to love all of my life, and I know I would even without the vows we made at the altar. He is a part of me.

“Is it over? Please say it’s over,” he whispers, his voice so pleading. I have hurt him, deeply, as much as he hurt me. I love him more than life, and I purposely hurt him. I am a monster.

“It’s over,” I say, opening my eyes just in time to see Bo’s cab drive away.

It’s over, only I don’t know what part of my life has just ended.

Part II

The Red Dress

“If you invite the Devil in, he’ll probably fuck your wife.”

-Owen Roberts

19

What the hell am I doing here? Why did I ever agree to this? I wonder if I can just get up and walk away.

I swallow down the reflux that has been ailing me for weeks now, pressing down on the pit of my stomach with stiff fingers, then wipe my palms on my jeans. The room is quiet but for the scratch of pen on paper, swift and hard as I am sure is the judgement going on that sheet.

Owen takes my right hand in his and squeezes it gently, smiling tentatively when I look at him. “It’s going to be okay, Cris. This isn’t an inquisition.”

“I know,” I say smiling, though I can’t say I fully believe him. Then, leaning towards him and eyeing the fifty-something year old woman not fifteen feet from us, I whisper, “Do we really have to do this?”

The brunette must have super hearing because her head snaps up and she looks at me above rose gold readers. Dark blue eyes study me for a moment, then she goes back to writing intently on her pad, her mouth contorting strangely as she does.

There is a loud screech as Owen adjusts his position on the black vinyl loveseat, and I unconsciously follow suit. Every sniffle, every creek sounds like it’s been set to high in this quiet room.

Finally, after what seems like an hour of waiting, Dr. Gwendolyn Riker clears her throat, then removes her glasses and sets them on the pad she’s been writing on. I swear her eyes narrow as she looks at me. “I hope you don’t mind?” she indicates to a small recorder on her glass desk. “I like to record my sessions, as it’s much easier than writing everything. It allows me to go over the conversations later.”

“Not at all,” Owen tells her readily. I simply offer her a tight smile.

Pressing a button on the side of the gray box, she brings the mic to her mouth and begins. “We are here today with Owen and Cristiana Roberts, patients 769964. The date is January 20th. It will be an open and honest discussion on the events that happened within the last year, concerning marital affairs by both parties.” She sets the recorder on the desk.

I cringe at her words. God, I really don’t want to be here, but Owen insists that we need help. Marriage counseling. Never in a million years would I have thought we’d do this. Yet here we are.

Dr. Riker looks at me. “Cris, you look uncomfortable.”

“I am,” I admit.

“I assure you there is no need. You are in a safe place. Anything discussed here is for the benefit and honesty in your marriage. When we keep things inside and don’t discuss them in a respectful and open manner, we become resentful, angry.”

“I’m not resentful or angry,” I tell her because at least in this moment, I think it’s true.

It’s obvious she doesn’t believe me. She purses her lips and writes something down. Sitting a little higher, I desperately try to see what she’s writing, but the letters are too small to see from my distance. Plopping back, I give up trying.

I can’t say why, because really I’ve just met her today, but I don’t trust her. Jess said to me that it was a reflection of my own issues when I told her yesterday we were coming and how badly I wanted to call the whole thing off.

“I don’t have issues,” I’d told her. “That’s why I don’t want to go.”

If I could have cancelled, I would have. But when I tried to talk to Owen about it, he seemed to really need this from me.

“Why are you here?” Dr. Riker asks me.

Shrugging, I say, “I guess so that you can tell us what’s wrong with our marriage?” I am trying to be funny, but I sort of believe it, too. Yet another reason not to be here, I think to myself.

I’ve never met anyone that’s been to marriage counseling that didn’t end up in divorce. True, I’ve only ever met one couple that’s been to therapy, but that one couple called it quits after they’d discovered they’d simply “healed in different directions.” I believe those were their actual words.

“My job is not to tell you what’s wrong with your marriage, Cris,” the counselor says. “I’m here to facilitate a conversation. To help with communication.”

“Then I guess I’m here because Owen wants to be here.”

“You do not agree to the open discussion?”

“That’s not what I said. It’s that I don’t understand what we need to discuss.” Especially in front of a complete stranger.

Dr. Riker looks at me with appraising eyes, and I hate that I can’t tell if they are hostile and judgmental, or simply studying my body language. “Owen has been coming to me for a few weeks now. We have discussed in depth what has happened between the two of you. With his permission, I can tell you that one of the concerns that has been a constant theme in our sessions is that of communication. Owen feels that there is a lack of it, starting with the affairs, your feelings then, feelings now.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know where the miscommunication would be. We discussed his affair and he knew exactly how I felt about it. There was never a question about that. It’s over now.”

“Is it?” Owen asks and I look at him questioningly, then back to her.

“Perhaps then, that is where the miscommunication lies. You are not on the same page when it comes to what has been laid out on the table. Owen can elaborate on what has brought him to seek help. Owen, will you look at Cris, take both her hands in yours, and tell her what your concerns are.”

I turn back to Owen when he takes my hands. He swallows hard and I can tell he’s nervous. “Cris, for the past two months, no, scratch that. Since my affair, I feel that I’ve lost you. I mean, I know you’re here physically, but your mind… I don’t know where you are. And I know I screwed up, it’s all my fault. But I thought I’d redeemed myself, that I’d won my chance with you again. Instead, I feel that since you went to New Orleans, you never came back. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. What else can I…” he stops himself then as his voice breaks and he looks away.

Even though I am at a loss for words, (Really, what can I say?) I try anyway. “Owen, I don’t know what you want me to do.” I look to Dr. Riker. “Is there something that I’m missing? I love Owen. Our sex life is great. We hardly fight. We have a great kid.”

“But you’re not here,” he says to me. “I can’t explain it; I just know there is something missing.”

“Why don’t you try? Say whatever comes to mind, even if you think it may not make sense to us,” the doctor instructs.

Owen looks down to his lap. “Cris, there is some sort of disconnect. Yeah, we have a great sex life, if all you have to go by is the physical stuff. But you never say my name when we do.”

I frown, completely unaware that I ever did.

He continues. “And when you don’t think I’m looking, I can tell you are far away. Your mind is somewhere else, always. You never text me to ask how I am, which would be fine I suppose if you never had before. It’s like, after your affair, which was supposed to save us, I lost you more.”

I take a deep breath and blink away the sudden burning in my eyes, but say nothing.

“Cris, do you love your husband?” Dr. Riker asks.

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. I do. I love him with every fiber of my being.

She smiles. “Why don’t we start at the beginning. Break the ice a little. Tell me how you met.”

That thought settles me a bit. I love our story, the way Owen and I came together. I always said that when I met the man I would marry, it needed to be different. No introduction by a friend or going on a blind date. It needed to be a lightning bolt sort of love, with lots of passion and fire. Sweet romance wasn’t going to cut it for me.

When I face Owen, I can see the gleam in his beautiful green eyes that say he’s thinking the same thing.

“I’m one of the lucky guys I guess,” he begins. “My boss was in town and I was supposed to meet with him for lunch on the other side of town, which was such a pain in the ass. I tried to change the location because I had a large deposit to make for Crawford Co. and that took me out of the way of my usual branch.

“So on my way there I get rear ended. The whole time we took care of the insurance claim, I was concerned with the amount of money I had in the truck. So, I took a detour to the branch nearest the accident, not the one nearest the restaurant as I’d intended. And as soon as I walked in, I noticed her. Instantly. Any man would have.”

As he speaks, I picture in my mind the events that took place that day sixteen years ago now. From my perspective, of course. It was magic. And I noticed him, too. Boy did I.

20

He stood in line watching me. I did my best to hide the fact that I knew I was being assessed, appreciated even. Through my bangs I occasionally glanced at him, watching as he moved up the line. My customer chatted on about her cat’s tumor and her arthritis while I counted the cash in my hand, then filled in her deposit slip for her.

“Thank you, hun. You know, my fingers just cain’t grip the pen like they used to. It slips, you see, and my numbers cain’t be discerned from my letters,” she told me.

“Yes, Mrs. Phillips. You know I am happy to help you anytime.”

Knowing his eyes were on me, I looked his way and moved my hair from my forehead, biting my lower lip as I lifted a brow. His eyes glued to my lips, I licked them and smiled.

When his mouth opened slightly, his breath all but stopping, I knew I’d had the desired effect.

Dear lord he was sexy. Dark brown hair, slightly wavy and tousled. Medium height with a broad back and well defined arms. His jeans hung off his lean waist, clinging on to his delicious booty.

“Deary, are you listening?” Mrs. Phillips asked, bringing my attention back to her.

I nodded my head and chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, I thought someone was saying something to me from the office across the way.”

As he got closer to the front of the line and his gaze became more and more intense, I hoped he still liked what he saw. My outfit wasn’t sexy, there was no way to do that with our dress code, but I felt pretty nonetheless. My white silk shirt, though demure with a high neckline, clung to my breasts enough that it showed their fullness. I’d lined my eyes to contrast against the light gold flecks of the iris, and pulled my hair into a long ponytail that curled at the end.

Seth, our greeter, approached him and I could hear him ask, “What can we help you with today.”

“I just need to make a deposit,” Owen responded.

“All right, looks like Toby there just cleared up, please go to window three,” Seth indicated with his hand.

“Actually, I want the girl in window five.” Seth’s head swung to Owen, eyes shocked. “I meant, I want her to help me!” he corrected.

“I am sorry, sir, but it may be a while before she’s free. She’s closing her window for lunch once she’s done with this customer.”

Owen straightened his legs, rooting himself to the spot. “Well, then I will wait here until she comes back.”

“I am sure Toby will be able to meet whatever needs you have today.”

Toby definitely could meet his banking needs; of that I was sure. But under the desk I crossed my fingers in hopes that he’d be sent my way. Maybe there were other needs I could meet better.

“Look, I’m sure Toby there is great, but I really would like a chance to meet that girl. Now, can do you me a solid, bro, and just let me go now… Seth?” he said reading the young man’s nametag.

Seth’s beady blue eyes became nothing more than slits, and I could tell he wasn’t going to help a sister out. Actually, by the red that crept up his face and met up with his red hair, I could tell he might do anything in his power to keep Owen away. Damn that boy and his crush on me! While I usually found it cute that Seth stared and went out of his way to please me or compliment me, at the moment he was anything but an obnoxious obstacle.

His voice cracking, Seth said, “Sir, as I stated before, Cris is about to leave for lunch. If you truly feel that desperate to meet her, you may sit there in that area. When you see her at her window again, you may get back in line.”

I looked down at the time. Sure enough it was my lunch hour. How that boy knew exactly when my breaks were, I would never figure out.

Then Owen said, “No problem,” and went to sit with a stubborn plop.

Well, this would be an interesting turn of events. Seth glared at Owen, and even from my position behind the counter I could feel the hate. Then, feeling a little wicked, I left for lunch without going to him, wondering if the handsome man would still be there waiting for me when I returned.

He was. He’d waited over an hour. At some point, he fell asleep, because when I got back he was completely out, his head thrown back and his mouth agape. I giggled, but thought it was incredibly cute.

I helped a lot of customers while he slept, all the while keeping an eye on him. When he finally startled awake, he jumped out of his seat so fast I thought he’d gotten pinched by something. Or someone, I thought as I looked over to where Seth stood, but then realized he was a little too far. Though who knows, I wouldn’t have put it past the kid.

Owen looked at the long line ahead of him in disappointment, then with accusing eyes, walked past Seth and to the very end, about twenty people in. Figures he’d come on a Friday when everyone and their mother had just been paid and needed to make their last-minute deposits.

We watched each other as he “rode the line,” as we liked to call it behind the counter. He seemed nervous, uncertain. His hands worked continuously from the leather bag he carried, to the button of his red polo. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearing his throat and shooting me shy smiles every time his eyes met mine.

When he finally reached the front, Seth called him to window one, and dared him with the tone of his voice to argue. Much to my surprise he didn’t. Instead he grumbled something under his breath and complied, making his deposit in silence, then walked out of the branch without one last look at me.

“Hey, I’ll be right back, that guy left his bag here,” I heard Rachel from window one say, and when I looked at her and saw her carrying the same bag Owen had held, I saw my opportunity.

“Rach, wait up. Let me take it.”

“Why?” she asked suspiciously.

“Honestly, I want him.”

“Good enough for me. He was a hottie.” She winked at me at threw the bag. After closing my window, and narrowly avoiding getting stopped by Seth, I ran out of the branch looking for the guy. I spotted him by a truck with the same logo as his red shirt.

“Fuck this!” he said as I narrowed the gap between us, unaware there was anyone within earshot.

“Fuck what?” I asked and his head snapped around to me.

He flashed me a slightly embarrassed, but oh so sexy smile as he rubbed the back of his neck and looked to his feet. “Um, sorry. I stubbed my toe.”

“Oh?” I smiled back and opened my mouth slightly, darting out the tip of my tongue just a hint. My long lashes lowered as my gaze went to his feet, too, then back to his green eyes. “You forgot your receipt, Mr.?” I looked at the paper in my hand. “Crawford.”

“Roberts. My name is Owen Roberts. Crawford is the company I work for.”

“Ah, I see.”

“And you are?”

“M. Cristiana Garcia,” I said pointing at the name tag over my right breast, and his eyes followed. “Everyone calls me Cris.”

“Pretty name.”

“Thanks! All right, so here it is. Have a good weekend.” I began to walk away.

“Cristiana?” he called after me. “Cris, I mean.”

“Yes?” I turned back, wiping the grin off my face before he saw it.

“I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner next week. I don’t know if you noticed, I sort of waited for you to come back from lunch.”

I chuckled. “Yes, I noticed. I came to let you know I was back before I opened my window, but you were sleeping so soundly, I felt bad waking you. You looked too sweet.”

He snickered at that. “Sweet! Not sexy or hot? Sweet?”

Giggling, I said, “Anyway, I would love to have dinner, but I can’t next week. I’m going out of town to do some training in Miami. This is my last week here, got promoted to work at the headquarters.”

“Congratulations. How long will you be gone?”

“I leave Sunday. Training is two weeks long. So, I can do either tonight or when I get back.”

“Tomorrow?” he asked, his brows lifted hopefully.

“I already have plans for tomorrow.”

“What plans?” It comes out before he can stop it.

“A date, actually,” I said, watching him intently for a reaction.

“Break it,” he commanded.

“I can’t. Evan has already bought tickets for a basketball game he wants to take me to. He’s a good friend and really nice guy. I wouldn’t do that to him.”

He took a step closer to me and I backed into his truck. His eyes roved my face. “Evan, huh? Is it something serious?”

I shrug not saying one way or the other. Evan was a friend who’d liked me for a very long time. For me, though, he was just a friend. This date was a chance for me to get to know him on a different level. But honestly, it was doubtful anything would come of it, I simply didn’t have those feelings for him.

Owen stood so close to me now that I took in his scent, a fresh and clean fragrance that fit him well. Lifting a tip of a finger to one of the red buttons on his polo, I tapped it as I said, “What are you doing tonight, Mr. Nosy. Can you break your plans?”

“I wish. I have a work meeting and then we are headed to a restaurant with some out of town clients for a few drinks.”

“Ah, I see. Well, how about we exchange numbers and I’ll let you know when I get back. Maybe we can get together then.” He gave me his business card and I slid it into the pocket of my black pencil skirt. “Okay, I’ll hang on to this little guy. See you later!” I pushed off the truck, but he grabbed my arm and stopped me before I could take a step.

“Jake’s Pub, in Garner,” he told me. “It’s right beside the…”

“I know where it is.”

“That’s where we’ll be. Maybe I can run into you there accidently tonight, say nine?”

Glancing back at him as coyly as I could, I said, “Maybe,” then walking away, I swayed my hips and flung my ponytail over my shoulder.

“Jesus Christ,” he swore and I felt empowered.

There was a certain adrenaline rush I got from shamelessly flirting, especially with someone as delicious as Owen. I only hoped I would be able to do so much more than that when I saw him again.

21

Jake’s Pub was originally a hole in the wall sort of joint, where people went for beer and good cheap food. But back when it originally opened there was a very limited selection of bars, and so, Jake’s boomed.

What once was a tiny place between a mattress store and a nail salon, now had expanded three store fronts, and had an outdoor bar with TVs and a fireplace.

Rachel, after much begging, agreed to come with me to Jake’s to meet up with Owen. She’d been on the outs with her boyfriend, and didn’t want to go anywhere, but I’d been her wing girl on more than one occasion and she owed me.

After many outfit changes, I decided to go simple-sexy, with tight blue jeans, a black spaghetti strap tee, and black wedges. I took particular care in my make-up, concentrating on my eyes since I considered them my best feature, and leaving my hair in loose waves.

It was only a little awkward when Rachel showed up wearing practically the same thing, and the fact that we had the same dark hair and tanned skin, made us look like synchronized twins.

“Should I go change?” she asked when she saw me, but having met up there, it would have been ridiculous to go home at that point.

“Maybe no one will notice,” I said.

“Yeah, maybe,” she groaned, her eyes darting around the room to see if anyone was looking.

Being that it was a warm night in June, the place was packed, every table taken. I looked around, but saw no sign of Owen. When the hostess came to greet us, I told her I was waiting for someone and wondered if he might be outside.

“I doubt it,” the girl said. “There are a lot of guys out there, but they’re pretty rowdy, so I’m not sure if he would be in that group? Either way, I only have one table and it’s out there, so you can have a look for yourself.”

“Sure,” I said, and we followed her through the crowded restaurant, out a set of double doors, and onto the covered patio.

She’d been right. There was so much commotion and noise, it was hard to see through the throng. My watch said it was nine-fifteen. He should be here by now, if he didn’t forget he’d invited me. Sort of.

We were seated at a large round table on the outer perimeter of the patio.

“Your server will be right with you,” the hostess said, leaving us with two menus.

Rachel picked hers up and started scrolling through it, scrunching her nose at everything on the list. “Is your guy here?”

“I don’t see him,” I said craning my neck to look around.

“I think I’ll have the oysters.” Rachel’s phone buzzed and she looked down at it. With a roll of her eyes she threw it back in her purse. “This jackass won’t leave me alone.”

“Tom?”

“Yeah. Some girl from work has been calling him. He says they’re just friends, but I don’t believe it.”

“Rach, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“Now he won’t stop calling me, telling me he’ll stop talking to her. Well, why not stop when I asked you to in the first place!” she yelled at me like I was the offender. I shrugged my shoulders, keeping my eyes glued to the menu for fear that Rachel might take out her boy issues on me.

“Hey sexy,” I heard a voice by my right ear. “You smell nice.”

I groaned and looked at Rachel, who had a hanger on her left shoulder, and she threw me an equally annoyed look.

The guy next to me laughed and leaned against the table. I turned to him, ready to let him have it, when my eyes locked on to his gorgeous green ones. Those incredibly long lashes fluttered over somewhat glassy eyes, and I could tell he’d imbibed one too many.

Still, I was glad it was Owen, and not some other weirdo here to hit on me.

“Looks like you started the party without me,” I told him, throwing a glance at the Bud Light in his hand.

He chuckled and took a sip. “Maybe a little. Don’t worry, I can hold my alcohol. Besides, I thought you’d be here over an hour ago. What took you so long?”

“You know, I had to sexy myself up.”

“I doubt that takes any effort,” he said, his voice taking on a husky tone that touched me down in my very core. He sat on the barstool beside me and I automatically turned my body to him. And when he reached over to play with the black beaded bracelet on my wrist, his warm fingertips just barely grazing my skin, I shivered.

“Even though you’re a little drunk, I’ll accept the compliment.”

“Um, my boyfriend is going to be here like in fifteen minutes. I don’t think he’ll appreciate you hanging around me like that,” I heard from behind me. Having completely forgotten that Rachel was there, it actually startled me, and I jumped at the sound of her voice.

When I turned to her, she was glaring at the inebriated fellow dressed in a light blue button up shirt and khaki pants.

“This is my buddy Ray,” Owen introduced.

Ray gave us a wink and then with a wobbly salute he walked back to the bar.

“Is Tom really coming?” I asked Rachel.

“Yeah, he wants to talk to me. I told him I was here. Is that okay?” she asked with doubt already evident in her eyes.

“Sure, fine by me.” Now that Owen was here, and seeing what sort of mood she’d been in anyway, I was relieved to know I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about spending time with him. And honestly, that was all I wanted to do.

Though Owen continued drinking, I refrained from the stuff myself because I was driving. Still, it didn’t stop me from having a good time and letting loose.

Owen introduced me to his group, all employees of Crawford Co. They were a “rowdy” bunch just as the hostess had said, most of them drunk, but fun nonetheless. They teased each other mercilessly, including Owen, to the point where I felt like I needed to come to his defense. When he saw my face - even then he could read me so well - he gently rubbed my back and whispered in my ear, “You’re cute when you get mad. It’s even cuter to know that it’s on my behalf.”

That sort of made me more upset, but then I chuckled at the ridiculousness of it.

A DJ showed up sometime after ten and started playing all the hits from the 80s and 90s. All of the Crawford Co. men jumped at the opportunity to make fools of themselves, including my “date.”

I remained at the table with Rachel and Tom, who were canoodled and saying sweet nothings to each other. It was a little nauseating to see actually, and it crossed my mind a few times to suggest they find a room and get the makeup sex over and done with.

Let Me Clear My Throat by DJ Kool came on, and the group roared. Owen shimmied his way to me and I allowed him to drag me onto the makeshift dancefloor. We danced with abandon, not caring what anyone thought about our abilities. Though I was in general a good dancer, having spent many a night at Latin dance clubs, this kind of music was certainly out of my league. Owen, however, seemed to be in his element, holding one leg by the knee and doing a sort of running man as he coughed to clear his throat along with the song.

Laughing, I wiggled my hips, but didn’t attempt to imitate him, there was just no way.

I became so lost in Owen that when I felt a light tap on my shoulder and turned to find Rachel and her boyfriend I was completely surprised to see her.

“We’re leaving,” she told me. “Do you want to walk out with us?” Rachel looked to Owen, and I could tell she was wondering if I’d be going home with him. If he was safe.

“You’re leaving so early? We just got here!” I told her.

“It’s one in the morning.”

“It’s one!” I exclaimed looking at my watch.

“Besides,” she continued, “Tom has to work tomorrow and we want to get some sleep.” She had a twinkle in her eye when she said the word sleep that let me know they’d made up, and the last thing they’d be getting tonight was shut eye. That made me feel better for having abandoned her. Well, that and the fact that on two occasions she’d left me to fend for myself, once having to catch a cab home when she’d hooked up with someone.

“Okay, I guess I should be going, too.” Though I didn’t really want to, I would rather have stayed here with Owen. But I didn’t live all that close and I didn’t want to walk out there alone. “Let me go say bye.”

Owen waited for me at the bar, watching my interaction. I don’t think he was able to hear what was going on, but must have guessed from the somber expression on my face that I was leaving.

“You have to go?” he asked.

“Yeah, my friend is leaving. I should, too.”

“My group is leaving soon. Half of them are from Chicago and a few from Virginia, so they’re all staying at the Grande Luz. They’re headed back to the hotel to have a few more drinks. Would you like to come with me?”

Before I could answer, his buddy Ray, who I learned was soon to be moving to North Carolina from the Chicago office, wrapped his beefy arm around my neck. “Come with us! Mah… mah frien’ here, he likes the… he likes you.” His speech was so impeded I had to go over the words in my mind a few times before I understood what he’d said.

I laughed and he laughed with me, which made me like him. He so reminded me of Chris Farley that I struggled to call him Ray. “Ray, I don’t think I can. But thank you for the invitation.” Then I turned to Owen. “So you’re going with them?”

“Yeah, they’re my ride. I left my truck at their hotel. Don’t worry, Ray’s not driving either. We got Mr. DD over there ready to go,” he said throwing a thumb over his shoulder to Henry, I believe was his name, who’d only had one beer. Supposedly.

I chewed my lip, wondering if I should voice my idea out loud. “I could always give you a ride to your house? Unless you really want to stay at the hotel. In my opinion you’ve probably had too much to drink to drive tonight.”

His ears perked up at that. “Yeah, I’d already thought about catching a cab home. So, will you come in and have a drink with me?”

“No. I won’t go in. As it is, having a man in my car is dangerous. You could be an axe murderer for all I know.”

“Well, you could be an axe murderer. I mean, I’m blindly putting my life in your hands!”

The thought that I could overtake someone like Owen makes me laugh hard.

“So is that a yes? Will you come in and have a few drinks with me?” He smiled, trying his best to look innocent.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Owen, if I go into your house, we will be doing more than having a drink.”

He swallowed hard. “What else would we be doing?”

“You know.”

“What if I promise to leave you alone. Keep it innocent?”

“I can’t make that same promise.” My voice was deeper as I said it, the meaning behind it unmistakable. I looked into his beautiful glassy eyes, blinking slowly at me as he processed what I said.

“Oh.”

“You’re drunk, Owen. I would feel like I’m taking advantage of you, and honestly, I want you so badly I don’t think I could resist.”

“Well, since you put it that way, I definitely want you to take me home.”

“Just know what you’re getting yourself into,” I warned.

“Okay,” he says nodding. “I’ll go tell the guys.”

I said goodbye to Rachel, too. It’s funny, this is actually the last memory I have of this girl. Hard as I try, I can’t conjure up any other images of her. It was so long ago, and I was one track mind Cris, then.

What I do remember is hoping that this didn’t end up being a stupid mistake. I highly doubted Owen was a killer, but there were plenty of other things that could go wrong. Though I’d had one night stands before, I’m not ashamed to admit that, I’d never taken a man anywhere in a car. Or what’s more, to their house with the full intent on fucking him.

Owen and I left the bar ahead of his crew, and jumped into my tiny car. I’m sure his co-workers all thought me a slut, and they all howled their way-to-go’s at Owen from within the bar. I didn’t really care. If I had been a man, the number of people I’d slept with, first night or not, would not matter.

The moment I turned the key, a little light came on that reminded me I had a low tire and I groaned.

I sat back hard. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I forgot about this tire. Hang on, let me see how low it is.” I stepped out and checked the front driver’s side tire. It wasn’t too bad, but it definitely would need air if I didn’t want it to pop on me. “Do you mind if we stop at the gas station real quick?”

“Sure. Why don’t you just have the tire changed?” he asked like it was a no brainer.

“It just started this yesterday. I was hoping it was the cooler temperatures at night, but looks like it may be a hole of some sorts.”

We drove to the nearest gas station, and when I pulled up to the air pump, Owen jumped out and started filling the tire for me. It was nice, a small and completely unexpected gesture, that made me feel cared for. I’d lived on my own now for over a year, and wasn’t accustomed to having anything at all done for me.

“Thanks I told him,” when he hopped back in. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” he said taking my hand and giving the inside of my wrist a small kiss.

Blowing out a cooling breath, I asked, “So where to?”

He gave me directions to his house, which was in Raleigh, not too far from where I lived, never letting go of my hand. Instead, he tortured me the entire way there, gently nipping his way up my arm, his teeth on my skin, then back down to the tip of every finger.

My mouth was dry, but the core of me was completely and utterly wet. Every bite sent a pulse between my legs and I squeezed them together in an attempt to find some relief.

The movement did not go unnoticed and he laughed in amusement, his breath burning my skin even more.

“Are we almost there?” I asked gruffly, and maybe a little desperate.

“We’re here.”

His neighborhood was heavily wooded, the houses on at least an acre lot. His house was far in, the driveway long. It was a simple brick ranch, with a white porch that extended one half of the house, and a door so blue I could see it clearly even in the dark.

It was quiet when we walked up to the house, no noise from nearby streets or even neighbors. The only sounds were those of the scuttling creatures nearby and nocturne birds overhead hunting said little creatures.

My eyes wandered as Owen fumbled with the lock, looking at the light cast by the full moon as it filtered through the tall pines and cast eerie shadows on the ground. The night sky glittered with a trillion stars, the brightest I’d ever seen, so that for the first time in my life I saw the milky way with my own eyes.

When I heard the door open, I turned to Owen, and followed him in. The second the door closed he was on me. My back was pressed against the wall, his hands pinning me there, his mouth hard on mine. It was so sudden yet so demanding, that my body responded of its own accord, way before my mind could register what was happening.

Never in my life had I been kissed with so much passion, and it swept me away into a frenzy of hands in hair, pulling of clothes and shameless cries. Nails dug into skin and teeth nipped in an attempt to maintain some control of our senses.

Owen’s hands dropped from the wall, down my neck and over my breasts.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he stated as his fingers grazed over my nipples, the feeling intensified by the smooth material of my tee.

I moaned into his mouth, too far gone to understand what he was saying. My hands tore at his shirt, needing more of his heat, but when he pinched my nipples gently, my knees gave and I nearly fell.

With well-built arms, Owen easily lifted me and carried me to a room down a short hall. We fell onto something soft, and I realized it was his bed, the sheets messy already. He was over me, his mouth only leaving mine momentarily as we removed our clothes, tossing them to land somewhere unseen. At some point, he’d grabbed a condom, I didn’t even see, and rolled it on.

When we were both lying naked, his weight between my legs, he looked into my eyes and I knew he was asking for permission. I gave him my answer when I pulled him in by his buttocks, squeezing the firm muscles as he entered me. His strokes were smooth and controlled at first, his kiss deep and exploring.

My hands roamed the smooth skin of his broad back, his arms and then back down to that butt I knew I could bounce a quarter off of, feeling the muscles flex as he moved over me. When his movements intensified, quickening as our orgasms neared, I released his lips so that I could breathe deeper, moan louder.

My climax came hard and I pushed against him, grinding myself even as he pumped, until the waves ebbed and I could see again. With a quick movement, he flipped me onto my stomach, and entered me from behind. He moved my hair to one side, and as he pushed into me again and again, he bit my neck and caressed my breasts until once again I felt that maddening urge to finish.

“Owen don’t stop!” I begged, and though he did pause once, he didn’t stop until I came again, only then himself letting go.

He fell onto my back then rolled off, his breathing ragged, sweat on his brow. When we looked at each other, we both started laughing, followed by the awkward explanation that inevitably follows a one night stand.

“I never do this,” I told him. It was sort of true, I’d never gone to a man’s house on the first night.

“Yeah, me neither.” He stood and went into an adjoining bathroom where I could see him taking off his condom and washing his hands. “Do you want to shower?”

I lazily snuggled into the blue jersey sheets that smelled of fabric softener and a little bit of him. “Only if you’re going to shower with me.”

He walked to the bed and bent over to press a wet kiss to my hip, trailing his tongue all the way up, over my nipple where he paused to suck it, then up to my neck and to my ear. “If I can be inside you again, I will do anything you want.”

The pressure in my core had already built with what he’d done, but with his very male voice, so low and wanting in my ear, I found myself unable to cool down. Taking him by the neck, I pulled him down to the bed again and flipped him onto his back kissing him with everything I had.

“I hope you mean that, because tonight I plan on having you inside me all night,” I told him before kissing him again.

And he was.

* * *

I left his house with a silly grin on my face and a limp. Even now I can still remember seeing him through the rearview mirror as I drove away that night, waving bye to me when I turned down the street.

Though it wasn’t intended to be more than it was, it felt too intense to leave it behind. But I was leaving for Miami. There was also the matter of another man. I’d already accepted a date and it wouldn’t be fair to Evan if I didn’t give him a shot simply because I’d felt such a connection with someone else.

The following day I called my mother, dying to tell my best friend everything. Well, maybe not the sex parts. But the emotions, my feelings.

“I think I met the man I’m going to marry,” I confessed.

Her brows furrowed, and I remember thinking it odd then, but when she said, “You’re too young to get married, Cris. You need to live, to find yourself first,” I assumed she said it because she was worried I’d move too fast. Now, I wonder if even then she and my dad were having problems.

For days Owen was all I could think about. Talk about. Dream about. My trip to Miami was torture. I’d forgotten his phone number, or it had been lost. Either way I couldn’t find it in my luggage. I damned myself for having waited to call him because of my date with Evan, feeling guilty over being with one guy and talking with another.

It hadn’t mattered, the entire night I’d thought of Owen, and when Evan had leaned in to kiss me, I’d turned my face at the last second, his lips landing on my cheek. He’d been crushed, and I tried to ease his pain by giving him a tight hug and telling him I just had too much going on. Yup, too much as in I didn’t want anyone else’s lips on mine except for Owen’s.

I was afraid I’d lose my chance with him, because I knew he was something special. That I’d screwed up.

Then again, he didn’t call me either. It wasn’t until over a week had passed and I’d pretty much given up on hearing from him, that he called me. It was lunchtime and I was sitting in the middle of a crowded breakroom. Not recognizing the number, I answered, and when I heard his voice I felt my blood rush to limbs as I fled to another room so that I could talk to him without so many witnesses.

He could hear it in my voice, I am sure, the giddiness at finally getting a call from him, and the annoyance that it took him forever to do so. “Why did you wait so long to call me?”

“Why didn’t you call me at all?” he demanded back, but there was definite humor in his tone.

“I lost your number.”

“Wow, that’s a terrible excuse. What was the other option, your dog ate it?”

“It’s the truth. I’m in Miami so I can’t very well look for it at my house. So, what’s your excuse?”

“My buddy told me I’d look desperate if I called before the required three days. Then afterwards, he told me that I’d look like an ass for having waited three days.”

“So you waited seven?” He didn’t answer. “Who is this friend giving you such awful advice?”

“Ray. But it wasn’t his doing. I didn’t call because I didn’t know if you’d want me to, or if what we did was just that one time. Then when I didn’t hear from you…”

“So what, you thought that I was like, ‘wham bam, thank you man?’”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

I pressed my weight against the wall, playing with the corner of a pictured frame that hung there. “What made you finally call me?”

“I found your bracelet.”

“My bracelet?”

“Yeah, the stretchy one with the black beads.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize I’d dropped it.” I had about twenty of those back then, they were so popular.

“I was at Denny’s this morning and I pulled it out of my pocket and brought it to my nose. It still smells like you.”

“What do I smell like?” I asked, a little winded imagining him rolling those beads between his fingers, thinking of me.

“Fresh peaches,” he said on an intake of breath, and I wondered if he held it to his nose even now. I’d have to give it to him, I had been wearing a peaches and cream lotion at the time, so maybe the scent had transferred.

“So you sat at Denny’s playing with my bracelet. Is that what did it?”

“They had Maury on one of the televisions. Honestly I can’t remember what the show was about, but I imagined myself on there one day, talking about you. The girl that got away because I didn’t call. My life would be hell, moping around wondering how I could have let the best thing in my life go.”

Almost jumping with glee at his words, I did a silent hop and sent a little thank you up to the heavens that I’d been given the chance to meet him. “Do you think I’m the best thing? We were only together once.”

“That’s all it took.”

That was all it took. Six months later we moved in together. Six months after that, we were married. The chemistry, that passion, never let up. For fifteen years, everything had been bliss.

22

The tip tapping of the doctor’s pen against the glass desk brings me back to reality, and I resent her for that. I’d much rather be in the past, falling in love all over again instead of sitting here discussing the present.

“Beautiful story,” she says. “It is so important that we always remind ourselves of how we fall in love. When you recount the story, I find that it has almost the same effect as it did when you lived it. Sometimes, with the hustle and bustle of life, we tend to forget why it is we fell in love in the first place.”

“I’ve never forgotten why I fell in love with Owen,” I say, turning to him and smiling. “We still have that bracelet.” It’s true. I wore it on our wedding day and now it’s tucked away in our safe so that when Mia marries, if she should choose, she could wear it, too. It’s more valuable to us than our wedding rings.

“Then you are fortunate,” she says. “But we aren’t just here to remember the good times. Communication and openness shouldn’t just happen when we are happy. It needs to be something we practice at all times in a relationship. In fact, it is most important in the worst of times. It is what will keep that unit together, strong.”

I look to the floor, nodding slowly, taking in what she’s saying. Afraid of where she’s leading the conversation.

And then she asks, “Have you given Owen the opportunity to discuss his affair with you?”

The fucking affair. Of course, she would steer us that way, it’s what we came here to discuss after all, isn’t it?

“I think that affair has been talked about to death. It’s been put to rest, pardon the pun,” I practically hiss.

“I meant, have you allowed him to tell you exactly what happened? Have you given him the opportunity to share with you how everything happened so that you can better understand him?”

“Why the hell would I want to know exactly what happened? I don’t give a damn. All I need to know is that he fucked someone else after he’d sworn loyalty to me. I mean, you don’t want to know what I did in New Orleans, do you?” I ask him incredulously.

Dr. Riker’s lips tighten. “It is important that everything is laid out on the table, so that any animosity can be either justified or debunked. Owen,” she looks at him. “I think it’s time you recounted the events that led to the affair, so that we can understand the humanity behind the mistake and your feelings on it.”

Disgusted, I stand. “There is no way in hell I’m going to sit here and listen to this!”

Why would I want to hear about Owen’s affair any more than I already have? It’s already changed my life completely. Worse yet it’s obvious this doctor has already chosen sides, and she’s definitely on team Owen. Everything she says, the way she says it, irks me.

I really want to leave, but when Owen touches me gently, and says, “Please Cris. I need this,” I sit down. For him.

When he starts, I have to grind my teeth to keep from screaming at him. It seems I have little choice however, and I know there is only one way I can sit through it. Remove myself. I am here, listening to his words, but I detach my emotions from the words. Though they still hurt, the memory of it still stings, it’s a dull sort of pain that I can bear.

“Believe me when I say it was as much of a surprise to me as it was to her. It was definitely not planned and if I could change it, I would. If only I could go back in time. But I can’t.”

“So you accidentally fucked someone else?” The hate in my voice is so evident even to me, the emotion surprising me, especially when I thought I’d let it go. It had been part of the whole Bo affair compromise. Maybe the doctor is right, maybe we still need to talk about this.

Still, it hurts to hear it again. It’s like opening up a wound that although hadn’t healed properly, had somewhat closed up.

“I’m not saying it’s not completely my fault. What I’m saying is that I didn’t premeditate this. It wasn’t something I’d planned or even thought there was any danger of. If it had been a possibility on my radar, I would never have put myself in that situation.”

I shake my head at his words. “You should never have been in that situation in the first place, Owen. Being alone with another woman in a hotel room would be unacceptable even if you hadn’t slept with her!”

“I know! I’m in idiot.”

We both stay quiet, both looking away from the other. I can hear his rapid breathing, then deep breaths as he tries to reign in his emotions.

“Owen, why don’t you tell us what led you to invite the woman to your room,” Dr. Riker instructs. “Maybe then we can understand how it happened.”

I cross my arms across my chest subconsciously, and turn to him, but stare at his shoulder instead of his eyes. Having calmed myself after that little outburst of anger, I say, “It’s fine. I’m fine. Go ahead.”

He lets out a deep breath and wipes at his face. “Well, it wasn’t really anything special. She was the bartender at the hotel I stayed at. We were having a company dinner there, and one of my peers and I headed down for drinks a little early. It wasn’t to get drunk, we just wanted time to talk without everyone around.

“Mike was interested in her. He flirted with her and thought she reciprocated. She wasn’t someone I found attractive. Really, if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t have even noticed her at all. So, we have drinks and after dinner he wants to go back to the bar.”

As he’s telling us how this happened, I begin to imagine it in my head, to see it as a sort of movie playing out. Any details he leaves out, my mind easily makes up, inserting probably more than it should.

Cassandra. The name is engraved in my life. It will forever be a part of me. When I’m old and withered, still I will remember it.

* * *

She stands behind a wooden counter so heavily lacquered it shines like a mirror. A tight and torn black shirt strains to hold her breasts in, and makes no pretense at hiding fat rolls she doesn’t have. Long strawberry blonde hair falls in loose waves to her waist, but for that one youthful pin that keeps her bangs out of her face.

Her glossy lips curve up as she offers Mike and Owen drinks. “What can I get for you two fine gentlemen tonight?” she asks.

Mike, the bachelor who seems to be in some perpetual puberty, sits up at attention and throws her his best “Hey There” smile. “Scotch, neat for me. A Bahama mama for my friend here.”

Her head snaps to Owen as a chuckle escapes her.

Owen shakes his head at Mike’s request. “Thanks man. While I do appreciate his thoughtfulness, I’d rather have a beer. IPA?”

“Sure, we got some.”

“Okay, I’ll take whatever’s on tap,” Owen says.

“Comin’ right up!” She cheerfully spins on her heel and walks to the opposite side of the bar where she works on their drinks.

“Damn, she’s hot! What do you think, late twenties? Early twenties?” Mike asks as he practically eats her up with his eyes.

Owen looks her way, too, and gives her a quick look over. “Yup.”

She was a pretty girl, not drop dead hot as Mike made it sound, but pretty in that girl next door sort of way. Smooth skin, wide eyes and pouty lips.

“I always did like a tall girl. Look at them long legs.”

“Easy there, Mikey. You need a cold shower?” Owen slaps him on the back and laughs.

“Here you are, a Bahama Mama for you,” she says putting it in front of Mike. “And a beer for you. Enjoy!”

“Ah, you killed me, girl!” Mike cries, holding his hand to his heart in mock ache.

She winks at them and laughs. “You still have lots to learn, my boy!” she yells back at Mike as she walks to another customer.

Over the next hour, as patrons trickle out, the girl spends more and more time with the men. And as Owen drinks, the more talkative he gets. She’s from Florida, too. They find it incredibly exciting that two people would know about the same areas.

“You know Fort Myers? Oh my god, me, too!”

I roll my eyes as I envision them finding this as something to bond over. Fort Myers is huge! Lots of people are from there. But believe it or not, this is the commonality that nearly destroyed us. Not that they were attracted to each other, or that they had been through the same type of tragedy or even been to the same school. My mind may be making up half the shit, filling in lots of blanks, but this little beauty actually is coming out of his mouth.

After they’d gone on and on about it for too long, and after Mike had had one too many, he sputters something about leaving that neither Owen or Cassandra hear, and he leaves, feeling dejected.

It’s late, and all of the customers have gone, leaving the place empty and quiet.

The other employees close up the place, Cassandra and Owen too engrossed in their conversation to notice. Then, when they finally come up for breath, chairs are turned over tables, the floors are freshly mopped and the kitchen staff has left.

“Time to go! You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!” someone yells, holding the door open for them.

Cassandra grabs her things and mimes, “sorry” to the guy, and they walk out into the lobby.

“It was really great getting to know you,” Owen tells her. “Maybe we’ll catch up again some other time.”

“Maybe tomorrow night?” she asks hopeful.

“No, I leave tomorrow. But we come here all the time. See ya!” he tells her and walks away.

“Owen!” she calls to him and he turns around. “You said Crawford Co. is looking for a receptionist? Could you tell me more about it? I’d really be interested in a daytime job. These night shifts kill me. My feet hate me and so does my back.”

“Well, it’s for the offices here. It would be best to inquire about it directly,” he tells her, bowing his head and making to leave.

She stops him. “Could you give me some pointers?” Pushing her thick hair behind her ear, she looks up at him with shy doe eyes. “Maybe some details I could use during the interview that would give me an advantage? I’d be so grateful. I could come up to your room for just a minute.”

My blood boils as he tells me how it is that she ended up in his room. Could he be any dumber?

“Owen, I’m not sure you’re doing yourself any favors by telling me the details. Do you know how stupid you sound? How could you not see that she wanted in your pants!”

“I just didn’t. I was drunk. And yes, I was very, very stupid.”

I shake my head in disbelief.

Two bottles of California Cabernet and a deluxe fruit and cheese platter later, he was definitely drunk and the mood had been set.

So, I was little surprised myself when he said, “Her soft kiss took me by surprise and I didn’t react. Dazed and drunk as I was, I simply let it happen. Part of me wondered if I was dreaming. It was as though only a part of me was there, and I had no control or real consciousness.”

Cassandra pulls back, and her blue eyes look into his. Whatever she was looking for, weakness I suppose, she must have found.

This time, when she kisses him, he responds. It’s a slow, sweet contact at first. Partly hesitant. He opens his mouth when he feels her tongue begin to probe. It was then, at the first real taste of another woman that the heat in his core began to rise to the point of no return. Where there is nothing to do, but to put out the fire with the person who ignited it in the first place.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that what he’s doing is going to change his life. Even as he pulls down the black straps of her shirt and bra over her shoulders, there is a voice in his head that is screaming for him to stop!

But it becomes background noise when she bites his neck and purrs into his ear. And when she takes off his shirt and pulls on the zipper of his pants, he can’t think of anything but her mouth on him.

She lifts off him, and pulls him up with her, leading them to the bed. There, she removes the remaining bits of clothes. With a gentle push, they’re both on the bed, and then she’s hovering over him, and just like that, he’s inside her.

Cassandra’s face comes into view, and for the first time since they came into the room he focuses and realizes what he’s doing. Bile rises to his throat and he rolls over, tossing the girl onto the bed as he jumps off and dresses as quickly as he can.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demands.

“I’m married!” he tells her.

She laughs sarcastically. “You don’t say?” Suddenly, she doesn’t seem so sweet or so young. Now she seems calculating. She’s someone who’s been around the block more than a few times and she knows how to twist a man until he’s so confused he doesn’t know which way is right.

Owen throws her an annoyed glance. “I love her. This was a mistake. I was too drunk.”

She sits up, completely unabashed at her nakedness. “Pfft. I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“I think you should leave,” he tells her, barely able to keep eye contact.

She looks him up and down and laughs at his shame. “Are you serious? I thought we hit it off.”

“We did. This isn’t your fault. I should never have brought you here,” he says, acknowledging the fact that she shouldn’t have been in his room in the first place.

She stands and begins to dress. “Whatever.”

Walking to her big brown bag, she pulls out a small stack of sticky notes and writes something on one of them, then stands in front of him. “Here, when you come back to town, call me. Maybe we can finish what we started. I won’t tell your wife, pinky swear.” She sticks the yellow thing on his chest and goes to kiss him, but thinks the better of it when he winces. “See you later?”

“I’m sorry, Cassandra.”

“She was only in my room five minutes. That was all, I swear it. I won’t lie and say that I didn’t sleep with her. But I want you to understand that it was only a matter of seconds before I ended it. It was the biggest mistake of my life. Those five minutes have nearly cost me everything.”

“Why didn’t you tell me the moment you came home?” I ask him. “Why try to hide it?”

He looks at his lap, saying nothing until Dr. Riker prompts him to. “Go on Owen. Speak with honesty.”

“Shame. Guilt. Fear that I’d lose you. I thought about it. All the way home, on the plane, in the car, I went over every possible way that I could bring this up. How I could keep you from leaving me. I had already hurt you, even before you knew it, and I felt like the worst piece of shit for it. I couldn’t face it. The coward in me took over.”

“You fucked me when you got home. Instead of telling me, you fucked me,” I spat, remembering how awful it felt to know he’d been with that woman only a day before, not knowing if she’d had a disease.

“I wanted to brand you. Maybe it was to brand myself.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Owen. It’s all…” I started to say, then I replayed something he’d said at the park months and months ago, when we’d been at a company picnic and we’d run into Mike and his girlfriend. Her name had been Cassandra.

While I had imagined the woman to be an exotic beauty, at some point I’d subconsciously changed the image to the young redhead from that day. Owen had sworn to me then that it wasn’t her. That it was a coincidence that their names were the same. But just now, he said Cassandra had shown interest in working as a receptionist at the Chicago office.

My stomach turns as I realize the truth of it. “You lied about the girl at the park. That was Cassandra, wasn’t it? The girl you slept with.”

“Yes.” I know it pains him to answer honestly. But it seems that now, in this office, he’s decided to lay it all out for me. Maybe this is what he needs to heal. I’m not so sure it’s working for me.

I don’t press him further because I know why he did it. There would have been no holding back for me had I known the truth. As it was I’d slapped him so hard it virtually turned his head. I’m sure his ego took a very big hit, too, because I did it in front of his entire office. No, as crazy as I was that day, I probably would have thrown myself on him like a wild cat, trying to claw his eyes out.

Even so, to know that I’d actually met the woman made me want to slap him all over again. Harder this time.

Turning away from them, I look at the wall to my right, and see all of the doctor’s accomplishments, degrees and awards. There are pictures of herself with other people I assume are her family. Colleagues maybe. It takes me away from the present enough that I can move on from it.

“I need a break,” I say, still looking at all the little faces on the wall. I’m not crying, not even angry right this moment. It’s more of a strange calm that takes over me. “Can I step outside for a minute, alone?”

“I want to come,” Owen says standing up, but the doctor stops him with a wave of her hand.

“Take your time, Cristiana. We still have another hour in our session.”

Dear lord, another hour.

* * *

Killing time, I stare out into traffic for a good twenty minutes, wishing I still smoked. It’s that kind of day where you crave all of your past vices.

Really, I couldn’t fathom what more we could talk about. It felt like everything that I needed to know, or ever wanted to know about that damned affair, I knew.

I’d been angry for so long, had created so many scenarios in my mind as to what could have led him to do what he did. While some of it did play out as I’d imagined, it did answer a lot of questions. Like, did he enjoy himself with her? How did I compare sexually to her?

I don’t know if relief is the right word. Maybe it’s more like a release of tension that something else is going to be revealed. Or that I ever have to worry about her coming into the picture again. Because I believe when he says that he was only with her a few seconds, and I also believe that he was so revolted by what he’d done, he pushed her off.

Even though I myself was done talking, he apparently felt we still had more to discuss.

Then the thought hits me. Now that we are done talking about him, we would move on to talk about me. As willing as Owen seemed to be to discuss things, and as much as he felt the need to have everything cleared up, things were very different with me.

For one, he doesn’t love Cassandra. He was with her for less than five minutes. And even though I hate to admit it, he was right. His mistake was not premeditated. It was stupid. He was stupid. But it was not something he set out to do and he felt great remorse the moment he did it.

Not only was I with Bo for two days, but I fell in love with him. Everything that I did with him was planned, it was meant as a way to get even. And yes, I knew that it would hurt Owen. It was an intentional injury, even if it was done as a reaction to my own pain. The worst part is that even now I don’t feel regret for having slept with Bo, only regret that I didn’t feel guilty over it.

Bo… His face comes into my mind and I push against it, mentally sending it back from where it came. I may not have a choice when I sleep, dreaming of him almost every night. But I’d learned to repress those memories during the day.

Wiping at my eyes and straightening myself, I walk back in, my mind made up on what I would be willing to discuss on the subject.

Nothing.

23

“What do you want me to say, Owen. Sorry I wasn’t very friendly towards Dr. Riker. I was uncomfortable around her.”

“Friendly? Forget being very friendly, Cris, you were downright hostile.”

“I don’t like her, Owen. I don’t like how she looks at me, or that she writes shit with that fancy pen while she’s looking at me. It’s like she’s already judged and tried me. She hates me!”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“Oh yeah she does. And if I had to guess a lot of it has to do with her feelings for you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Owen gives me a quick side-glance, then faces forward once again as he drives us home.

“Have you not seen the way she looks at you? Her eyes soften and light up when they’re on you. I swear, she wants your bones.”

“Cris, she’s like sixty.”

“No, she’s definitely younger than that. And even then, women in their sixties still have fantasies, you know. I know I will!”

The words are silly, even to my own ears, and we both burst out in laughter. I turn to him as the deep rumble of his voice fills me with warmth. When he looks at me with that smile that I have loved for so long, I nearly melt.

Maybe we did get something out of this visit after all. Reliving the day we met was like a balm to my soul. Not that I’d ever stopped loving Owen, I never will, but today I fell in love with him all over again.

Unable to resist, I reach out and touch his cheek, run my fingers through his hair and around his ear. His smile falters a little. Without warning he turns right, into a small side street, and parks in front of an Animal Hospital.

He turns to me, worried. “Cris, I’m sorry about today. I thought maybe, if we laid everything out on table, it would help bring us closer. But it looks like it had the opposite effect. It wasn’t supposed to dredge up awful memories. All I wanted was to be sure there was nothing left that would create distance between us.”

“I know.” I feel awful for putting him through this. “We are closer. At least I think we are. I thought we’d gotten past all that anyway.”

“Yeah, sometimes if feels that way. But then when I really look, I can see there’s still something off. It doesn’t feel like we are us anymore. And it’s not that I’m not taking responsibility for my part in the deal. I am taking full blame. I want us back. All the way back.”

“I do, too. I want that, too. The thing is, I don’t think there’s anything left to put on the table. No, that’s wrong. I know there is more. We can sit and talk circles around it and always come up with more. But I don’t want to deal with it anymore. I want to heal and move on. With you. Can we just do that?”

He squeezes my thigh in reassurance. “Yeah, we can,” he says, reaching out and wiping at the moisture under my left eye.

When we arrive home, Katie and Mia race out to greet us. I suspect they were at the door anxiously awaiting our return.

My kid runs past my outstretched arms and straight to Owen. “Daddy!”

“Of course, chopped liver whenever Daddy’s around,” I grumble, but really it’s a sweet bond those two have, and my heart swells when I see him lift her into his arms.

Then my stomach drops as he throws her in the air and feet go over head when he flips her, and she squeals in delight even as I nearly faint.

“Owen!” I cry out to him. “You’re going to drop her one of these days!”

“Nah, kids love this. Don’t ya, love?” he asks her, tickling her round belly.

“Yeah! Again, again!” Mia begs.

I shake my head and walk away from them. “Better not to see,” I tell Katie as I pass her. She giggles and follows me in so I can pay her.

Katie, a college student that lives in our neighborhood, started working for me last month. She’s a sweet girl and so great with Mia. Recently I found a part-time position at Firth and Wells Bank. The shifts are short, but still, they go beyond Mia’s preschool hours.

After a lot of thought, and calculating, we realized it was worth the few hours I’d pay Katie for the “wrap-around care,” watching her Tuesdays and Thursdays 9-1:30 and Wednesdays a little longer since she picks her up from school. Though I do miss my little girl like crazy, I still get to spend most of the day with her, and I know she is having a blast with kids her age, and learning more than I could teach.

That evening is like any other. Playtime with Mia for Owen while I cook us dinner. We sit and have what my daughter has requested, mac n’ cheese pizza. It’s not my favorite, actually it’s a little hard to get past the idea, but both she and Owen gobble it up like it’s manna from heaven.

Much to her delight, we both put Mia to bed, each one of her parents taking a turn reading to her. Though it’s Owen in the end who stays to scratch her back and fully settle her.

“There’s a movie I want to watch on demand,” he tells me when he walks into the room.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

After we both shower, we settle into the bed and he sets up the movie. Generally, he and I don’t have the same tastes when it comes to films, and this is no exception. The military story is confusing to me, in part because I don’t keep up with the world enough to know who’s fought who, when and where and why. There are too many wars now a days, with too many bad guys. Which is another reason I don’t have interest in it. Life is already full of sadness; I don’t want it in my entertainment. In no time at all, my head begins to droop.

Looking towards him, his body so warm, my feet so cold, I scoot over and melt myself into him. Whether or not we both assumed tonight we’d be having hot sweaty sex didn’t matter. I am out like a light, the heat of him and the soft pillows at my back, combined with a movie I found boring proving too much for me.

I was out for a while, however long the movie was. When my eyes flutter open, the first thing I see are soft green ones looking right back. Owen is laying on his side facing me, his fingers tracing an invisible line from my hand up to my neck and back.

“How long have you been watching me sleep?” I ask around a yawn.

“Not long enough.” He moves the hair out of my face and tucks it in behind my left ear. “You’re so beautiful, Cris. So beautiful.” His voice is barely a whisper, and there is no question of what he wants. Especially when he leans in and takes my lips softly, his arms around my waist pulling me to him until there is no space between us.

The kiss isn’t soft, but it is slow. Tentative. He’s taking his time exploring, tasting. And so am I. My hands on his shoulders drop slowly down his arms, my fingers tracking every valley of his muscles there.

When he pushes me onto my back, I move my arms around his neck and open my legs to him. With a hand to support his weight, he uses the other to peel off my spaghetti tee and sleep shorts, and his boxers, hardly breaking lip contact during the process.

He enters me then and moves slowly at first. His kiss finally breaks, but his eyes remain glued to mine. It’s a connection that’s deeper than a kiss could have been, and I feel trapped in his gaze. “Owen,” I moan his name as that pressure builds between my legs, and with my heels and hands on his buttocks, I pull him into me harder.

“I love you, Cris.” His climax approaching, his thrusts speed up and he puts his face into my neck, nibbling at the soft skin there. When he comes, he falls onto my body, barely moving off so that I can breathe, our limbs still intertwined. “You didn’t come.”

“No. But it was still amazing. I love you, Owen.” I smile at him in a real content sort of way. There was no expectation of coming for me, not this time. And it didn’t matter. We’d just made love, and it was something so new for us because we only ever fucked. We’d never even tried to have this connection. And it was a wonderful thing.

Owen flipped onto his back and brought me with him, not caring that our bodies were now hot and sticky. I lay my head on his chest and snuggled in, playing with the hair on his chest, listening to the even beat of his heart.

We fell asleep and never moved.

* * *

What follows is an entire month of falling in love all over again. There’s that magic, that high that makes you giddy and act the fool when you first meet someone you’re crazy about. That’s how I feel with Owen now.

We often talk about the crazy things we did when we first met, all of the places we had sex. The car out in a parking lot because we got kicked out of a restaurant after being caught trying to get it on in the ladies’ restroom. And that was after we were married!

Then there was the time we were driving down to South Carolina to visit a friend of Owen’s. I’d started fingering myself in the passenger seat, more to torture him than anything. I’d ended up so wet and desperate he’d had to pull over to help get me off. Luckily I-95 was dead that day, with very few cars going by, and none of them police.

Every time we pass each other, we have to make some sort of contact, whether it be a hand reaching out for a slight touch, or a soft caress. Or as is the case right now, a hot make out session in the guest bathroom.

I’d gone in to put away some towels, when Owen pushed inside, too, and closed the door behind him.

“What are you…” is all I have time to say before I am pinned to the sink, his mouth hard against mine. Instinctively I react to him, and I begin to fumble with his t-shirt, tying to divest him of that and then his pants.

He lets me go only to flip me around. “Put your hands on the sink and don’t let go. I want to see your face in the mirror when I fuck you.”

Dear lord! I am dripping wet as he stands behind me and pulls down my pants and underwear until they drop to my ankles. His lids are heavy, the green in his eyes dark as his pupils dilate. A hand comes up between my thighs, and just barely grazes my core before it continues its way up, following the crack of my butt, then back down.

His fingers touch the skin of my pussy oh so softly, never going past the folds. Back and forth they go, over the slit. I want him inside with a desperation that might drive me insane. When his fingers finally open me and he touches the wet nub, I come undone. It’s a hard thing to do, not to cry out because your kid is just in the other room and will come in to check on you if you’re gone for more than five minutes.

He stops his assault on my clit and places his cock at my entrance, pushing in and finishing my climax from the inside. He pounds into me, and when I start to moan a little too loud, he holds a finger to his lips. “Sh.”

I give him a look that says, wait until you come!

But when he does, he’s able to maintain much more control than me, and putting his face in my hair, I can hear only his ragged breathing.

Not two seconds later, there’s a loud knock on the door. “Momma, where’s daddy?” Mia asks.

We both look at each other. We’re flushed, glistening, and completely disheveled.

“Coming out, baby. Wait for me in the playroom,” he calls out to her. “Daddy is helping mommy with something.”

Laughing out loud, we pull ourselves together, and just as I’m leaving the bathroom, Owen smacks me on the butt.

“What was that for?”

“That’s what you get for being too damned hot,” he says.

I stick out my butt at him for another spank, and when he does his hand comes between my legs again and he squeezes. “This was only an appetizer. I want the full course tonight.”

24

“Do you really have to go to this?” I whine and move over to give him a spot to set the small gray travel bag.

“I wish I didn’t. It’s nothing but an ass kissing session. And because of our last quarter’s performance, I’ll be coming home with a very brown nose.”

“Gross.” I scrunch my nose, then say, “I’m going to miss you too much.”

He smiles warmly and gives me a quick peck on the mouth before continuing with his packing, his toiletry bag, two changes of clothes, shoes and belt. “I’m going to miss you, more. But at least it’s only overnight.”

Owen is leaving for Raleigh tomorrow before dawn to be there in time for a meeting at eight-thirty in the morning. They’d just opened a compact storefront there, the first of its kind for Crawford Co. The heads of the company decided to make this not only a tour for everyone in their district, but a performance meeting and team builder at the same time. Guess it saved them money.

Though it was only overnight, he’d be gone all of tomorrow and not come back until Saturday evening.

“Who schedules meetings on a Saturday anyway?” I mope.

“People who work seven days a week. They don’t know anything about weekends, Cris.”

Sitting up I pout and knee-walk to him. He laughs and opens his arms to me, bringing me in for a tight embrace, fitting my head neatly beneath his chin. I know I’m being a big baby, but it’s nice that he’s humoring me.

“Did you already check in on Mia?” I ask him. We’d put her to bed about thirty minutes ago, and it was his custom to check on her to make sure she hadn’t thrown off every cover and turned herself completely around in bed.

“No. Why don’t you go get real nice and clean for me while I do? I want to take the taste of you with me.” He didn’t have to tell me twice!

* * *

Friday is a school day for Mia, work day for me. I have to say I am really enjoying my job at the tiny branch. It’s a slow location, where most of our customers come only for business, no time for chit chat. They race in, make a deposit or two, and they are gone. Very little complaints. Though I’ve only been here about two months now, I’ve started shadowing our loans officer in an effort to learn as much as I can before I myself go for training.

I do miss Mia like crazy. Going from spending all day with her, to only half of that time now has been particularly tough. Much harder than I’d have thought. As for her, I half wonder if she really cares. Between the fun at school and the fun with Katie, I don’t really know if she thinks of me all day the way I do her.

I’d once had a working mom try to explain to me what it was like to leave your kids. I didn’t get it, how someone could work when they just as well stay at home with their children. She told me it wasn’t that she was choosing work over them, or that she loved them any less. It was about retaining the capability of taking care of herself if she ever had to. She wanted that sense of control over her life.

Now I understand what she meant. Since I’ve started working, making my own money and not been so highly dependent on Owen, I’ve resented him less. Feared for myself less, too.

Today I picked Mia up at the usual two o’clock. We go for frozen yogurt, her favorite, and honestly mine, too, then come home for some Mommy/Mia playtime. She rides her bike, then we play soccer. There isn’t a soul in sight, everyone in school. Even Jess is out somewhere by the looks of her empty driveway. She isn’t obligated by any means, but for some reason I hate it when she doesn’t keep me updated on her whereabouts. The crazy stalker in me makes me wonder where she is, who she’s with.

After so much play, we head in and hang out on Mia’s bedroom floor. There’s something about playing with dolls, that although was a specialty of mine as a little girl, now lulls the shit out of me. It is so boring, that the play mixed with Mia’s sweet voice puts me to sleep every single time. At least she knows it going in.

“Are you goin’ to sleep, Momma?” she asked right before we started.

“I’m really going to do my best to stay awake, my love.”

I did, too, going as far as taking ice water in there with me. I started in a sitting position. Within five minutes I found myself leaning on my right arm. Five more minutes and I was laying down on my elbows. Sometime between having to pretend that I was a fairy named Carly, and turning into a mommy of three, I blacked out and my head fell hard.

“Oh my God!” I sat up startled.

Then I repeated the process. Sit, lean, lay. Next thing I know I’m dreaming I’m at Burger King and damn, this is gonna be good! I’m about to take a guiltless bite of my Whopper, only in a dream would that happen, when my phone buzzes. I try to dig in my pocket for it, but it’s not there. Then suddenly becoming aware that this may be a dream, I shove that burger into my mouth before I wake up without at least tasting it. But it’s too late.

My eyes pop open to the sight of my four-year old handing me my phone. “Momma, someone called you.”

“Thank you, baby.” I wipe my face and take my phone.

That someone had in fact been Jess, and it had been a text, not a phone call.

Jess: U think u can get KT 2 watch Mia 2night?

Me: I don’t know, why?

Her: Kev’s coming home early. Been 2 dr’s appts. All day. Need 2 drnk.

Me: Where do you want to go?

Her: MX fd.

Me: What the hell is that?

Her: What u R!

Me: The fuck! Can you use actual words?

I type with irritation, hitting each letter extra hard. Who the hell is she hanging out with that she’s been abbreviating everything. There are times that I can hardly understand what she’s trying to say.

Her: I said I’d like to go out this evening because Kevin is coming home early. I’ve been at doctor’s appointments with the kids all day. Everyone’s damned checkups. I need a break. Can you ask Katie to watch Mia? Would you like to eat Mexican Food, you know, how you are Mexican? That is what sounds really good to me.

I roll my eyes at her over clarification.

Me: I will ck with KT. MX sounds good.

Then I add a winking emoji.

Me: Where to?

Her: La Casa?

La Casa. Wow, she must really need a break.

“Hey,” she answers when I dial her. Sometimes texting takes too long.

“I don’t have anything nice enough to wear to La Casa. You want to go somewhere else? Burger King, maybe?” I cross my fingers.

“Uh, no. I’ve been craving Mexican. And… I sort of bought myself a little something nice today.”

“Didn’t you say you went to the doctor?” I question her.

“Yeah. All three kids had appointments back to back.”

“So when did you go shopping?”

“Right after.”

My eyes widen. “With all three?”

“Yeah, why?”

I shake my head in disbelief. She is my can-do-it-all-with-three-kids-in-tow goddess. “No, I mean, I take Mia shopping every chance I get.” Not! “Anyway, did you buy me a little something nice, too?”

“No. Come on, Cris. I never go anywhere. Just say yes, pleeeaaasse! You can borrow something of mine.”

“Okay, okay. But I’m going to have to take you up on that offer. The nicest thing I have to wear are work clothes.”

“Well then come and pick something.”

After texting Katie and getting a fast reply to accept, which is why I love the girl, Mia and I head over to Jess’ house. We walk hand in hand, and she looks so dang cute with her little purse crossed over her chest, full of little toys she refuses to leave behind.

The first thing she does when we get there is race up to the playroom with the kids. This is my favorite age I think. Sometime in the last month or two she’s grown up so much, able to say her ‘r’s now and even plays on her own a little. So much more independent.

“So, what do you have in here?” Jess and I are in her huge walk-in closet as I riffle through all her clothes.

“Pick anything you want, except for this little baby.” She pulls out a strappy mini dress that I think would probably fit someone of my stature better, but with her long legs I’m sure she will get a lot more attention.

“Jess, you’re like six feet tall, none of these dresses are going to fit me. Long, too long, way too long.” One by one I check them off the list of possibilities. “Maybe I can wear one of your shirts as a dress,” I grumble as I continue to browse through her clothes.

Nope, nope, no… Then my hand stops when it comes across a familiar red hue, and so does my heart.

“You like-y that one? That color would look very caliente on you. And that’s what I want, hotness. We need to dress to kill!”

The last time I wore a red like this… I take my hand off the material as the memory of another dress tries to surface, but I suppress it as fast as I can. “I don’t know. It may be too provocative on me.”

She frowns. “Psh, don’t be ridiculous.” She pushes me aside and pulls it out by the hanger, then puts it to my neck.

Though the halter-top dress is gorgeous, and probably too fancy even for La Casa, it’s too long and much too revealing, with the back fully exposed and only a pearl and diamond chain to hold it together. It would definitely be an attention getter; of that I have no doubt. The question is, how much attention do I want?

“I don’t know.”

“Cris, you have to wear this. There is no other option.” With her eyes wide as they are, I feel that there really is no other option.

“It is sexy. Killer, even.” Nodding my head once, I agree to wear the thing, telling myself that red is just a color. It has no great significance, and it certainly doesn’t mean every time I wear it I’ll end up with a certain sexy, tall man between my legs.

25

Katie came over early to help me with Mia so that I could have a little extra time to get ready in peace. It’s been a long time since I’ve been anywhere where I couldn’t wear shorts and flip flops, so I want to make sure that I get as much out of tonight as I can.

The laughter that can be heard all the way to the bathroom makes me feel a little less guilty about leaving Mia with the sitter tonight.

After a long shower, I lotion myself up with my favorite Bath and Body Works scent, Velvet Sugar. There’s just something so sexy about it that makes me feel feminine, seductive and plain old yummy. Even though Owen wouldn’t be here to enjoy it, I would be. This one was just for me.

Applying my make-up a little heavier, dark eyes and the forbidden red lips, I pull my long hair up into a messy half-bun, half-ponytail, with curls falling to frame my face and graze my shoulders. Wearing my hair down is my signature look, especially when I want to feel sexy, and maybe it’s a bit of a security blanket, too. There is something daring about having your face and neck exposed. It demands confidence even when you may not have it.

After putting on my black strappy heels, I slip into the slinky material of the red dress, link the chain of the halter to the back of my neck, then do a slow twirl in front of the long mirror that hangs at the back of my closet door. Just as I’d suspected would be the case, the dress hangs a little long, past my knees. While I’m sure it’s not meant to go that long, surely it doesn’t on Jess, it looks good.

In truth, other than the color, there isn’t much to the front view of this dress. Nope, with this dress it’s all in the back, as I note when I turn and look at myself over my shoulder. Hot damn! My entire back is exposed, the dress cut so low I’m a little afraid my crack will come into view if I don’t watch my posture. The long chain with the single large gem that dangles between my shoulder blades, twinkles and calls the eye to the area, if the nakedness of it wasn’t enough to already do so.

It’s sexy as hell. Even to my own eyes I look damned good. This is a rare thing.

Feeling a little bold, I take a picture of myself and send it to Owen. His reply comes instantly.

Owen: I damn near fell out my chair. You look fucking amazing.

Me: You think so?

Him: Where are you going?

I’d talked to him earlier about going out with Jess, but he’d been about to head out to dinner with his peers and we couldn’t really talk.

Me: La Casa.

Him: That will be nice.

Me: I think so.

Him: Are you wearing a bra?

I don’t know how to answer. If I say no, it could be a turn on for him. It could also annoy him that I’d go out bare like that.

Me: Yes.

It’s sort of the truth. I am wearing an adhesive bra that I’ve had for a while sitting in the very back of my underwear drawer. Dear lord, I hope it doesn’t fall off!

Him: Will you wear that for me so I can strip it off you when I come home?

I grin at the thought.

Me: Maybe you’ll find me naked already.

Him: Even better.

Giggling I send him a kiss face and as many hearts as I can squeeze into the little screen.

“Wow, Mrs. Roberts, you look freaking hot!” Katie says admiringly.

“Thank you! I feel nice.”

“Katie, come find me!” Mia calls out from somewhere in the kitchen.

“Baby, Momma is leaving. Come say bye.”

“I’m hidin’,” she yells back at me.

My feelings only a little hurt, I call back, “Come say bye, love. Katie is putting you to bed and I’ll be real sad if I don’t have a hug and a kiss to see me through the night.”

At that she comes running out and throws her little arms around my legs. I bend down and give her a tight squeeze and a kiss on her plump cheek. “Momma loves you. Be good to Miss Katie, you hear?”

“Yeah!” she yells over her shoulder as she runs back to the kitchen. “Katie!”

Katie looks at me chuckling. “Have fun, Mrs. Roberts. We’ll be great.”

The plan is for me to walk over to Jess’ house and leave in five minutes.

It’s fairly chilly outside, and I grab a black knit sweater I have that has diamond buttons, not an exact match to the jewel on the dress, but close enough. Though the sweater may not provide enough warmth for the evening, we’ll be inside anyway. In a hurry to get out the door, I drape the thing over my arm and head out.

Out of habit I look to the Jensen’s house as I walk to the street. Never, not once since I came back from New Orleans has there been anyone out there. Whether it be sheer coincidence or that it’s just too chilly most days to spend time out there, I don’t know.

Whatever the reason, it doesn’t apply to today. My heart stops. My breathing. The Earth’s spinning. Mrs. Jensen is outside at the backend of a black Ford Raptor, right beside Bo. He’s loading something, and as they hear my heels clack on the pavement they both turn to me.

All of the blood simultaneously rushes to my limbs and heart. Doing the best to stop that fight or flight feeling, I trip, but catch myself before I fall, my arms flailing in that way they do when we try to retain our balance.

“Cristiana!” Mrs. Jensen calls out to me.

“I’m okay!” I call back and wave, then spin on my heel and try to make a quick retreat to Jess’, but Lydia Jensen isn’t appeased.

“Cris, come here a moment, darlin’! Let me talk to you!”

Groaning, I stop, and turn to them. “I’m heading out with Jess!”

“It won’t be but a moment!”

Bo closes the tailgate and stands to face me fully. He’s not smiling, his posture straight and quite frankly a lot intimidating.

Swallowing hard and taking a nice deep breath for courage, I make my way to them. All the while, Bo’s eyes are like steel on me, assessing, demanding answers I’m sure. And the closer I get to them, the taller and more overwhelming he seems. And oh my, but even now, when he’s not his charming devilish self, I am so attracted to him. I know that the closer I get, the less likely I’d be able to walk away even if I could.

My limbs begin to shake as everything becomes muted, the world fading into the background, sounds drowned out by the loud beating of my heart in my ears. Dear lord, I’m going to have a heart attack! And vomit. One of the two for sure.

“Where are you goin’, love? You look stunning!” Mrs. Jensen drawls, and she thankfully takes me into an embrace, braking me free of Bo’s gaze.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jensen. Jess and I are headed out on a girl’s night.”

“My goodness, well you are just a tremblin’, sugar. You must be freezing! Put that sweater on!” she suggests, grabbing the thing and attempting to drape it over my shoulders.

Freezing? No, I wasn’t freezing. If anything, I felt like I was burning up from the inside out.

Completely unaware of Bo’s and mine inner battles, his mother kept on. “Is Owen at home with my baby girl?”

“No, I have a sitter. He’s in Raleigh for the night,” I say. At the mention of Owen, I glance wearily at Bo, and regret it almost instantly.

He looks pissed. “Can I talk with you? In private,” he tells me.

“Why, Boey, what can you possib…” Lydia isn’t allowed to finish.

Not caring about appearances, Bo grabs me by the hand and pulls me into the house.

“Bo! What are you doing? Do you know what people are going to say!” I screech all the way to the downstairs guestroom.

“Bo!” Mrs. Jensen calls, following us into the house, but he closes and locks the door before she can come into the room.

Ignoring the banging on the door, he turns to me, fuming. “You can’t wear that, I... It’s too much.”

“What?” I ask confused, holding the fabric of the décolletage up higher. “No, this is just a dress.”

Then just as suddenly as his anger sparked, he looks confused, wiping at his face and pacing in front of me. “Please don’t wear it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I feel sexy. Don’t you think I look pretty?” Yes, that last one I asked to tease him. I recognize it for what it is. Though this wasn’t meant for him, now that he’s in front of me, I want him to like it.

He answers too honestly perhaps, and certainly too close as he stands so near his breath fans my hair and his heat burns me. “Cris, you look more than pretty in that. You look so sexy I can feel my blood run white hot. And your skin,” he whispers, running the tips of his fingers over my back, up my shoulder and neck, and down between my breasts. My nipples harden to such hard points that my sticky bra pads lose their suction and I can feel the thing drop to my waist with a pop-pop, first one side, then the other.

When he places his hand on my chest, I know he can feel my wildly beating heart, my panting.

“Bo.” It’s a plea for him to stop, or to start. I don’t know.

He kisses me then, his mouth hard on mine, taking everything from me, completely obliterating the wall I’d built to keep my feelings for him suppressed. It all explodes free, and I lose any sense of control I may have had.

I open myself to him, letting him do what he will. We fall onto the bed, with me writhing beneath him, biting, clawing at him.

The banging on the door has stopped, not that it would have mattered. There is no stopping this now.

Bo’s hand reaches behind my neck and I hear the chain give a second before the halter falls away from me, exposing my breasts to him. He takes them into his mouth and bites at the crests. My legs tighten around him even as my fingers pull at his hair and keep him there, suckling.

“Fuck, Cris, I need you.”

I need him, too. Desperately, I bring his mouth to mine and help him undo his belt and yank his shorts off. His hands push my dress up and then the little scrap of cloth that covers my entrance is pulled aside, and he’s inside me in one stroke.

His intake of breath matches my own as he begins to thrust, and I’m lost in him again.

He fills me so deeply that every cell in my body feels the impact, and in this moment, I know there is nothing better than him.

Like an animal he fucks me, nothing tame or gentle. And when he feels me come, it pushes him into his own orgasm and he pours himself into me.

When it’s done, we both lay in a sweaty mess. I look up into his beautiful blue green eyes, and he bears his soul to me. He’s missed me as much as I have him, only he hasn’t been afraid to say it.

“Please, Cris we need to talk,” he says.

I don’t reply. I’m still struggling to breathe and I can feel my eyes glisten. This is too much. He’s too much. He takes too much from me and still I want to give him more. It terrifies me.

So, I shut him out and push against him until he rolls off. As fast as I can, I pick up my little pasty bra and pull my dress up to cover myself. Before he has a chance to say anything else, I run out the door like the devil is at my heels.

26

I run as fast as my high heels will carry me, not looking back once. My heart is pounding hard in my chest as I fly through the front door and shut it hard behind me.

“Mrs. Roberts, are you all right?” Katie asks when I pass her and Mia sitting on the living room floor.

“Yeah, I… uh, spilled something on my dress.” Like semen. Shit!

“Momma!” Mia calls out to me.

“I’ll be back down in a sec, baby!” I yell as I fly up the stairs.

All the way to my room I stumble, pulling at the straps, yanking off that red thing that burns me now. I throw it in the hamper and cover it quickly with a towel, then stand at the far end of the room and stare at it as though it would come alive any moment and give all of my dirty secrets away.

He’s all over me, his scent, his sweat, his heat. Even as I shower in a rush, I feel like I can’t get him off me. Images of what we just did slam into me, one after the other. His kiss, passionate and angry, his tongue demanding. His hands in my hair, pulling at the neck of the dress to expose my breasts to him, his mouth all over them.

My panties shoved to the side as he slides his thickness into me. I couldn’t breathe then from the feeling of him inside, and it’s almost impossible to breathe now thinking of it.

I scrub at my skin harder, knowing that even if I bleed I can’t undo this sin. I can’t get him off me, because he’s not on me. He’s inside, in every part of my being.

As hard as I may have tried to forget, he’s never left. My feelings for him never left, they were always there, waiting for the right moment to take me over.

What. Have. I. Done.

My phone starts to buzz out of control. I hurry out and check my messages. Jess. She’s sent me about a hundred texts, and left just as many voicemails.

-Where the heck are you? You were supposed to be here 30 minutes ago.

-Are we still going?

-Hello?

-I’m coming to your house.

-I’m at your house.

-I’m watching you read my message.

That last one startles me and I drop the phone.

“Creep,” I say, even though I’m alone in the bathroom.

-Gotcha! But really, I’m outside your bathroom door.

“Sorry, Jess. I’ll be right out!” I yell through the door.

“All right, but you’d better have a good explanation!” she yells back. “Like you died in a car crash or something.”

I grab the first thing I see, a gray satin short sleeve and black slacks, then throw on my usual black wedges. After quickly finger combing my wet hair, I put on some mascara, completely foregoing everything else. No more red lipstick for this girl!

Jess nearly falls in when I open the bathroom door, and her big cheesy smile slowly fades as she takes me in. “Where’s my dress?”

“I changed my mind,” I say pushing past her. “This is going to have to do.”

“No, yeah, you look great. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” She follows after me, but I stop and groan when I really look at her. She looks amazing, her blonde, freshly bobbed hair straightened. With her eyes smoky, her lips perfectly glossed, and that tight black mini dress that shows off her feminine, yet athletic physique, she’s stunning. And me? Not so much.

She’d wanted to go “killer hot,” as she put it. It wasn’t a lie when I said I had nothing of my own that matched her requirements, thus my sad attire now.

Damn it, I shouldn’t have borrowed that dress. Something told me not to wear it, but I didn’t listen to my gut. Never in a million years would I have imagined what happened. Damn those red dresses! Maybe I really should stay away from the color. Damn, damn, damn!

“It’s a long story, Jess. I’ll tell you over dinner.”

“Ok, well, the Uber has been out there for like twenty minutes.”

“It’s HUber,” I say. “He’s always there.”

Hubert, which we nicknamed HUber, is a young man who moved in down the street. He goes to school during the day and does Uber in the evenings. Mostly I think he sticks to giving the neighbors rides.

“Yes, but I feel bad he’s been waiting, so let’s get.”

* * *

La Casa is a very upscale Mexican restaurant in downtown Charlotte that had been intended to be casual and relaxed as their menu reflected. But because of the authentic décor, standout recipes, and low lighting, it became more of a formal evening experience.

It is actually kind of strange to see everyone dressed so nice, in suits and ties and sexy dresses, all the while eating finger foods and burritos.

Though we missed our reservation thanks to me, a table is freed after only ten minutes sitting standby. Jess orders all of her favorites as always, and begins shoving them in her face as soon as they come. The way she’s eating one would think she was starved, but the truth is that she has never denied herself a food she craves.

She is fascinating to me. I stare at her sitting there, happily eating away, not a care in the world. At least it seems to me that way.

When she finally catches me looking, she smiles and slurps in a bit of cheese, winking as she does.

“How can you eat so much without gaining weight?” I ask her.

“Meh, genes I guess,” she answers nonchalant.

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah,” I say and take a tiny sip of my expensive margarita. Dear lord, I never do well with tequila! “Should have ordered piña colada.”

She takes a nacho and starts piling steak and beans onto it. “So, what’s up with you? I thought we were supposed to look smokin’ hot tonight. Not that you don’t, you’re always gorgeous. Was the dress too long?”

“Yeah, it was a little long, but it fit nice otherwise. So, remember the red dress I bought a while back?”

“The one you supposedly never wear cause it’s red, even though you agreed to wear mine? Is that why you’re not wearing it?”

“Not really. What I didn’t tell you was that I did wear it. Once. The night Bo and I slept together the first time.” I had told her almost everything, so she at least knew that I’d been with him more than once. But I had left out some of the details, like the fact that I’d never washed the dress, instead sealed it in a Ziploc bag and put it high in the linen closet where Owen never dares to go.

“Okay. So, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, when I started walking to your house I kind of ran into Mrs. Jensen and him. I was wearing your dress. I think maybe it reminded him too much of our first time.” I know it did me. That was part of the problem with wearing it.

“And?” She motions me with her free hand to continue.

“He asked me to take it off.”

“What?” she frowns and puts the entire loaded chip into her mouth. “So vut did ju zoo?” sounds like she says around her food.

I chew on my lip before I say, “I fucked him.”

Small chunks of nacho spray at me, and I jump out of my chair, wiping myself. “What the?”

Jess’ face looks like it’s frozen into an about-to-vomit look. She begins to heave without really making a sound, and I swear she’s turning blue right before my eyes.

For a horrifying moment, she looks like something out of the Exorcist and it scares the shit out of me. Then, when I realize this has nothing to do with a spook, I spring to action. “Jess, what’s wrong?” I practically scream, pounding on her back. “Are you choking!”

Her eyes water and she shuts them tight as she slaps her hands against the table, knocking her nachos onto the floor.

“Someone, help!” I position myself behind her, willing to do the Heimlich maneuver even though I never learned, but I had to do something!

“Move lady,” a young kid tells me, couldn’t be more than fourteen. He radiates so much authority I move aside without any argument. In one quick move, he puts his arms around her and pulls.

Next thing I know Jess is bent over the table, coughing, spit coming down in thick rivulets from her mouth. She takes deep breaths and nods. “Thanks, kid,” she says in a broken gravelly voice.

“No problem. My little sister choked once and my dad made sure we all knew what to do in case it ever happened again. Glad I could be of service,” he said with a slight bow and left us to stare after him.

“Wow, he’s gonna have some lady luck when he grows chest hair,” I say admiringly.

Jess turns to me, and I shrink back from the glare. “I think I’m ready to go home.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

I feel so bad for her. In one split second she went from hot and perky, to looking rough and angry. Black streaks her face from where the tears had run down, and bits of half chewed nacho cover her breasts.

She walks out leaning on our waiter, and I pay our bill, calling HUber as I head to the door. When I step out into the cool night I spot Jess sitting sadly on a bench.

Sitting next to her, I rub her back. “I am so sorry.”

“Yeah, well. What can you do? I just wasn’t expecting that you fucked Bo. In my dress.”

“Believe me, I wasn’t expecting to do it. It just happened.”

“I don’t want that dress back, by the way. It’s tainted!” she shudders overdramatically.

I cover my face with my hands. “I know! I am so sorry, Jess.”

“How does this just happen? And like, five minutes after you tell me you’re on your way?” she asks around a cough. She’s sounding much better, but there’s still a roughness to her voice that makes me want to clear my own throat.

“Well, like I said, I ran into them outside. I don’t know, Jess, it was like something crazy came over him, like an enraged bull when he sees the red cape of the matador.” I pause there, taking in my own perfect analogy. “Anyway, he looked hurt, pissed, desperate, all at the same time. Then he dragged me into the house… Shit what Mrs. Jensen must be thinking. She banged on the door almost the entire time!”

Jess visibly cringes for me. “Man, that makes my choking at a fancy restaurant seem like a standing ovation. She probably thinks you’re a slut.”

“Jess!”

“What! I didn’t say I think that. But you know she’s probably wondering what kind of woman comes into her house and does that. I mean, Kev and I don’t fuck at our parents’ house, and we’re married!”

I shake and nod my head at the same time, because what she’s saying is true, but every bit of me wants to deny it.

“Well, as you can imagine, the dress was ruined. I should never have worn it in the first place. Now look what I’ve done, exactly what I hated Owen for. Again!”

“So…” she gives me a sideways glance and a sassy grin. “How was it?”

She makes me chuckle against my will and I sit back against the wooden planks. “There are no words, sweet Barbie. He touched me so deep I don’t know if I can ever get him out.”

“He’s that big, eh?”

I slap her on the arm. “Stop it! You know what I mean. Although, I won’t lie. He is the biggest I’ve had.”

“Damn good! It better be worth it, because you know this is the beginning of the end,” she says, her words so serious they scare me. “You are going to tell Owen, aren’t you?”

I frown, because the thought of keeping this to myself had crossed my mind. “Yes. I just don’t know how. What have I done, Jess?”

She shakes her head in sympathy. “I’m here for you. Always, girl.”

“I know.” I lean my head against her shoulder and close my eyes.

The beginning of the end.

27

Even though we’d planned on a late night out, it wasn’t much past eight-thirty before we got home. HUber drops Jess off first, and she gives me a weary smile when she climbs out of the Prius.

“See you tomorrow?” she asks. “Kev’s got to work so we’ll be home all day.”

“Yeah, sure. Maybe we can take the kids to the park or something.”

With that she closes the door, and I’m dropped off only a few seconds later. I thank HUber for the lift and tip him, making my way up the driveway, past Katie’s old blue Beetle.

She’s in the kitchen tiding up when I walk in.

“Mrs. Roberts, I thought you’d be out till much later,” she says. “I just started the dishes.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. How did Mia do?”

“Awesome as always.”

After walking Katie out, I walk up to check in on Mia. She’s completely out, sleeping sideways with her head pushed up against the rail and her legs up against the wall. Lifting her, I readjust her body. She makes little annoyed smacks, but doesn’t wake.

I cover her sweaty body, only because I know that she’ll wake up freezing if I don’t, and move her ringlets up away from her face. With my fingertip, I trace her sleep warmed cheek and smile. She looks so sweet when she sleeps, just like her father. And just like him, she can be a real handful while awake.

“Sweet dreams, my love,” I whisper and kiss her forehead, before heading out to my room.

Then I get a text.

Owen: Are you still out?

Guilt crawls into my being, clawing at my insides and shredding my soul. It takes me a long while to build the courage to reply.

Me: Yeah, got home a while ago.

Him: Everything ok?

Knowing him, he probably senses something.

Me: Yeah, just tired. Heading to bed. Goodnight.

Him: Goodnight. I love you.

I don’t respond, not because I don’t love him, but because I’m so damned ashamed.

I shower again, and once again it doesn’t matter how much I scrub, the essence of Bo remains. It follows me into bed.

Sleep is an elusive bitch tonight, when all I want is the sweet relief of oblivion. I don’t want to think anymore, to remember everything that shouldn’t have been made a memory in the first place.

For hours, I toss and turn in my empty cold bed. I think of calling Owen, but I can’t because no matter what I’ve done, I can still smell Bo on me.

Bo. Damn him, but I can’t get the man out of my head!

Growling in frustration, I throw the covers off and stomp downstairs, straight to the pantry. There is a lovely bottle of vodka calling my name, seducing me with the promise of a blackout. Even with the knowledge that there will be hell to pay in the morning, I simply add it to my list of sins for the night, and reach for the blue bottle.

Adding a some of Mia’s orange/mango juice to the mix, I have nothing else, I throw it back like it’s a shot. Refilling my drink, not once, but twice, I grab a bag of goldfish and head upstairs.

I should go to bed. But instead of making use of the languid feeling that fills my limbs and muddles my mind, I head straight to the linen closet in my bathroom.

Using my little step, I reach my arm through two large plastic bins and move my hand about until I come across the soft bag. I yank it out and swallow back the knot in my throat as I see the red.

As I go from buzzed to outright drunk, I plop onto my bed and back onto my fluffy pillow, opening the bag. I pull out the red dress and am instantly hit with the scent of that night back in November, when I’d been with Bo for the first time. Yes, it is a little musty, it had been drenched in rain at some point. But beyond the wet and beyond the sweat, is Bo. He is still all over it, his clean, masculine scent still lingering.

Closing my eyes, I bring it to my nose and sob. Like a baby I cry, mouth open, so loud I am glad that Mia sleeps like the dead and doesn’t wake up.

“Bo!” I say over and over.

It’s him that I call for, even though I shouldn’t say his name, not anymore.

But I can’t help it. He is ever present in my mind. There is nothing on this Earth that can pry him out of my thoughts. Always he’s there. His scent. His touch. His face.

Pulling out my phone, I go to my pictures and find the hidden screen shots of Bo’s and my conversations, reading them all again. Then, the very last one that came in almost two months ago.

Bo: It’s been a month, Cris.

Me: You know I can’t leave Owen. I love him.

Him: And me? Do you love me? Either you want me or you don’t.

Me: You know I do. But it’s not that easy.

Him: Yes, it is. And if you love me, you should be with me. Do whatever it takes to be with me.

Me: You can only say that because you’re single.

Him: I can say that because I love you. You know how I feel about you. I want you. I want to share my life with you. Cris, you’re the one. Everything in my gut tells me. You need to make a choice.

Me: There is no choice to be made. I’m with Owen.

Him: Fine. Take all the time you need. Let me know when you’re ready. Till then, you won’t hear from me again.

True to his word, I hadn’t heard from him since. It was torture. But somehow I’d managed to suppress my feelings, to push them back and go on auto pilot. Maybe that’s what Owen meant when he said I wasn’t there. In a way, I wasn’t.

After the visit with Dr. Riker, everything Owen and I had shared, it felt like I was back to normal. Then all it took to bring down the obvious charade, for what else could it be, was one look at Bo. Because really, I lost myself the moment I saw him. The “fucking” had nothing to do with it.

And because I’m a glutton for agony, I look through the music playlist on my phone.

Have you ever been so afraid of a song, your finger hovering over the play button, for fear that the sound of it would evoke all those feelings even now lurking in your throat, and would burst forth with the total annihilating force of a tornado? A hurricane? As if keeping that melody silenced is enough to keep an aching heart away?

But there is nothing strong enough to stop nature’s fury, not tonight. And I listen, letting it kill me time and again. The music pours into me like a poison, and I take that deep breath that precedes an even deeper cry. I miss him.

At some point during my emotional breakdown, I climb onto the elliptical that we have in our room, taking my vodka with me. Placing it in the cup holder, I begin to climb, putting as much energy as anyone with liquor in their veins can. The harder I pump my legs, the harder I cry.

Clarity by Zedd comes on, and I sing it loudly, in full agreement with the words. Bo is my insanity and our love would be tragedy.

Then Taylor Swift’s song Dress reminds me of how Bo had taken my red dress off, not once, but twice.

The images of our sex plays in my head over and over, until like a tumor, I wish to excise all memory of him. It’s a decease, this infatuation I have with him, and little by little it’s taken my sanity.

Song after song comes on, until after a while they don’t even make sense, but I still find a way to relate them to Bo. Anaconda makes me think of him for obvious reasons. Red, Red Wine, because if I drank wine, that’s what I would be doing right now, straight from the bottle.

I become so engrossed in the music, in letting go of all that pent-up longing, that my legs move slower than the elliptical, and I’m thrown off balance so hard I am fully flung off the machine. It was a blessing, really. It could have been so much worse. I don’t always, but this time I am aware that it’s time to quit. Wobbly getting up, I somehow get into bed.

Rolling up the dress, I snuggle into it and hold it as if though it were the man himself. As I finally drift off, he is the last thing on my mind.

Bo, why can’t I get you out of my head, Please, please let me go…

Come back to me, Bo. Come back to me. Come back to me. Come back…

Bo. I love you. Bo, Bo…

28

I’m in a goldfish and vodka sort of hell.

“Momma. M-m-m-m-Momma. Mommy. Momma. Mommy. Momma. I’m awake now. Momma.” Mia’s little voice comes in loud and clear through the monitor and reverberates in my head like a bullet gone astray that was able to penetrate my skull, and is now ricocheting in there scrambling my brains.

Anyone with small children is probably cringing at my story by now. Not because of the fact that I’m making a total mess out of my life, but because they know what it’s like to drink like you’re young and single. But you’re not. You still have to wake up at the crack of dawn, ready to care for another being the entire day. Someone who doesn’t care that you feel like shit.

Sitting at the kitchen table, hating myself more than I have ever in my entire life, I sit with Mia while she has her breakfast, desperately trying not to vomit at the smell of her scrambled eggs.

“Momma, when is Daddy coming home?”

“Later, baby. He still has a few meetings.” Owen had called me earlier in the morning. When he asked what was wrong, I told him the truth. I was hungover as fuck.

My phone buzzes, the sound of it booming in my ears. I put my hand over my eyes for fear that they’ll pop out from the pressure in my head, then grab the thing to see who the torturer is.

Jessoc D. my phone says. The day I’d entered Jess’ contact, Mia had taken my phone and her fingers hit the additional letters. I don’t know why I’ve never corrected her name on my contacts. Even now, I just let it be.

Jess: S’up.

Me: Hey.

Her: We still taking the kids to the park? Or should we just Bun it and feed your hangover while we watch them play?

Me: How’d you know I was hungover?

I look out the kitchen window to see if she’s peeking in.

Her: After what happened yesterday, there is no way you didn’t hit the bottle when you got home. And knowing you, you had no self-control.

Me: I cried hysterically while I exercised on the elliptical. Like a crazy person.

There’s no response for a while, then, a few minutes later comes her reply in the form of a GIF, with a woman on a treadmill wearing a head band that is open-mouth crying. Back and forth the little picture goes, her arms flapping like she’s swimming, or better yet, drowning, her legs wildly mimicking the movements.

A burst of laughter bubbles out of me and it sort of makes me mad that she made me laugh when I am supposed to feel down.

Damn it if Owen didn’t hook her on making those a month ago when the Donahues came over for a cookout. So now between the two of them, I get a healthy dose of memes and GIFs every day. Probably more than anyone should.

Me: The Bun sounds amazing. The sooner the better.

We’re the lucky people that live near The Bun, as there are only two in the country, one here in Charlotte not too far from when we live, and the other somewhere in Alaska.

Beyond having my favorite burger, nothing more than just a cheeseburger with shredded lettuce, a thick slice of tomato and mayo, so simple but oh so delicious, they also have one of the best playgrounds I’ve ever seen. Part inside, with slides and climbing walls galore, there is also an outdoor area that is open during the summer months only, with a small splash pad and another playset.

Though it’s a fairly warm March day, it’s certainly not warm enough to frolic in jets of cold water, and I’m so happy it’s closed because Mia wouldn’t care. She’d still splash around until her lips turned blue, then she’d run to me and plaster her cold little body to my dry one for heat. And I, as a good mother, would sacrifice my warmth to her, but my face would contort in agony as the icy water would penetrate my skin like needles.

A chill goes through me and I shiver at the thought as I stare through the window and remember last summer.

“Did you just imagine that damned cold water?” Jess asks, a shiver going through her, too.

“Yeah. I brought Mia on that cool day back in August, do you remember? It just didn’t cross my mind that the water would be so cold in summer. And with the cooler weather… It was bad.”

“Yup. Been there. Come on, let’s go sit over there,” she hints at a table right at the border of the playground where we can watch the kids and monitor anyone who approaches.

We sit with our drinks and place our respective numbers on the table as our three kids head off to play.

“Reilly didn’t want to come?” I ask Jess.

“Nope. She has daddy/daughter day. Kev took her out to lunch, then he’s taking her rock climbing.”

“Nice.”

“So, how are you feeling?” she asks, taking a deep drink of her Diet Coke. It makes my eyes water seeing how much of the bubbly stuff she can drink in one swallow.

Slouching and groaning, I say, “Like shit. And I don’t just mean the hangover.”

“Yup. Been there, too. It’s awful.”

“Jess, I don’t know how this happened?”

“Really? You really don’t know?” she asks sarcastically.

I huff at her. “You know what I mean. And I’d already gotten him out of my system, too. Now I have to start from scratch.” First thing I did this morning was seal up that cursed dress again and stuff it as far as it would go in my linen closet.

“Maybe AA would help?”

“It’s not an addiction,” I tell her exasperatedly.

“Sort of, it is. I’m sorry, Cris. Joking aside, I know this is tough. Especially for you because you have feelings for Bo even though you have an awesome life with Owen.”

“I love the way you remind me of my love for Owen, even though you’re just as guilty of my affair with Bo as I am.”

“What! I admit I was a little excited about the idea of Bo, but you know anything I ever told you about my life was never meant to be used as a manual for yours!”

“I know, I know.” I wave her indignation away. She really never meant for this to happen. Matter of fact, she likes Owen a lot more than she does Bo. All she did was try to be there for me, and that’s a hard thing to do with a friend when you want to give good advice, but the little devil in you who wants to live vicariously through others ends up throwing his two little cents in, too.

I rest my head in my hand and moan. “What am I going to do?”

“Well, for starters you need to talk to Owen.”

My head pops up. “I can’t talk to Owen about this!”

“You’re kidding, right? I mean, wasn’t that one of your biggest claims when he had his affair, that he should have told you right away?”

“This is different,” I say.

Jess crosses her arms, her blue eyes daring. “How is this different?”

“Well…” Shit, I can’t think of a reason. “It just is. I am trying to rebuild my life with Owen. In fact, I think we’re doing pretty amazing. Better than ever!”

“Hm, if you’re doing better than ever, why did you sleep with Bo?”

“He caught me off guard.”

“Does that mean that dude over there could fuck you right now if he catches you off guard?” she points to a single guy, handsome really, if not too young.

“No, of course not.”

“What about that lady there, or that couple over there.”

“Jess, stop, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I? Because from where I’m sitting, I think it’s you that being ridiculous. Look, Cris, you know I love you, and I have your back no matter what. But when I see that you may be doing something wrong, I have to call you out on it. And it’s not that you love two men, by the way,” she says shooting down the words that were about to escape my lips. “It’s not even about your affair. It’s about keeping this secret. Not only will you feel like a hypocrite for faulting Owen on that, but it will also consume you from the inside out. And that one I say from experience.”

Before I get a chance to reply to her little speech, Daniel comes tumbling out of the tube slide, Mia right behind him. Before she’s all the way down, he stands and faces the slide, and whack! Mia’s feet make full force contact with his tummy and throws him a good foot or two. Both Jess and I are up in a flash. He’s crying that sort of cry where no sound comes out for what seems like a minute, then finally after a deep breath, the fog horn is set free and it’s deafening.

“Well, sounds like he’s all right,” says Jess, holding him to her.

Mia, who is also crying, is hanging over my shoulder. Then just like that it’s over, and they’re both playing with Josh and another little girl they met there.

When we sit down, Jess takes a big bite of her chili burger, staring me down the entire time. She’s making me so uncomfortable I can hardly eat.

“Jess!”

“What?” she feigns innocence.

“Stop looking at me like that!” I demand.

“I’m not looking at you like anything. Maybe you’re just projecting your guilt.”

“Dear lord.” Turning my back to her, I eat my burger facing the other way. It’s a little hard to do, but I need to prove a point.

Even then, I can still feel her looking at me over my right shoulder. Her glare is so harsh that I turn to yell at her to stop, but when I do, she’s not sitting there. She’s gotten up and is over by the kids, helping Mia climb. The sight of her with my kid softens me.

I think she may be right. The guilt on my shoulders is gaining weight by the minute, and if I don’t do something, it’s going to crush me.

29

Owen comes home just in time to get Mia to bed, which thrills her. Not that I’m complaining, I love it when he puts her to bed, listening to the giggles and the stories he tells her about his childhood. But the truth is that it does hurt my feelings, and not a little, that I turn into chopped liver the moment Owen shows up.

We could be mid-craft, mid-game, I could even be shoveling chocolate covered ice cream into her mouth, and none of it is enough to keep her from daddy. It is cute though. Not to mention that it takes the attention off of me, which right now is a blessing.

I don’t know if guilt was the right word for what I felt as I saw him walk through our front door earlier, real joy on his face from being home with his family. Or when he pulled me in for a hug and kissed my lips, attempting to linger a little longer, but I pulled away. If he thought anything of it, he didn’t have much time to dwell on it because Mia practically crawled up his body to get into his arms.

“How’s my baby been?” he asked her and they moved on to the nightly ritual. “Go pick out some comfy pajamas,” he told her and she was off to her room. “Then I’ll read you three books instead of two.”

“Yay!” she screamed, running away before he changed his mind on the three books.

The moment she was out of sight he grabbed me. “I missed you,” he whispered in my ear, pulling me in so tight I could feel just how much he missed me. I let him because I was not expecting it just then, and because I missed him, too. “Why don’t you go shower while I get Mia into bed.”

Smiling nervously, I nodded and headed for our room.

Now, as I listen to them through the monitor, knowing it’s only a matter of minutes before he comes into the room, the weight of the secret becomes so heavy that I can barely move.

Undressing slowly in front of the bathroom mirror, I see something ugly in my eyes, something shameful, and I look away. This must be what Owen felt a year ago, when he did what he did to me. There’s an innate inability to look at one self in the eye when you’ve done something regretful. No, not regretful. I still can’t use the word regret and Bo in the same sentence.

Perhaps it’s deceitful. Yes, that’s a better word. I look up again and into my eyes, just as Owen had done. He’d looked into his soul and realized he could no longer live with a lie.

And now I too have that same choice. I too have to decide if I can live knowing that I’d been unfaithful, and sleep with Owen. It isn’t only a matter of the heart. I trust Bo is clean, but Owen has no clue. I remember, too, the humiliation of having to be tested for sexually transmitted diseases. I didn’t want to put Owen through that.

God, what was I thinking that I shouldn’t tell Owen! The last thing I want to do is have this conversation, in fact, I would much rather the Earth swallow me whole, than to do this. But for him, and for my own soul, I have to.

Decision made, shit I hope I don’t chicken out, I put my clothes on. Grimacing, I press a fist into my stomach as the acid builds and threatens to come up into my throat. It’s the stress that’s making it worse, I know that. Yet another reason to get this over with.

I can hear Owen finishing up with Mia, and I sit on the bed to wait for him, swallowing down the terror that is threatening to strangle me. By the time he walks in I’m shaking.

The moment he comes through the door and takes a good look at me, his sexy smile vanishes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he walks to the bed and sits facing me. He takes my hands in his, his brows furrowed with concern. “What’s going on? I felt something was up when I came into the house.” His right hand comes up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re shaking.”

Taking my hands out of his, placing them on my lap instead. It takes all of my willpower not to look down, to force my voice into words. “Owen, I…” I swallow, shift my seating position, clear my throat, all in an effort to steel myself against the storm I know I’m about to unleash. “I… I did something.”

His brows lift slightly, the line between them smoothing out, as he realizes where I’m headed. “Oh,” he says, his voice breaking, and his jaw begins to work in that way that tells me he’s reigning in his anger. Green eyes penetrate my own as they search for truth. “Did you cheat on me?”

I don’t hesitate, but I do look away because I don’t want to see the damage. “Yes.”

There are no words said between us for what seems an eternity, or maybe it’s just five seconds. Either way, the heavy silence stretches on into forever.

“Who?” he finally says. “Was it the same man from New Orleans?”

“Yes.”

“When?” he asks.

“Yesterday.”

He nods, not in acceptance, but more in assimilation of the information. “How many times were you with him?”

“Once.”

“Did you go to him?”

“No! Owen, this was not planned.”

He doesn’t care if this was planned. “Did he come to you?”

“No.”

“Then where did this happen?”

I refuse to answer that and now I do look him in the eye to let him know that I’m serious about that. Dear lord, if I said it was at the Jensen’s he would have a heart attack. And worse, he would know it was Bo I’d slept with. What if they confronted each other? What if he went to the Jensen’s house and had it out over there? As if I’m not horrified enough that Lydia heard me humping her son!

Luckily Owen doesn’t push the issue with that one. “Had you slept with him the entire time since New Orleans?”

“No.”

“Have you slept with other men?” Though there is definite anger in his tone, not that I wouldn’t have expected it, it’s a controlled anger. There’s something else there, too, that I can’t place my finger on. The questions are beginning to sound like some sort of interrogation. Maybe it is, and this is some sort of trial, and he’s here to judge whether or not I’m worthy of another chance. If this is what it is, he’s certainly playing the role to the tee, his face stoic, unfeeling. I think more than anything, this is what makes me explode.

“No! Jesus, it was only this time!”

“Not counting New Orleans, of course,” he adds sarcastically.

“New Orleans doesn’t count, and you know exactly why that is.”

“Yeah, well that may not have counted, but this one does.” He gets up and goes to the closet, me close at his heels. Hangers whack and break as he tears through them, looking for whatever he’s trying to get, any semblance of control gone. I’m not so sure I like this any better.

“Owen, we need to talk about this.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Oh, so you can have an affair and I’m supposed to find a way to forgive, but I can’t make a mistake?”

He spins on me so fast I jump back and hit the closet door hard. He’s not too concerned with whether I hurt myself or not. There’s so much resentment, perhaps even hate, rolling off him in waves that I think this may not be the time to talk after all.

“Let me ask you something, Cris.” He spits out my name like it’s poison. “Was this a mistake? To you, I mean? Come on, be honest. Because what I did was a mistake, I knew it from the moment I did it. And I have not fucked Cassandra or anyone else since then. But you! I wasn’t even gone one fucking day and it’s enough time for you to spread your legs for the same man again! It’s almost like you were waiting for me to leave so you could do him again.”

“You know what, Owen? Maybe we should calm down before we say something we don’t mean,” I tell him, afraid he’s going to start calling me a whore or something worse. He won’t be able to take that one back; I don’t want him to go there.

His eyes are red, whether it’s the fury that has enveloped him, or the pain I know I’ve caused, I don’t know. My own eyes are prickling, and I fear I may come apart at any moment.

“Owen, please,” I beg. “I am so sorry. I swear it wasn’t something I thought about doing. It was only once. I’ll do anything you want me to do, please, I just don’t want to lose you.”

He shakes his head. “Why don’t we skip this shit, and jump straight to the part where I leave.”

“You’re leaving?” I ask, surprised, though really I shouldn’t be.

“Wouldn’t you? Oh, right, you did. I think I’ll just take a page from your book and follow the steps. What was it, drive around crying, find a hotel, worry the shit out of you. You can come find me tomorrow, but I won’t talk to you for a few days, then I’ll finally let you fuck me, but all the while I’ll make you hate yourself. Actually, you’ll hate yourself to the point where you won’t know if you should continue to fight for me, or if you should just kill yourself and end it because you know you’re just a piece of shit anyway. How’s that? Does that about cover it?”

If I was on the verge of falling to my knees and begging for his forgiveness, he pretty much wiped the idea right out of my head. “Yeah, I think you covered it all.”

Without another word, he takes whatever he had in his hand, and leaves. The moment I hear the front door slam I drop to the floor, my head against the wall as I look at the ceiling.

What have I done?

* * *

He follows that page he took from my book, for sure. All night I pace the bedroom, walk down to peek out windows, checking every room as I go, just in case he’s come back and I didn’t hear him.

In the office, I check online to see if there have been any credit card charges anywhere that would give me a clue as to where he’s been. At about two in the morning he checks in to the same damned hotel I’d stayed at. It’s a jab at me, a purposeful slap in the face, as it were.

Well, if his intent is to make me feel like garbage, a cheater and the lowest of scum, it’s working. I definitely feel that way. Though I think it’s worse for me than it was for him. Unlike Owen, I have to make myself suppress very real feelings for another man. And that above all, is what takes my betrayal to a much higher level than his.

My head aches. Why is everything so complicated? One man to love, that’s all I wanted. Not two! With fisted hands, I wipe the wetness from my eyes. I didn’t even know I was crying, that’s the worst part. If this had happened before last year, I’d have been devastated. A complete wreck, just as I’d been when it was Owen that cheated on me and the possibility of losing him was more than I could bear. Now the pain is numbed. It’s definitely there, but it’s muted a little, almost like I’m on some sort of Novocain for the heart.

It could be a good thing, making it easier to deal with. Or it could be a disaster for me later, when the “drug” wears off and everything hits me full force.

I let my head drop hard onto the surface of the desk, my arms dangling loosely at my sides, and take deep breaths. Between this god-awful heartburn and the tightness in my chest, I feel like I can hardly breathe. Why, oh why did I have to see Bo again? How is it that I had absolutely no willpower with him? The moment he touched me, any semblance of fidelity, of integrity, flew out the window.

And just when everything with my husband was going so well. I thought we’d finally gotten back to the way things were, where Owen was my world and we were so strong nothing could pry us apart. How wrong I was. All it took was one look from Bo, one touch. What did that say about me? Was I now incapable of being faithful? Or was it only this man that could turn me into such a wanton that I was willing to throw sixteen years of marriage out the window?

I didn’t want to be someone even I couldn’t trust. And the fact of the matter is, that as long as Bo is close by, I can’t. Then I think that if we move, everything could change. Or who knows, now that the Jensens know what Bo and I have done, they will move.

My stomach sinks, just like it does every time I think about them and how they must see me!

I feel so lost. It’s at times like this that I miss my mother the most. It’s not that I don’t talk to her now, we do talk a few times a week. The thing is, we were so close my entire childhood. She was my best friend, my confidant in everything. Then when she left, everything changed.

It became almost impossible to talk to her on a daily basis. I’d have to be sure to have a calling card on hand at all times, and sometimes that wasn’t possible. Days and even weeks would go by without a word to her. I mourned the loss of my relationship, crying for her like an abandoned child, even though I’d already married Owen by this point.

It was during this time that I became closer to my dad, helping him through the pain caused by an unfaithful spouse. The pain I’d just put Owen through. Even though he’d done it to me before, I didn’t want to wound him. Not anymore.

Yes, I’d become so much tighter with my father, but I always missed that relationship I’d had with my mom. I still do, even though technology allows us to talk every day now, it’s never been the same. The trust was never rebuilt. And I miss her. I want her here, her arms around me, telling me everything will be fine. That I’ll figure this mess out, fix it. I want my mommy.

The sound of the front door startles me, and so does the sunlight coming in through the window. I’d fallen asleep with my forehead pressed against the desk, and there is now a sore spot there when I go to wipe hair from my face.

It’s six-thirty in the morning, and Mia would be up very soon. I want to talk with Owen before she gets up. When I get down stairs, I find him still standing at the door. He’s unshaven, his clothes a wrinkled mess. His green eyes are red and crusty, dark circles framing them, sinking them into his skull. There is a grayish hue to his skin, making him look tired, weary and so much older.

And I caused this.

“Owen. Can we talk?”

Looking pretty much like a zombie, he walks right past me without a word, and up the stairs. A door closes up there, and I go to follow thinking he’s gone to our bedroom, but when I reach the top of the stairs, I realize he’s gone to the guestroom.

“Owen?” I knock softly on the door. His response is to lock the door.

30

For the last few days I’ve skirted around Owen like a dog with its tail between her legs. If he’s in the kitchen and I need something, I stick to the perimeter of the opposite side of the room, keeping as much distance between us as I can, my eyes averted at all times. When our eyes do make contact, there’s so much resentment thrown my way that I’d almost rather him scream the words at me.

This is not something that I do because I don’t want to be near him. These are the actions of the guilty mind.

I feel horrid, not only because of what I’ve done, but because I now know the hell he’d been through when he cheated on me. Truly, I don’t know how he was able to stay here day in and day out, keeping his head up and trying to earn my trust again.

An entire week goes by before he addresses me. “Will you do me a favor?” he asks out of nowhere, coming into the laundry room while I’m folding clothes.

Of course, I jump on it. “Yes, anything you need.”

“Are you doing any other loads today?” he asks.

“One more.”

“Can I toss this in? Do you mind washing it?”

“Yeah, no problem.” I take the white shirt from him, nodding. It’s not a huge request, being that I’m already washing clothes, half of which are his. In fact, I don’t think that what he’s brought me has been worn at all.

When he leaves me I nearly beam, knowing that this is his attempt at first contact.

In the evening after I’ve washed, ironed and folded the shirt, I take it to him as an offering, a hope that we can start a conversation.

The following day he asks if I’d be willing to make cookies for him to take to work. I don’t love cooking, baking even less so. But having baked them several times before, I am familiar with the recipe.

When they’re fresh out of the oven, he comes into the kitchen and tries to sneak one. I slap his hand playfully and we both laugh, but he stops the moment he realizes what he’s doing, my smile following suit.

“Owen, can I talk to you?”

He looks down at the tray with the sweets, picking at little crumbs that have fallen. “I don’t know if I’m ready.” He doesn’t sound angry anymore, and that’s a good thing. But there is still a lot of sadness and uncertainty.

“Okay, no hurry. I understand.”

“Yeah, I know you do. I guess now we both know what it’s like to be on the other side, huh?” It’s an honest remark, nothing more.

I smirk. “The funny thing is I don’t even know which is worse. Being cheated on, or being the cheater.”

He nods, taking the cookie I’d denied him earlier and eating it anyway. There is a little crumb on his lip and I desperately want to reach over and take it, but I’m scared the physical contact will be too much for him.

But then, because I’m curious, or afraid, or maybe just stupid, I ask, “Are you going to give me a ticket, too?”

His eyes dart to mine, and they narrow to slits. He huffs, turning on the spot and leaving me there to stare after him.

“Why, Cris? You idiot!” I growl in irritation with myself.

* * *

It’s Owen’s job that finally breaks the ice, oddly enough. They are having the annual company cookout.

“Would you want to go?” he asks me after dinner, coming to stand beside me at the sink as I clean up.

“Are you sure? I mean, the last time I saw all those people…” Eesh, just thinking about the cookout they had last year makes me cringe.

“No one will remember. Besides, they expect to see us as a family. If you don’t come, I’m afraid it will get the gossips going.”

“Ah, I see. So, you just want me to go to keep people from talking.”

“It’s not just that. It will be nice to feel normal, if only just for one day. Mia would love it, too. There’s going to be one of those princess impersonators there. Think about it.”

“I don’t have to; it would be great,” I tell him, just happy that he’s talking to me at all.

“Perfect.”

“Owen,” I stop him before he walks out of the kitchen. “Is Cassandra going to be there?”

The frown that settles between his brows lets me know he hasn’t even thought about that. “No. The only reason she was down here was because Mike was dating her. They aren’t anymore.”

“Is she still working for Crawford Co.”

“I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully. “Cris, if I’d have known that Mike was dating her back then, or that she’d be at the park, I would have done something about it.”

“And when you saw her…”

“At first I didn’t recognize her. Then, when I did I thought my world that was barely held together was about to fall apart on me again. That’s why I lied.” He’s being open about it now, whereas before he’d withheld a lot. Maybe it’s the fact that now we have something in common. We’ve both betrayed someone. Namely each other.

With that same understanding, I say, “Yes, I know. It doesn’t matter anymore. I just don’t want to run into her.”

“That makes two of us.” His lips tighten into a semblance of a smile. “She won’t be there. I promise.”

That Saturday, the three of us dressed in our best spring clothes, we head to The Latta Plantation. When we park, Owen takes Mia, and I carry the strawberry shortcake I half made. Well, maybe a quarter made. I did add fresh strawberries and plated it differently.

There are only a few of his employees there when we arrive at the covered picnic area, but they come trailing in soon enough, filling the space with laughter and playfulness.

A petite woman dressed in a superhero costume I can’t place, stands surrounded by children of all ages, including mine, who tug and beg for her attention. Someone behind me throws some charcoal onto the grill assigned to us, and begins cooking hotdogs and burgers, while others set out their dishes on a covered table.

I stand with Owen chatting, making our way through everyone and making sure no one is left out. At first I was worried someone would remember the scene I’d made when I met Cassandra, the slap! God, my face burns thinking of how hard I’d hit Owen. But if they remembered, they certainly didn’t let on.

My tension eased, as must have Owens. We relaxed into our roles of the happy couple, and I think for now we are exactly that. A couple. Several times during the afternoon, Owen places his hand on my back, or rests his arm on my shoulder.

And when we are apart and we glance at each other, it’s that sort of look to make sure the other is doing okay.

We leave late, after everyone has left and the mosquitos have come out. Mia has played so hard she has fallen asleep, and Owen takes her to the car with me in tow, carrying several bags of leftovers he’s to take to work.

At home, we set Mia to bed and straighten out the house, working automatically, sensing the other’s needs without having to say much. Simply working in comfortable silence.

We head upstairs together, but there we split, he to the guestroom and me to the master. Before the doors close, he says, “Thank you for going with me. It was a good day.”

“Yes, it was.”

There is no expectation for anything beyond a friendly goodnight, and that’s okay. Today has been so much more than I could have hoped for.

It was normal, as he’d said, and oh so needed. A break from the constant emotional rollercoaster we have been on these last few weeks. A possibility that things could work out.

31

It’s an amazingly beautiful Friday afternoon, and after agreeing to meet Jess and her small crew at a neighborhood park, I pick up Mia from school and head that way.

There’s a bit of a drive, more than I would have done on my own, but with her kids there, and her niece who is Mia’s age, I knew she would have a blast and that makes it worth the trip.

After Mia runs to the kids, I go and sit by Jess on a freshly painted bench. “Hey, have you been here a while?”

“Nah. We stopped at Shawn’s to grab Bailey first.” Shawn is Jess’ older brother. He recently moved here from Alabama with his wife, Anne, and five-year-old daughter, Bailey. Jess has been helping keep Bailey entertained so that they can unpack, thus, we are here in their neighborhood.

Though the park itself isn’t too big, it is cute and has quite a lot to do in the one small play area. The wooden structure has slides on four sides, monkey bars, a low climbing wall, and even a built-in scavenger hunt. There isn’t a sunshade, but with the amount of large oaks that loom over the thing and the shade they provide, it’s not needed.

“So what’s up with you?” Jess asks as she slides down a little on her seat, stretching out her long legs. “Is Owen still in the guestroom?”

“Yeah. But I hope not for much longer. We have been on better speaking terms, and I told him we should start with the counseling again. I want us to work. He does, too. It’s still a little awkward, though.”

“Mm. How’s Mia handling it?”

“We’re doing our best not to let it affect her in any way. We don’t talk about it at all if she’s around. I just wonder sometimes if he’s going to really give me another chance. I feel like such a screw-up, Jess.”

“Do you want another chance?”

“I think I do. I have no idea what I want anymore. I keep thinking about everything Dr. Riker said. She said there’s a reason we’ve been together so long. As a couple, we just work. The hope was the preservation of that unit. I agree with her. I mean, if we can figure this shit out, we can be something special again.”

“You do work!” Jess exclaims. “Everyone always says that!”

“Who’s everyone?”

“You know, just people.”

I laugh at that because we don’t really hang out with other people. It’s usually just us.

We go into a comfortable silence for a long while. There’s a lot to be said about being able to sit with someone without feeling that desperate need to fill the silent void. And for someone with kids, the ability to go five minutes without talking is something to be savored.

But alas, five minutes is usually all you get.

“Momma! Come swing me!” Mia begs.

“Let Reilly do it,” Jess tell me lazily.

I consider it, but the poor eight-year old is already swinging Daniel and Bailey.

“I’ll do it. It’s a little chilly anyway, it will warm me up.” I pull on the long sleeves of the gray sweater I’m wearing to prove my point.

Setting my kid in the baby swing because that’s all that’s free, I start to swing.

“Higher, Momma, higher!” she commands, hitting her ‘r’s hard as she tries to make sure she says them correctly, especially with the other kids around. “Higher!”

“Baby, I’m scared you’ll go flying off if I swing any harder. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Momma, please! High like Bailey.” She points to where Reilly is pushing the five-year-old so high I can already see her falling hard and busting a lip.

“Um, I’ll do a little bit higher only, okay?”

Pushing her as hard as my motherly instinct will allow, which isn’t high at all as far as she’s concerned, I become completely focused on Mia. So, engrossed am I in my task of getting her just high enough, but not too much, that when the deep voice sounds from right behind me and says, “You followin’ me around, Darlin’?” it stuns me.

I spin to face him, forgetting that I’d just pushed Mia the hardest I’d dared so far. With barely enough time to register his face, I am hit full force from behind. The impact takes my breath away and sends me flying. I wish I could describe what exactly happens as I go hurdling through the air, but it happens so fast, all I know is that one moment I see Bo, the next I am scrambling to get myself up, spitting brown mulch and holding my left ribs.

I am lifted easily and engulfed in warmth as he pulls me to him. “Are you okay?” he asks full of concern.

“Cris!” I hear Jess’ voice as she runs to me. She stands in front of me and tries to pry me from Bo’s arms. “Oh my God, I saw the whole thing! Are you all right? That must have hurt!”

“Yup,” I sputter out, limping to the nearest bench. “Can… you… get… Mia?” I ask her. Poor Mia, she’s screaming bloody murder trying to get out and Reilly isn’t strong enough to lift her out.

Bo sits with me on the bench and starts pulling large bits of the playground mulch out of my hair, then starts wiping at my boobs.

“Hey!” I swat his hands away.

“You’ve got some dirt there, cherè,” he says, but when I look down there’s nothing there. “You did, I promise. I dusted it all off.” He laughs in that wicked manner of his that makes me want him even when I know it’s a bad idea.

“What are you doing here anyway?” I ask him reproachfully.

“Came to get the kids for the weekend. Takin’ them to Carowinds. Thought I’d let them play here for a little while before we left.”

“The kids?” I ask just as I spot JB and Sammy playing with Jess’ children, and Mia, too. Sammy, being only a little older than Mia is running around with her. JB looking a little bored, stands leaning against the swing post. He’s a tall kid, and I think he’s probably going to be as tall as his father, while Sammy is actually a tiny little thing, shorter than Mia.

Jess is over by one of the slides with Daniel, throwing Bo and I suspicious glances every chance she gets.

“Your friend doesn’t like me anymore. I guess that means she knows about us?” he asks.

“She knows everything about me. Actually, she’s sort of what pushed me into going with you in the first place, even though she insists it wasn’t like that.”

“I think if looks could kill, I’d already be a spook.”

“You and your spooks!” I say laughing. He chuckles, too, and it rumbles through me all the way to my core, making me squirm in my seat because it’s so hard to be near him as it is. “So where does Laura live?”

“Right over there.” He points to a pretty white craftsman style house across the street from the park, and I see his black truck parked beside a red Jeep Cherokee.

“Pretty house.”

“It was in bad shape when we first bought it, which made it affordable in this neighborhood. Took us a few years to get it to what it is.”

My lip feels strange and when I touch my fingertip to it I wince from the sting. “How’s work? Have you been busy with the cold and all?”

“Yeah, actually. Lots of tile replacement. There’s almost an overload of work and I’ve had to get more hands on with some of the jobs. Don’t get me wrong, I love it. You know this used to be Dan’s line of work, right?”

“No, I had no idea. I thought he worked as a life insurance agent,” I say recalling the many morbid conversations Jess and I had with the older man where he tried to sell us insurance.

“Only because he refuses to retire. Anyway, I went to work for him after I left the Marines. At first it was just a job. Then after I worked on my own floors with repurposed wood, I found my calling. I loved working with something old that was going to be discarded and giving it a second chance. I started my own business when I moved here. I think it makes him proud,” he says smiling, and I can’t help but smile back.

He leans closer. Though I don’t say anything, it’s almost impossible not to notice the arm he sets on the bench behind me. His hand rests on my back, his fingers gently circling my spine.

No, I don’t stop him. Instead, I melt into him a little. I can feel the ache between my legs the longer it goes on, that throb that I get from the mere thought of this man beside me.

But more than that, there’s another kind of ache in my chest that’s suffocating. Inhaling deeply, I let it go slowly in hopes of finding some relief. I bend over, taking deeper breaths and pushing into my stomach.

“Are you all right, darlin’?” he asks, bending over with me, his large hand at my shoulder now, pulling me closer to him.

“Mm, it’s heartburn. It will go away.” After a few minutes, it does, and I sit up, but he doesn’t take his hand away.

“Cris,” he almost whispers. “We need to talk.”

He doesn’t need to clarify; I know exactly what he wants.

“There’s nothing left to say.”

“That’s not true. If anything, there’s too much being left unsaid. Like how much I miss you and I know you miss me. That I need you. I want you with me, Cris.”

“You know my answer.”

“I don’t accept that! This feeling in my gut can’t be wrong, chère.”

“Then I don’t know what you want me to do. Bo, we both knew this was going to be a one-time thing.”

“We are supposed to be together. I know it. You know it!”

“This isn’t the place to have this conversation.” I throw my chin in his kids’ direction as they approach us, and I move away from him, giving them a spot to stand between us.

“Dad, I forgot to pack my iPad,” JB says.

“Okay, go get it. But first I want you to meet Miss Cris. She’s a good friend of mine.” He looks to me and winks when they’re not looking, the seriousness from just a few seconds ago completely gone from his face. “Cris, this is my son Jake and my daughter Samantha.”

“My name’s not Samantha!” she rolls her eyes at him. “I’m Sammy, silly!”

“Oh right, Sammy,” he agrees with her, grabbing her by the waist and sending her into a fit of giggles as he tickles her.

“Nice to meet you,” I tell them. “And this is my daughter, Mia,” I say as my little girl comes running to me after seeing another child within close proximity.

“Hello, sweetness,” Bo says to her.

“Mia, do you remember Mr. Bo? He’s Mrs. Lydia’s baby,” I tell her.

“He’s kind of a big baby, Momma,” she whispers loudly into my ear.

“A big baby!” Bo roars with laughter and slaps his knee. Mia’s neck practically disappears as she snuggles into me and presses her face to my breast when Bo goes to poke her tummy. “She’s beautiful, just like her mother. Those eyes!” he whistles. “That there be trouble.”

“Just like her mother?” I ask mischievously, but then I remember myself. Too late. His eyes lock onto mine and the devil is in them as the look he gives me is unmistakable.

“I think her mother’s eyes are more than trouble, for me at least.”

I swallow hard and look down to Mia. “Say thank you, baby,” I tell her, though all it really does is make her hide further into me. “Your kids are gorgeous, too.”

They are really beautiful. Though they look nothing like Bo. Blond, ice blue eyes, fair skin. All their mother, I suppose. But what they did get was that up-to-no-good glint in their eyes, both of them. If nothing else gives them away as his kids, that would.

“Dad!” JB whines. “I need the truck key so I can get my iPad in my bag.”

Without a word Bo takes them out and throws the keys at his son, who catches them easily.

“I want to go, too!” Sammy screams when she sees her older brother leaving.

“JB!” Sammy cries. The boy huffs, but takes his sister by the hand and they head to their mother’s house across the street.

Bo turns his attention back to Mia, who watched him intently when she thought he wasn’t looking. She seems to find him as fascinating as I do. “So, sugar, how old are you? Let me guess, ten!”

Mia turns her face away, but then her little hand snakes out from between our chests and puts up four little fingers.

“What! Four? No way. You must be an older four, right?”

She laughs and finally turns to him, then shakes her head.

“Mia, do you want to see somethin’ really neat?”

Her big eyes light up as she sits up with interest. “Yes.”

Bo pulls out something from one of his pockets and hands it to her. “Do you know what this is?”

She inspects the silver instrument, picking at the old yellow tape on it. “What is it?” she asks him.

“Well, it’s called a harmonica. Now don’t peel that off,” he says to her when she continues to pry at the thing with her sharp fingernails. “I’ve had this here since I was about your age. My daddy gave it to me. On that tape are the different notes I wrote so that I could learn to play it.”

“Is that true?” I ask in amazement. “I didn’t know you played the harmonica.”

“Among other things,” he replies, but the way he says it I’m not so sure we’re still talking about instruments.

“What else do you play?”

“Guitar, banjo. Dan taught me to play the piano, but I hate it.” Bo turns his attention back to Mia, taking the small thing from her. “Would you like to hear me play it?”

“Yes!” she squeals.

He begins with When the Saints Go Marching In, and does a quick rendition of Let It Go, saying, “That one I had to learn for Sammy.”

Then he begins to play music I’ve never heard before, tunes written in the wild swamps where he grew up. And when he begins to sing the words in French, his voice deep and so melodic, I am transported back to that night at Bonheur with the fireflies and the crickets and the feel of him all around. I don’t understand any of the words, but when I look at him, I see the meaning in his eyes. They speak of love and of ache. My eyes well with unshed tears and I want so desperately to touch him.

Afraid of what he’ll say, when the song in over I ask over the knot that’s formed in my throat, “What is that song called?”

“Little Toad on the Log. It’s a children’s song.” he says. The corner of his eyes crinkle and his lips pull up as he tries not to laugh because he knows I’d read so much more into the words.

I swat at him in annoyance as he starts another happy tune for Mia. She dances on my knee and hums with the beat.

He continues to play with her, and she is beside herself with giddiness. It’s a bittersweet moment, to be sure. Sweet because of the way that I feel for him. To see him interacting with my daughter in such an affectionate way, that he could win her over so easily, gives me a glimpse of what life could be like if things were different. Bitter because things are not different, and to have him playing with her now… Even that feels like cheating.

Mia leaves us to go back to the playground, and we both stare after her.

“Where did she get those blue eyes?” Bo asks. “Does your husband…” he doesn’t finish.

“No. Owen has green eyes. I guess we just had it in our genes.” I automatically bite my lip, probably to ease some of the stiffness, and I am reminded of the injury. “Do I have a fat lip?” I ask him.

“A little,” he says, touching his thumb to the swollen skin. His eyes are glued there, and I know he’s feeling the same intense pull I have to him.

Forgetting the world around me, I swallow hard and almost bite his thumb when I am suddenly shoved to the side as Jess squeezes herself between us. Bo laughs in real amusement, his turquoise eyes twinkling.

“What’s going on here?” Jess asks. “Looked like you were having a very interesting conversation. Maybe a little too interesting?” Her brows lift in question.

I for one, am happy for the reprieve. It’s too hard to breathe around Bo as it is, but to have him touch me… I just can’t think at all.

“I… I have to go to the bathroom,” I stutter to Jess, still trying to regain my senses. “Can I leave Mia with you for a few minutes? I need to go check this lip.” I pull down on my mouth and she scrunches up her face.

“Ouch. I didn’t realize you’d busted your lip.”

“Neither did I.” There was already a sense overload going on at the time. Lip injury was not that important I guess. “I’ll be right back.” I almost run to the bathroom that’s just beyond the play area and bolt the door.

Looking at myself in that metal “mirror,” I see that my lip isn’t near as bad as it feels to my tongue, though there is some bruising on the inside. There’s only a little bit of blood, and I rinse that off with cool water, then splash my entire face to cool off that wildfire Bo created within me.

Taking several calming breaths, I unlock the door and make to head out, but don’t take even one step before I’m shoved back in.

“What the!”

Bo’s inside and turning the bolt on the door. Then before I have any time to register what he’s doing, he’s on me. His mouth is on mine, painful, bruising, and it has nothing to do with the injury.

I respond just as fiercely because I’m starved for him. There’s no other reason, but that I do need him. I do miss him.

He lifts me and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist, grinding myself on the hard length in his pants, and boy is it big! His hands are everywhere. The taste of blood and him mingle in my mouth, and even though it hurts, I don’t pull away.

He never presses me against the wall, and I can only guess it’s because we’re in a public restroom, and who the hell knows what kind of nasty there is in here. Instead, his strong arms hold me up to him firmly, giving no hint at fatigue.

If anything, he lifts me higher when his hands start to delve into the backside of my jeans, sliding in, between my butt cheeks and finding the very wet core of me. When a long finger slips inside, I finally break the kiss only to moan his name, my fingers digging into the back of his neck.

In and out it goes, creating such a delicious friction I can hardly muffle my cries. In and out, and over my clit, until I explode, coming hard on his hand. When I stop shaking, he sets me down gently, taking his hand out of my pants. His eyes are heavy, and I note for the first time since he came in that his breathing is just as ragged as mine.

With his eyes glued to mine and a cocky smile that says, “I can make you come with my little finger,” he takes said finger and licks it. My dry mouth drops open.

“This thing between us, Cris, this isn’t something you can ignore and you know it. We’re gonna need to talk about this eventually.”

Then, just as quickly as he came in, he leaves me there. No other words. He doesn’t need to say anything. I know the power he has over me. I’m screwed.

* * *

It takes me a good five minutes to cool my skin down enough to leave the safety of the bathroom. With my head down, I slink out and try to make it past Jess, but her arm is longer than I thought, either that or she’s Elastigirl, and she catches me as I go by.

“What they hell were you two doing in there?” she demands.

“Wh- what. Nothing,” I laugh nervously and look anywhere but at her face.

“Really? Because Bo jetted out of here like a bat out of hell. Looked like the damned devil was chasing him, he looked so frazzled.”

“He did?” I ask. Good, it’s nice to know that when I’m not looking, he’s as vulnerable to me as I am to him. “Well I have no idea why.”

Jess narrows her ice blue eyes at me. “You two fucked, didn’t you?” she asks accusingly.

“Sh, the kids will hear,” I pull my arm out of her hand. “And we didn’t fuck,” I tell her, though I still don’t look her in the eye when I reply.

“Look at me when you lie,” she commands. I do, but start laughing at how serious she looks. She gasps at my audacity. “You did!”

“No we didn’t. I mean, fingering doesn’t count, does it?”

“Gross! And in my sweater!” She pulls at the material of the gray cotton pullover with her middle finger like it’s dirty. “You are never wearing my clothes again!”

I push her hand away. “Jess, the only reason I wear your clothes is because you insist on dressing me in them, like I’m your doll or something.” True story.

She pats me on the head and I slap at her hand. “It’s cause you’re so small,” she mocks.

“Or maybe you’re just that big.” I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Look, let’s not fight. I’m embarrassed enough as is. I’ll pay you back for this.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Just keep it. And that red dress, too. Now that I think about it, if I stop giving you clothes, will you stop fucking Bo?” she asks with mock innocence.

“Oh, hush!”

“Well, definitely something to think about,” Jess says over her shoulder. She goes to gather all the kids, and like little soldiers, they snap to attention, even Mia, and do as they’re told. “I want to see five kids, here, in front of me in ten seconds. Snacks in hand…”

Actually, before I know it I’m in line with the kids awaiting our next command, and as we all march out to our cars, I look back at the bathroom where I didn’t just have sex with Bo. I remember every detail of our encounter, just like every other time I’ve been with him. But just like every other time I’ve been with him, I file it away in the deepest recesses of my mind. It cannot be.

Wiping at my watery eye, I look away and leave.

32

Keeping my encounter at the park from Owen is a no brainer. As it is, things are finally at that stage where we can have a conversation, have a meal together with Mia. It’s no longer torture. Besides, I don’t think I owe this one to Owen. He’s still my husband, yes, and I am still trying to make up for my previous transgression. But this time it’s different.

Owen and I haven’t had sex in weeks, since before he left for Raleigh. Come to think of it, Bo is the last man I’ve had sex with.

Yeah, I’m definitely keeping this one to myself.

And come Monday night, when we’ve put Mia to bed and I say goodnight, and he says, “Wait, can we talk for a minute downstairs?” I am especially grateful for the decision to keep the secret.

In the kitchen, Owen pours himself a vodka tonic and makes me a bay breeze as I sit at the counter watching him. “Is it that bad that we need liquid courage?”

He grins at me. “Well, not bad. But I definitely need the courage.”

We toast to nothing, and I take a sip while he downs almost the entire glass in one gulp.

“So, you know I’ve been seeing Dr. Riker,” he starts.

“No,” I say shaking my head. “I had no idea you still were.”

“Well, after everything that happened, I needed someone to talk to. There were just too many thoughts in my head that needed to be sorted through.”

Looking at my pink drink, I tap on the glass with a fingernail. I don’t know how I feel about Owen seeing Dr. Riker again. Even though I’d suggested it recently, I assumed we’d be going together, and I’d have chosen someone else. “Has she helped?”

“She has. Right after, you know… your thing,” he says and I shift a little in my bar stool, “I could only see things one way. There was only me and my feelings. She helped me see a bigger picture, as well as other possibilities.”

“What possibilities do you see?”

Taking in the rest of his drink, he sets the tumbler on the counter and faces me. “I know you love me, Cris. Though I’m still not exactly sure how this other guy has come into the picture again, I don’t think you’re seeking him out actively.”

“I’m not,” I admit.

“And while I do think he’s something to you, and that hurts like a mother fucker, the positive in that is that I don’t think there will be anyone else you would cheat on me with.”

“I won’t cheat with anyone!”

He presses his eyes like he’s digging into himself for patience. “I want to trust you, I really do. But it’s going to take time. You are going to always have to be honest with me.”

“Of course.”

“Is this man something that I have to worry about on a daily basis? I mean, he doesn’t live down the street or anything like that, does he?”

I dumbly shake my head, not having expected to be asked about where Bo lives. “No, no. He doesn’t live around here,” I say, my heart wild because it’s only mostly true.

He nods once. “Let’s take things slow. We get along so well as it is. Let’s go on being friends. Maybe go on a date, see where it leads. But if I feel like it’s going too fast for me, I am going to slow us down. And I’m still going to stay in the guestroom. I don’t think sex is something we should get into until we figure out our emotions.”

“Okay, yeah, that sounds great to me.”

“All right,” he says smiling. “I’m going up to bed. We’ll talk more.”

“That’ll be great.”

He leans in for a kiss, and I pucker up, but he moves to my cheek instead. I smile at him a little embarrassed, hoping he didn’t notice my mistake, but when he pats me on the shoulder, I realize he had. He leaves me then, with only my drink for company.

The minute I hear his door close I get up and twirl in the kitchen. He’s giving me another chance. We’re going to take it slow, do it right. And I for one am going to do everything in my power not to screw this up. As long as I steer away from Bo, my marriage might actually survive.

* * *

Eleven o’clock can’t come fast enough. It’s just one of those days where every minute, every second, drags on for an eternity. And it’s not because the day is slow. Definitely anything but that. Even for a Friday it’s been extremely busy. Maybe that’s why I need the break. Counting money for two hours straight has smudged my fingers black and made them ache.

Putting up the sign that says “Next Teller Please,” I clock out on my computer and start my fifteen-minute respite. Normally I would head to the break room or use the restroom, but just as I’m heading that way my boss stops me.

“There’s some dude waiting to talk to you? Said he’d wait for you outside in a black truck.”

“Who?” I say, immediately assuming it’s Owen. It would fit, being that we met in a similar setting to this. “Oh, you know what, it’s my husband. I’ll be back in fifteen,” I tell him and walk outside, looking for Owen’s black Silverado, only to find a black Ford Raptor instead.

My heart finds its way into my throat as I realize who’s actually here to see me. Dear lord, Bo is here. Taking those steps towards him are nearly impossible as my nerves take over all of my motor functions.

When I reach the passenger side window, I rap on the tinted glass and open the door.

“Hey, I say.”

“Get in, chère. We need to talk.”

“Um…” I look around wondering if anyone is watching me. “Bo, I have to get back to work in a few minutes. This isn’t the place or the time.”

His eyes are impatient as he grips the steering wheel so hard I can see his knuckles turn white. “Well then tell me when the hell is a good time.” He’s not yelling, but I can tell it’s taking a lot of self-control not to. “What we have to say won’t take that long. Get in.”

This damned thing in my chest is pounding so hard I feel like I may faint. After whatever conversation we have, I know I’m going to find it near impossible to go back to work. But even then, I comply, getting in the truck and closing the heavy door behind me.

“Cris, I need an answer.”

“An answer to what?” I ask.

“Who are you going to choose?”

“Bo,” I look at him in disbelief. “I gave you an answer from the start. Owen is my husband. I have to try to make it work.”

“Why? Because you feel that’s what you’re supposed to do, or because it’s what your heart is tellin’ you. Because, darlin’, my heart is telling me that we belong together.”

“Please… Please don’t,” I beg, covering my face with my hands. His large warm hand on my thigh brings my attention to it. I want to swap it away because it burns when he touches my skin, and at the same time, I want to move it higher. My core aches for his touch.

He reads it all over my face, of that I’m sure, and he takes advantage. His hand slowly makes its way up under my skirt, until his fingers lightly touch me there. I cover his hand with mine, holding it there, applying more pressure.

Licking my lips and closing my eyes, I moan and let my head drop back to the seat, grateful for the overly darkened windows that block us from view.

His face comes near my ear and he places a kiss there, then he says hoarsely, “Cris, we belong together. You know it just as I do.” He pushes my panties aside and slips a finger in. “This isn’t the only thing that connects us. Our souls are connected. We’re a part of each other. If we continue to deny it, it’s going to tear us to shreds. Please, come to me. I need you.” This last is said in a whisper as he pulls out.

I turn to him and our eyes connect, our souls. His words make me ache too much, confuse me and overwhelm me.

Unable to bare his heat, I move as far away from him as I can within the cabin. There is hurt in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything about it, simply reaches out to touch me.

It’s too much! I can’t handle it any longer. Knowing I would cave because his very presence addles my brain, I slap at his hand and scream at him. “Stop it! Do you know what you’re doing to me? I’m trying to save my marriage, but you’re always there, on me!” I cry, grabbing the fabric of my pink satin blouse and pulling it away from my skin in anger. “And you’re inside me!” I dig my nails into my scalp. It hurts, but the pain there barely registers as I continue my tirade. “Do you not see? I am in agony!”

Bo lunges for me, terror in his eyes at what he is seeing. I’m going crazy, this constant push to choose. Again, and again I am forced to choose, and every time it gets that much harder.

He holds me, his arms a tight vise around my shoulders. “Cris, shit, I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel like this.”

Breaking free of him I push away. “Please, Bo, leave me be. Let me go. I can’t be the reason my marriage fails. Please break this hold you have on me.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he says truthfully. “It’s like asking me not to breathe.”

“Owen is my husband. I love him.”

“Do you love me?” he asks.

He knows the answer to that. But it doesn’t matter. I have made up my mind to save my marriage. For my family. For Mia. I will not repeat the sins of my mother.

“Bo, you need to leave me alone. Let me forget.”

He says nothing to that, simply watches me, searching. Giving him nothing more than a cold stare, I leave the truck and slam the door behind me, breathing hard.

I have to forget. I have to forget. Please let me forget…

33

Aime’s Sandwich Shop is a new little café not far from where we live. The food here is top notch, clean, and creative. I’ve been here a few times, and I love that I can really indulge without feeling completely gross. Being that this is basically a date for Owen and I, that is exactly what I’m going for.

We get there about two o’clock, just thirty minutes before the place closes since they only serve lunch. In my mind, I think by this time of day it should be pretty empty, most of the crowds having cleared.

Well, I was definitely wrong. Not only is the tiny restaurant still full to capacity, but people just keep coming.

“I guess we all had the same idea,” I tell Owen.

“Must be good,” he says.

We stand somewhat smooshed within a large crowd outside, waiting for a table to be cleared for us inside. I glance at him occasionally and he smiles when he catches me. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing. I mean, you look really handsome.”

And he does, with his green button shirt up that brings out the color in his eyes, and khaki shorts. His hair has grown just a little, but enough that the gray is more visible, which is a huge turn on for me. There is also a little scruff on his cheeks, just the way I like it, and I wonder if there is a reason he let it grow.

As for myself, I did dress to impress him. A white racerback shirt that contrasts against my tanned skin, tight blue jeans and my trusty black wedges. I hope he likes the way everything forms to my body. It’s super casual, yet sexy. I wanted it to look like I didn’t try, even though it took me over an hour to figure out my outfit. Given the heat in his eyes as they travel from the cleavage accentuated by the décolletage of my shirt, to the curve of my waist and the rounding of my hips, I’d say it worked.

Even though I’ve been married to the man for years, I’m nervous. We’re starting over. It will be in a sense, a new relationship, and I want to start off on the right foot.

He must feel the tension coming from me because he takes my hand and brings it to him, rolling it over to kiss the inside of my wrist. His lips are warm on the soft skin there, and my heart not only skips a beat, but I melt just a little from the sweetness of it.

“You look beautiful, as always,” he says and I smile in response.

“Roberts!” a girl dressed all in black - black shirt, black pants and a black apron - comes out with two menus in her hands calling our names.

“That’s us!” Owen raises his hand and follows her in, never letting go of me.

Being a couple again like this makes me feel almost giddy. How desperately I’ve wanted him to forgive me, to give us another chance. And now here we are on a date.

We’re led to a booth all the way in the back. The girl places two red faux leather menus on the wooden table, and says, “Veronica will be your server today. She’ll be with you shortly to take your drinks.”

We both thank her and open our menus.

“I’m starving!” Owen says. “What’s good here?”

“Everything, as you can tell by the crowd. I wonder if they will start turning people away soon. They close in less than half an hour now.” I look at my watch and confirm what I’m saying.

“So you come here that much?”

“I’ve been twice, but Jess comes often and usually brings me home a little something. One of the girls at work comes here a lot, too.”

Looking at one side of the menu, then the other, he seems overwhelmed by the amount of selections. “Well, what do you recommend?”

“Mm,” I scroll down all of the options with my index finger until I come to the hot sandwich section. “The grilled turkey. That’s what I’m going to get. But I’ve also had the jerk tuna and that was so good, too.”

“Well, then why don’t you get the turkey, I get the tuna, and we share,” he suggests.

“Perfect.”

After we place our orders, Owen and I sit and chat about our everyday happenings. Even though we still technically live together, in the same house, we are leading separate lives. We don’t talk at dinner like we used to, if we have dinner together at all. We’ve missed so much of each other’s lives.

I tell him about my possible training to become a loan officer, which would be a huge increase in pay, but of course would also mean an increase in hours and the concerns that brings. He tells me about the progress they’ve made in hitting their monthly quotes, and a young man named Matthew that he just hired.

It feels normal, and nice. And when I lay my hand on the table and he reaches for it, it feels like everything is going to be okay.

“Why, hi there, chère! Look who it is, darlin’.”

Even before I fully face him I know who I’m going to see. Tall, blond, and beautiful, he’s Bo’s exact duplicate in different coloring. I snatch my hand out of Owen’s so fast I yank his with me a little, and I think with that act alone, I give everything away.

A woman comes out from behind him, and when she sees me she screeches so loud my ears ring from it. “Oh my god! Cris! What are you doing here?” she pushes him aside and squeezes into the booth to hug me tight.

“Jane! I can’t believe you’re here! When did you come into town? You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“It was sort of last minute. Nate here decided to take a few days to come and see… his family,” she says after a brief hesitation, looking towards her handsome husband.

He’s smiling at me, but throwing Owen a few weary glances. “So…”

“Cris, are you going to introduce us?” Owen asks rather stiffly.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Um, Owen, this is Nate and Jane Chevalier. And this is my husband, Owen.”

He shakes their hands. “I’m sorry, where did you say you met?”

“Hey, Nate, why don’t we let them enjoy their meal.” I feel for Jane as she desperately tries to help me, but even she cannot dissuade her husband from the conversation.

“New Orleans. Back at the beginin’ of November last year.” Nate looks over to me accusingly. “You never said you were married there, chère?”

Owen grumbles something I can’t make out, his jaw working as he sits there putting all of the pieces together.

Jane tries once again to intervene, but it’s in vain. “Of course we knew that. Come on, Nate. Our table is ready.” She pulls at his arm, but he doesn’t budge.

All niceties gone from his features now, he looks like he’s been betrayed himself. “I didn’t know. And I have to wonder, did Bo?”

At the sound of Bo’s name, Owen’s eyes whirl onto me and spear me to the spot. I shake my head wishing I could deny whatever he’s about to say, but there’s no point.

“Bo, as in the Jensen’s son?” he practically spits at me. Dear lord, he hardly ever talks to the Jensens, but this one thing, the name of their son, he remembers?

“Owen, I…”

“Yeah, that’s my cousin,” Nate throws out.

Now, I realize Nate’s looking out for his blood, but at this moment all I want to do is slap him. I want him to just shut the fuck up. Glaring at him, I’m ready to tell him so, but before I can utter a word, Owen is getting out of the booth and storming off.

Clumsily, I follow him, pushing past Nate and Jane, and through the crowd of hungry people waiting on their food. “They’re just sandwiches!” I yell out because it makes me so angry that they’re slowing me down. “Owen!” I call out, but he doesn’t stop.

Far ahead of me I see him jump into my Civic and just as I step outside he drives away, leaving me stranded.

Jane nearly explodes out the door, Nate not far behind her.

“Oh my god, Cris, I am so sorry! This damned knucklehead wouldn’t stop!” she whacks him hard on the arm.

“Am I the only sane person here?” he asks in annoyance, his blue eyes darting from Jane to me. “She’s married, Jane. Married! What the fuck was she doin’ with Bo if she’s a married woman?”

“Hush!” a young lady tells him as she covers up her young daughter’s ears. “Why don’t you take this conversation somewhere else?” He momma bear look seems to scare Old Nate, and he pulls us away from them in a retreat.

“Come on, Cris. We’ll take you home,” Jane says to me, taking me by the arm.

“The hell we will,” Nate growls at her.

“Nate. You will get in that car. I will drive us there if you feel so strongly. Or, you can stay here. It’s your choice.” She turns away from him and pulls me towards a blue Dodge Charger. “We’re staying at Lydia and Dan’s place for a few days.”

I listen to her, still shell-shocked over what just happened. Owen just learned who I’d slept with. What he must be going through. It’s opened up that fucking wound all over again.

We get into the car, and all the while I can see Nate on his phone, texting wildly. It’s not hard to guess who he’s messaging.

“Nate, you ass. Bo knows. He’s known all along.”

Nate slams his phone down onto his thigh. “Well it seems you knew, too. And you kept this from me. Damn it, woman! Did you not see fit to tell your husband?”

“It wasn’t for me to tell!” she yells back at him.

They get into it the entire way home. I tune them out after a while, watching the road instead, my mind going through every possible scenario I will encounter once we arrive. What will Owen say? What will he do? Does it really matter who I slept with? It shouldn’t, but I know it does.

It occurs to me to call him, or text him at the very least. But even I know he’s not going to be looking at his phone right now. And if he does, he’s not going to respond, he was so angry with me.

The drive home takes a good twenty minutes, and with every passing mile my heart thrums harder and faster. By the time we arrive I am sitting straight up on the edge of my seat, and practically burst out of the car the moment it stops in front of my drive. From my peripheral vision, I register people across the street at the Jensen’s house. Bo’s large truck is parked there as well.

Jane drives away just as I fly through the front door. Katie is hastily gathering her things and a bag she packed for Mia.

“I’m taking Mia to the park for a little while,” she says. Even though she’s smiling, I can tell she’s flustered. Perhaps all the pounding sounds coming from upstairs did it. “We’ll be back in about two hours. Is that all right?” she asks, though I know what she really means is, “Is that enough time for you people to get your shit together?”

“Yes, thank you, Katie.”

“Bye, Momma,” Mia says sweetly, sadly. She looks worried, not to mention confused. And when I lean in to give her a kiss, she holds my face with one hand, completely breaking my heart for any innocence this may have taken away.

Fuck! I hate it when any part of this affects Mia, even if she has no clue what’s going on. Kids are so much more intuitive than we give them credit for.

“Momma loves you, baby. Have fun with Miss Katie, okay?”

When they leave, I take a few calming breaths and head up to find our large gray suitcase on the bed, clothes being thrown into it. He is just throwing them in there, hanger and all.

“Owen, let’s talk about this,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice calm, hoping that will help diffuse the situation somewhat.

“About what?” His voice is emotionless, though I know the anger it really carries.

“Nothing has changed since this morning.”

“Everything has changed, Cris.”

“Like what? I haven’t done anything wrong.” Today that is. “We can still have our chance. What does knowing who it was matter now?”

He stops in front of me, two hanged shirts in his hand. “Because I know who it is, Cris! And now all I see are images of you and him wrapped up in each other, of him coming over while I’m at work. Of you looking at him every time I turn my head!”

“He doesn’t live there!”

“No, but he’s always there. Which means I can’t be here. Not right now. I need time away from you.”

“How much time?”

“I don’t know. A while. Maybe forever.” At my intake of breath, he rephrases, his tone changing. “Look, I just need space to think clearly.”

I know what he’s telling me, though I don’t want to hear it. After throwing in everything he would need for a long time away from home, he zips up the bag and takes the heavy thing down stairs. I follow him all the way, through the house and out the door.

We both pause when we see the small group of people in the middle of the street close to the house. Nate, Jane, Jess, and Bo, all grouped together looking our way. Bo is watching me so intensely I can feel it all the way over here, but then his eyes move to the man standing next to me. Bo’s and Owen’s eyes meet briefly, something exchanged between the two men that I can’t interpret.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Owen asks me. “The Jensen’s son.” Though he’s heard of Bo, he’s never actually met him.

“Yes.”

“The way he looks at you, Cris, it’s like he owns you.” Owen looks down to me when he says it. “Does he?”

I remain quiet because honestly I don’t know anymore. Instead I say, “Please don’t leave.”

“Tell Mia daddy will see her in a few days. Tell her I’m out of town or something. I’ll figure out how we can spend time together without her suspecting something’s wrong.”

“I think it’s too late for that,” I say and he pauses only slightly before he throws his luggage into the backseat.

Owen gets into his truck and slams the door shut. I stand watching him in near horror, a scream lodged in my throat choking me all the while. He’s leaving. He is really leaving.

Unable to process this, to think that this may be over, I simply stand there like a dead robot and watch my life fall apart as he backs out.

Then, from across the street another loud engine roars to life, and when I turn to it, I see that it’s Bo. The truck nearly burns rubber as he leaves just as angrily, right behind Owen.

I walk to the end of the driveway to watch the caravan of two black trucks as they make their way down to the end of the street. Then one turns left and the other right, and then they are both out of sight.

Jane and Jess are by my side in an instant, though Nate is nowhere to be seen.

“Are you all right, honey?” Jane asks taking my arm.

Shaking my head no, I say, “I couldn’t even tell who was who?”

“What?” Jess asks.

“I couldn’t tell them apart, the trucks. They confused me when they drove away.”

Jane and Jess look at each other, then talk to me like they think I’m having a mental crisis. Who knows, maybe I am. “We’ll help you inside,” Jess says.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Jane tells me, too.

I let them lead me in, but all the while I’m trying to decide who went left and who went right.

34

The tension in my kitchen is so heavy I can feel the glares behind my back as I brown the meat for my Not-Yo-Macho-Nacho-Night. Mia has been asleep for almost an hour now. She knew we were having guests once she went to bed, and it broke my heart to tell her it was a grown-up night when I know how much she loves nachos. But the promise of leftovers helped.

I don’t get it, how my two girls are not getting along.

Jess is working on the margaritas, which in truth is a little nerve wracking because she has the gut of an ox and can really handle her liquor. And as tequila and me don’t mix, I’m a little scared of the outcome.

“Does Nate know you’re here?” I ask Jane, thinking about his bond with Bo and what he must be thinking about me now that he knows the whole story.

“Yup. Downright pissed him off. Said I was coming out to cavort with the enemy,” Jane says as she chops the tomatoes for the salsa. “Hey, you think that meat’s still good. I’m getting a funky smell over here. Maybe too much seasoning?” She wrinkles her nose, then moves her station to the table.

Jess grumbles, “Maybe it’s your upper lip,” almost inaudibly and throws in a little more tequila into the blender. I know Jane’s complaint greatly offends Jess because she’s the one who prepared the meat.

“It seems ok,” I say ignoring Jess. I lean in to smell the pan, taking in the scent of cumin, peppers, garlic and onion. “Well, maybe too much garlic?”

Jess’ mouth drops open in indignation and she points a spoon at me. “That’s an amazing recipe. You just don’t know about Mexican food.”

“Well you got me there, Barbie.” It’s kind of true, I don’t cook any kind of food as well as she does.

Jess eyes Jane from the bar as she takes in a sip of her fresh brew. “She’s weird,” she whispers to me and I nudge her side.

Dear lord these women. Maybe if it wasn’t because they feel obligated to certain loyalties, they would have gotten on better. But as it is, they are on opposites sides.

On the one hand, I have Jess. Team Owen. She obviously feels guilty over her role in my affair. And truth be told, she likes Owen. Every time we get together those two end up talking about things I’ve never heard of. They have similar interests, same taste in music, books, etc. Could also be that she sympathizes with him. She had an affair herself, she knows everyone is capable of doing it.

“You need to work this out with Owen,” she says when the conversation inevitably turns to them.

“Jess,” I say, “I wish it were so simple, and you know I’m trying. If only I’d never met Bo. If only I’d never slept with him. I gave him my heart, stupid woman that I am. Now I feel like I’m being torn to shreds with the thought of saying goodbye, never to give us a chance. That ‘what if’ question is killing me!”

Then, on the other end I have Jane. Team Bo. He’s her cousin, if not by blood, by law and in her heart. They get along great, she’s seen him go through a lot and wants him to be happy. She doesn’t know Owen from Adam, all she knows is that he cheated on me. She has never talked with him, never had the chance to love him as I have.

“Owen had his chance. If he’d kept his dick in his pants this never would have happened. It’s his own fault.”

“Jane,” I tell her. “He’s more than that ONE thing he did. You haven’t loved him intensely like I have for sixteen years, so I know it’s hard for you to see that. But this affair, this is a small part of our lives, and beyond that, he’s been an amazing husband and father. That’s why I hated him, because I never expected he’d do this.

“You don’t know how much this hurt him, too. He was so distraught over what he’d done, he was willing to humiliate himself and let me…” My voice cracks and I can’t even finish the sentence, just thinking of it. I wipe away at the burning in my eyes and sniffle.

Neither one of them cares about what I have just said, both set in their opinion. I can see them rolling their eyes at each other through my peripheral vision. This is awful. They both argue their points, even though I’m not really listening to either.

“Bo is the right one for her because…”

“No, Owen is who she should choose because…”

Back and forth they go, each one trying their best to influence me. It sort of reminds me of those cartoons where there is a devil on someone’s left shoulder, and an angel on the right, only in my case I’m beginning to wonder if they are both just wrong.

“Look guys, I appreciate that you love your teams,” I start.

“Huh?” Jane says.

“You know, Team Bo. Team Owen.”

“Ooookay,” says Jess.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter because there is no choice to be made. I am married to Owen. And even though things have gone a little south with him lately, he is my priority because he’s my husband.”

“But you love Bo, too,” Jane throws in. “Don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But she also loves Owen. She loved him first,” Jess says.

“Yes.”

“What does it matter who she loved first?” Jane asks.

“Because it just does!” Jess screeches.

“Stop it you two! You want me to choose? How can I. They are both great men. I love them both beyond crazy. You know why I can’t choose? Because I’m terrified of what that will mean! If I choose Owen, does that mean I’m a coward who’s unwilling to give myself a chance at something even greater?

“And if I choose Bo, does that mean I am turning my back on my vows and destroying a man’s heart simply because I’m horny for someone else? Who would be there to help Owen put his life back together? My dad had me, but who will Owen have?” I ask, trembling, remembering how it had been for my father, nights sitting out in his driveway drinking after a long day of packing up the home he’d shared with my mother. Crying.

Jess brings her arms around me and pulls me to her. “You’re not your mother, Cris. Everything about this situation is different.”

Jane says nothing, but sits watching us wide-eyed and somewhat confused. I can see her brain going a mile a minute as she processes things we’ve said, knowing there is more to the story.

“To be honest, I’m a little afraid I’m going to end up like El Perro de las Dos Tortas.” I slump my shoulders and look at my hands.

“What the hell does that mean?” Jess finally asks.

“It’s a Spanish saying. You know, the dog with the two sandwiches.”

“Never heard of it,” says Jane.

“Never mind, if I translate it, it’s just going to sound funny to you.”

Jess is already laughing when she demands I tell them. “You cannot leave us hanging!”

“All right. So, there was a dog, and he had the best sandwich ever. Then, someone walks by and throws him another one, just as good. So, he drops the one he has to go eat the new one. But as he does, he thinks, what if this one isn’t as good?”

“Dogs can think like that?” Jane asks.

“Anyway,” I continue. “So he leaves the new sandwich, only to find that another dog has already run off with the first. He chases after him, but he’s too fast. Then he comes back to that second sandwich only to find it gone, too! So you see, because he couldn’t make up his mind, he ended up with nothing.”

“No sandwich,” Jess says sadly, then she and Jane both cackle hysterically until they just plain piss me off.

Sighing, I wonder if this is how it’s always going to be always; my life divided in two.

Jess has already had two margaritas, while both Jane and I are still working on our first. I’m already feeling it for sure.

Pulling out a beautiful serving plate my mom brought for me from Mexico on her last trip, I carefully and lovingly set up the nachos. Ground beef, tomatoes, avocado, shredded cheese, cilantro, jalapeno and sour cream on top of big restaurant style chips.

“Nachos!” Jess says rubbing her hands and goes to sit at the table with Jane.

Jane, looking a little gray, smiles at me as I place my work of art on the table. Then, not a second later, she proceeds to throw up into it.

I whip my arms back just in time to avoid splatter, but seeing the mess and hearing her heaving has me running to the water closet. My head prickles as I hear her all the way there, and I can feel the sweat spewing from my pores as I fight back the nausea.

It’s a while before the commotion in the kitchen clears. I feel awful leaving them out there to deal with the mess, but I just can’t handle it. Never have I been able to comfort a heaving friend in need. Even Mia’s throw up has me head first in the toilet every time.

When I finally come out, I’m soaked, from sweat and from the constant splashing of cool water on my face.

Both girls are wearing different clothes. Jane is laying on my couch and Jess is almost done cleaning up the kitchen.

Jane looks up at me. “Sorry, girl,” she says. “It stinks in there.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help. Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t feeling sick before. I don’t know what happened. Is it okay that we borrowed your clothes and showered in your shower? And took new toothbrushes from your linen closet?”

“Yeah, of course.” Jess hasn’t asked for permission to do anything in my house since I’ve known her, she’s free to do as she pleases pretty much.

“I know exactly what ails you, my pukie friend,” Jess says as she comes out of the kitchen smelling like bleach. “Your man knocked you up.”

My eyes bulge and my mouth drops as my head snaps to Jane.

Jane sits up so fast she almost loses her balance and both me and Jess are at her side.

“I’m fine,” Jane waves us away. “And I’m definitely not knocked up. I can’t be. The doctors said it was almost impossible because of my POS?”

“Piece of shit?” Jess asks in a whisper to me. Of course, miss fertile wouldn’t know anything about it. I on the other hand am all too familiar with it.

“Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome!” Jane rolls her eyes. “I just had a tumor removed six months ago. Besides, Lucie is coming next week.”

“Lucie is the baby Nate and her are adopting,” I inform Jess.

Jane and Nate were supposed to have adopted another little girl in February, but the mother backed out at the last second. It was a devastating blow to her; she’d wanted so badly to have a baby. Then Lucie came up. Her mother had already given her up. She is three months old and living with a foster family. Everything is set. She will have a little girl in six days. And if Jess is right, another child on the way.

“Well,” Jess nods her head. “I don’t know what to tell you, other than you may need to hire some help.”

“I am not pregnant!”

“You know what? I have some pee sticks at home from last month when we had the big scare. Remember, Cris?” she asks me and I nod. “I’ll be right back.”

“She thought she was pregnant with her fourth?” Jane asks me amazed.

“Yup. It would have been fine, if anyone can handle four it’s her.”

Jess is back in a flash, and pushing Jane into the bathroom.

“Fine, I’ll take your little pee test, but don’t be mad when I waste it with a negative result.”

Jess smirks and crosses her arms, looking smart. “I know my shit.”

After the trickle of pee and the toilet flush, there is only silence as we stand outside the door and wait. Jess taps her fingers against her forearm and looks confident. “She’s preggers,” she whispers to me and I shoosh her.

Five minutes turn to ten, and when she still doesn’t emerge, I knock on the door to check on Jane. “You okay, hun?”

A sob comes through loud and clear and Jess is messing with the knob.

“We’re coming in!” she yells as she uses her hard thumbnail to unlock the door.

Jane is standing in front of the sink, eyes red and watery, huge tears streaming down her perfect chocolate skin. She wipes at her face and sobs again. I take her in my arms and try to console her as Jess takes the stick and confirms what she already knew.

“Yes!” she says punching the air. “I freaking knew it!”

Jane cries harder. “Two babies? How am I going to handle two babies? And I already have Nate!”

“Aw, don’t cry?” Jess tells her, and taking her from me leads her back to the living room. “It’s all going to be okay, you’ll see. Besides, it’s almost a year before you’ll have this one. And them being so close in age may be hard as fuck at first and you may go insane, but eventually it will be the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“I’m sorry I threw up on you,” Jane cries.

“Nah, don’t worry, I have three kids. Nothing that hasn’t happened before.”

Jane smiles at her and then they start talking amongst themselves so low I can’t hear them anymore. And just like that, they are best friends.

* * *

“How is she?”

“Sleeping. Thank you for helpin’ her, chère,” Nate says and comes to sit with me at the patio table.

“I can’t really take credit for it. Jess did most of the work. She had to go home because it got late.” Looking at my watch to confirm, it’s eleven-fifty-two.

“Well, thank you for letting us have this conversation here. We wouldn’t have been able to talk in peace with all those people over there. But you didn’t need to come outside.”

“It’s all right, I like to. I do it almost every night. The silence and the cool breeze really clear my head.” He nods in understanding. “So, who’s there? At the Jensens’ I mean.” I try to ask the question innocently, but Nate easily reads between the lines.

“Bo’s not there, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

“Oh.”

“But his parents, sister and her husband are.”

“Who’s staying in the downstairs guestroom?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He frowns. “Brynn and her husband.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s a nice room,” I say, playing off the interest in it. From his confused reaction, I can see that he hasn’t been informed of Bo’s and my interlude there.

“Anyway, I also want to apologize for actin’ like an ass the other day.” He rubs the back of his neck in that way men do when they’re bashful or embarrassed. In the barely there light cast by my citronella candle, I can see his shy smile and honest eyes.

“You don’t have to.” I wave his guilt away.

“Nah, I do. See, Jane explained how things happened. And while I don’t agree, I do feel for you. It’s just that I don’t like seeing Bo like this. Ever since he’s met you, he’s not his normal self. I think he’s got it bad for you.”

I rub my eyes and leave them closed for a second, feeling so tired, and it’s not just because of the lateness of the day. “You love him a lot, don’t you?”

“Yeah, like he’s my brother. Before Jane, he and my dad were all I had. Look, I know you have a lot on your mind, big decisions…” There goes that word again. Decisions. “And if’n you choose Bo, I’ll love you like a sister. Hell, I sort of already saw you as one till I found out the truth.”

“And if I don’t?” Because I just had to ask.

“If you don’t, nothin’. We won’t ever see each other again, though, that much I can guarantee.” Nate gets up and starts to head in, but before he opens the sliding door into my kitchen, he turns back to me and says, “Cris, I’d really like to love you as a sister.” And with that, he leaves me outside with nothing but the sound of the creek and the hunting owls for company.

35

“What’s wrong with your food?” my dad asks, watching me hold the cheeseburger he’d grilled begin to fall apart in my hands, I’ve held it for so long. “Even Mia’s almost done with hers.”

“Yeah, sorry, Daddy. It’s fine, I’m just not very hungry. It’s this heartburn that’s flaring up,” I say, pulling out the little bottle of anti-acids I’ve started carrying around with me, and pop two of the chalky pale tablets into my mouth.

“I bet it’s an ulcer,” he diagnoses.

“Could be. And these watery eyes,” I say, annoyingly wiping my eyes and sniffling. “So sick of it!”

“Have you been to the doctor?”

“Nah, I just started taking an antihistamine yesterday, I hope that helps. But my stomach, I do need to schedule something because it doesn’t look like it’s going away.”

My father watches me for a minute, with concern on his face. “Why don’t you go somewhere for a little bit, get your mind off things?”

“I don’t really feel like going anywhere,” I tell my him. My dad had come to spend this lovely Sunday evening with us. He’d been wanting to see Mia, but Owen had taken her most of the day yesterday and had a daddy/daughter day, then this morning he came and made pancakes with her.

I’m not going to complain; it is so good for Mia to see him on an almost daily basis. As far as she’s concerned, and it will remain until everything is officially settled down, Owen is simply going away a lot for work. He and I do well while we are with her. At first it was a little strange, it was like two mutes walking around each other in circles. Now things are flowing a little better. I even helped make breakfast.

My dad knows everything now. He doesn’t like any of it, I can see that written all over his face any time we’ve talked about it. For one he doesn’t like that we had affairs. Two, he definitely doesn’t think we should separate. Well, I’ve told him I feel the same way, but I don’t know if he believes me. Maybe he thinks I am going down the same road my mom did. Who knows.

“What about the grocery store? You need milk.”

I frown. “I just got milk yesterday.”

“Well, you have less than half a gallon.”

“Oh.” I guess that would make sense, with the pancake making and all.

“Go on. Give an Abuelito some time with his baby.”

Setting my burger down on the paper plate, I get up from our patio table, nodding in agreement. “Maybe you’re right, I could use some time to clear my head.”

“Can I come with you?” Mia asks.

“You are staying with Abuelito and helping me pick out a good movie for us to watch,” he tells her and she claps.

“All right, Daddy, you’ll be okay with her?”

“Yup. Go. But do me a favor and shower and brush your teeth at least before you go.”

I playfully scrunch my nose at him, then kiss him on the head and Mia on the cheek, leaving them chatting animatedly about school.

Showering the grime off me, and brushing my teeth for the first time today already begins to lift my spirits some. Feeling a thousand times fresher, I leave the house with no real destination in mind.

It is a lovely day, the sky is a deep blue overhead, fading to a lighter shade in the distance. It’s just the right amount of warm, where I could wear shorts with sneakers, and a short sleeve.

The drive is quiet, no one in the backseat, no press for time. Sometimes I feel like I’m always in a rush, always somewhere to be. My mind has no time to process anything that’s happened to me, or even just shut down for a while and process nothing at all.

That’s what I decide to do now. Shut it down. Not in the sense that I’ll fall asleep at the wheel, but in the sense that I don’t want to think about Owen, or our situation. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway, being that the ball is in his court.

For about an hour I drive around aimlessly. I am paying attention to where I’m going, obviously. Stopping at red lights and stop signs, yielding. But at some point, I go into auto pilot, driving without paying attention to the names of streets or landmarks.

So, it was quite a surprise to me when the car stops and I look around to find I’m parked in front of a familiar house. I blink in confusion of where I ended up. How did I get here?

Maybe it was that I wandered for so long that the odds that I would end up in Huntersville were that great. Or maybe it was that at some point, the needs of the body overrule the rational mind, and it doesn’t give a shit about good judgement. All it knows is that primal instinct to mate with someone who is so positively matched, nothing else matters.

Yes, we will say that’s what happened, because all my rational mind knows is that one minute I am walking out of my house, and the next the tires of my Civic are crunching over the gravel drive of his house.

As if though my body senses his proximity, it comes aflame on its own, desire building like an inferno out of control, and only that man inside can put it out. Now that I’m here, there’s no turning back.

Oh, I know this is a terrible idea. I am playing with fire. Still I don’t falter, so determined am I to ease this ache.

I knock on his door and he answers it almost immediately. But where I feel that all-consuming need to throw myself on him and feel his heat again, he simply stands there, a look of indifference on his face.

“Hi,” I say, biting my lower lip. “Can I come in?”

He walks away, leaving me there to stare after him. Taking that as an invitation, I step inside and close the door softly behind me.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, sitting down on his brown couch. “I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

Looking around, I can’t believe it’s been months since I’ve been here. Everything is exactly as I remember.

When I look to him, he’s watching me intently.

“I was driving, and next thing I knew I was here,” I say.

He looks slightly incredulous. “What does that mean? Are you here to stay?”

I shake my head and whisper with uncertainty, “I don’t know.”

“You should leave, then,” he says, his voice strained.

“I don’t want to.”

The thought of leaving is too much. I can’t. It has been too long since I’ve touched him, and I ache from it.

Swallowing nervously, I do what I came here to do. Shaking hands lift my cotton shirt over my head, and pull down my shorts until they fall in a puddle at my feet.

His breath catches as his eyes remain glued to my hands, following them as they unsnap my bra, and it too falls to the floor. He shifts in his seat when I take my panties off, his gaze focused on the dark triangle there.

I can feel myself panting, trembling, even as I gather every bit of courage I can muster and take that first step forward. Then another and another until I am standing naked as the day I was born between his legs.

And dammit if he still doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t look away either. If anything, he’s breathing as hard as I am, his hands twitching as he fights to keep them resting at his side.

When I climb on him, he leans back to accommodate me, still not touching.

“Bo,” I whisper, caressing his stubbled cheeks with the backs of my hands. “I need you. God knows I should stay away. I want to be stronger, but I’m just not.”

I lean down to kiss him, his forehead, his cheeks and nose. All the while he remains unmoving. Even as I kiss his lips, and bring my breasts that I know he loves so much to his face, rub my core against him and moan, he does nothing. My boobs are just there, rubbing his cheeks, swinging in front of him, but he makes absolutely no effort to touch them. He’s just sitting there limply, unfeeling, while I am here, completely exposed in more way than one. Utterly vulnerable.

For a horrifying moment, I realize the huge mistake that I’ve made. Suddenly I feel blood rush to my skin as I flush all over in embarrassment.

So, I stop.

When I look down into his eyes all I see is anger and pain. It serves as confirmation that my attentions right now are not wanted.

There is a very distinct sting that comes with any kind of rejection, but when it’s from someone you love, it’s all the more humiliating.

Swallowing the thick knot burning in my throat, I nod to let him know I get it. This is a bad situation at the least. Awkwardly, I make to get off him.

“Fuck!” I hear a moment before I can’t move because his hands are vises around my arms, and his lips are a white-hot press against my neck.

I moan loudly because it hurts in that way something can when it touches your soul.

He pulls away from me just long enough to see that he’s been as tormented by the distance between us as I have been. Unable to stand anymore of it, I bend down and kiss him, taking everything I can because I know I shouldn’t allow myself this sin ever again.

And he responds with the same wild abandon, his hands rough as they pull my hair, forcing my head back to expose my throat. He nips at the soft skin, grazing me with his teeth in that way that drives me insane.

His mouth travels further down, and he moans as he takes in one nipple and then the other. He lets go of my hair and I look down at him as he devours me.

In one motion, Bo flips me and pushes me onto the couch. He sits over me, and with his hands spreads my knees. His eyes travel the length of me, taking in the sight of my naked body on full display. Even my pussy is splayed open for his gaze, my clit swollen and wet.

His hands go to the backs of my knees as he slips down the couch, bringing his mouth only a few inches from my core.

“I miss this, chère. I miss the taste of you.” With that he puts his lips onto me and I nearly come off the couch, but he holds me to him.

I kneed my fingers through his thick hair as I gently pump my hips. As if the sight of his dark head between my legs wouldn’t be enough to undo me, his tongue is making quick work of a very sensitive nub that has been aching for this very thing.

Two fingers enter me and I come before he has a chance to thrust them. The throbbing in my clitoris is hard and I cry out his name even though I can’t remember my own.

Bo climbs my body at the same time as he undoes his belt and pulls his jeans down over his waist. His shoulders push up on the backs of my knees, opening me to him even further, his cock bouncing off my wet core as he takes my nipples into his mouth.

I’m mindless, overwhelmed by everything him, and I reach down between our bodies and take a hold of his thick length, pulling him into me because I can’t take this separation any longer. He kisses me as we come together again, and he’s instantly pounding into me, just as before, unable to control our mating.

His shaft swells and I can feel it stretch me further, go in deeper as he pushes my legs back as far as they can go. I don’t know exactly when his climax hits, because I am so lost in my own that everything else around me disappears.

When it’s over and I regain my senses, I find Bo’s head on my chest, his breathing ragged and his sweat mingling with my own. The scent of our sex is thick in the air, though how I can take in a breath with his weight on me is a wonder. Still, I wouldn’t change this. Better to die with the heavy feeling of his body on mine than not to feel him at all. I would die happy.

He pulls out and I feel his semen pour out of me, but he doesn’t go far, simply shifting his weight to lie beside me.

“I think we just ruined your couch,” I tell him.

“Mm, who cares. I want to ruin all of my furniture with you.”

He makes me chuckle, my boobs wiggling with the motion. Bo brings one fingertip to a nipple and circles it softly.

“Bo, unless you’re ready to go for round two, you need to stop that.”

He looks at me through long dark lashes, his blue-green eyes twinkling with that mischief that made me fall in love with him in the first place. “Or what, chère?”

“Or I’ll have my way with you again.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “You could have your way with me anytime, darlin’,” he says, rolling onto his back, forcing me to push up onto an elbow so that now it’s me looking down at him.

I don’t mind it one bit. He’s a beautiful thing to see, naked and sated. The width of the couch can barely accommodate the breadth of his chest, and the length of him is too much and his legs hang over the armrest. Hard muscle is covered by soft skin and a matting of dark hair in just the right places.

I’m not one to like an overly hairy man, but I do like hair on my men. Hair on his chest, forearms, and legs. There’s something so erotic about feeling the differences in our bodies when they are pressed together like this.

“What happened here?” I ask, running my hand over a thick scar on his torso, then leaning over, lick the length of it. The muscles there flex as goosebumps form on his flesh. “I noticed it before, but I guess you kept me too busy to remember to ask.”

He moans before he composes himself, but the enlarging of his penis tells me he liked it. “Ah, that one there happened when I was twelve. A neighbor of Old Nate’s gave us these two rusty bikes that were far too big for us. But we rode them anyway. One day we decide it’d be fun to build a ramp for stunts. Uncle Jim said we’d kill ourselves and wanted no part in it. So, us kids have to figure out how to build one out of the materials lying around the house.”

“Oh no! And you didn’t build it correctly?”

“It was built correctly all right. Perfect, in fact. We’d found a piece of plywood big enough, then took some blocks from a low wall that’d been falling for years. Yup, that ramp was a good one. Problem was our bikes weren’t. Ate shit the first time I went to perform my stunt. I somehow landed on the handle bar. It didn’t have a cover, just bare rusty steel. Scraped a good chunk out of my side there. Ended up in the hospital the next day.”

“The next day!” I say horrified.

“Yup. We were too scared to tell Uncle Jim of our incredible failure after he’d warned us that would happen. I tried not to let it bother me, but eventually I gave into the injury. Passed out at the dinner table.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t die from some infection.”

“Meh, I’d had worse. See this one here?” He points to a nasty scar on his leg, about four inches long. “We were hidin’ up in the cypress one day when my momma came to take me back to New Orleans. Old Nate kept snickerin’ and when I went to cover his mouth I lost my balance and fell right into the roots.”

“Ouch! Bo, that must have hurt!”

“Not one bit. I think I was in shock.”

“And this one?” I point to a thin line on his shoulder and kiss it gently.

“That one is recent. Puggy scratched me and the damned thing scarred.”

“Do you have any other scars I should know about?” My voice is lower now, huskier. “I want to kiss every mark on your body, make them all better.”

The desire in his eyes matches my own, but then his face turns serious as he moves a strand of hair from my face. “I wish you would. Forever.”

Feeling the pressure of the moment, I sit up. “Bo, it’s not that simple.”

He sits up, too, resting his arms on his knees. He’s still wearing his shirt; his jeans and boxer briefs having been thrown clear across the room. “Do you love me?” he asks, getting to the heart of the matter.

“Yes.” I look into his eyes so that he knows that what I say is true. “Bo, I love you.” It’s the first time I’ve told him, though I’ve acknowledged that fact myself already.

“Then what is keeping you from me? You’ve had time. You know that I’m crazy for you. Why can’t we just…” he shakes his head as he searches for the right words. He runs his left hand over my hair and down my bare back. “I want us to be together.”

I sigh, expelling the breath I’m perpetually holding in. “It’s not that simple,” I repeat. “When I say that I love you, I mean it. The thing is, I still love Owen, too. Not only is he the father of my child, but he’s someone I care deeply about.” I lift a hand up to stop him when he goes to deny what I’ve said. “It’s not a clean cut, Bo. He’s my husband. I have to try to fix it.”

I don’t even mention Mia, because honestly she’s not a part of the equation. No matter what happens between Owen and I, she will always have two parents that adore her and will do anything to make sure she knows that.

Bo’s head droops, and he looks sad and defeated. Instantly I regret my words, not because I didn’t mean them, but because I don’t like to see him hurt.

“You may not believe this, but I do understand. Do you think I like chasing after a married woman? Because trust me, it’s not the way I planned to find the ONE. If it had been up to me, I would have met you years ago, before you met your husband. In the perfect world, everything would be different. But it’s not, and it wasn’t my choice to meet you when I did, just like it wasn’t my choice to love you.

“You know that I’m willing to fight for what I want; I have even swallowed my pride when it comes to you. But it’s starting to feel like I’m beggin’, Cris. That’s not fair to me.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I never meant to do that to you.”

“I think you should leave.” He stands and begins to collect my things. “I can appreciate what you said. If you change your mind, you let me know. But until then I think we should keep our distance. That goes both ways.”

I take the clothes he hands me and start to dress in silence. When I’m done, I walk to him and put my hand to his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt.

“I’m sorry, Bo. I shouldn’t have come, but I couldn’t help it.”

“Well now we know,” he says pushing me towards the entrance and opening the door. He leans down as if though he’s going to kiss me, but when I raise my lips to his, he moves his mouth to my ear instead. “But know this, if you do change your mind, and you come to me and I’m still here, then we can be somethin’ great. But I’m not gonna wait for you, Cris. If I get another chance at love, I’m not gonna pass it up.”

With that last bit that leaves me feeling as though I’ve just been punched in the gut, he closes the door on me.

36

“Momma, want some?” Mia asks, offering me one of her sweet potato fries that she’d dipped in ketchup.

“No, baby, thank you.” She frowns, but accepts my response. Now, I’m not one to normally turn down a fry, much less one smothered in ketchup. That saying “I love ketchup on my ketchup” certainly applies to Mia and me. The thing is I’ve had no appetite today. This damned heartburn is at its worst. I’ve already crammed about six anti-acid tablets, and it’s only lunchtime.

We’re sitting on the playroom floor watching Super Why while she eats. Though I’m mostly here with the excuse of keeping her company, and because I’ve yet to get past the fear that she’ll choke on food if I walk away even though she’s already four, I actually like the show. Really, I’ve been watching it since she was a baby.

So, we’re sitting here, enjoying ourselves, when there’s a sudden flutter in my chest. It’s such a strange sensation, as if though my heart literally did a flip inside my ribs, that I stand up and put my fingers up to my neck to feel for a pulse. My heart is pounding hard as can be, but other than the beat seems normal. Still, my mind starts running through all of my symptoms. Just the other day I saw a sign about how heart decease is a silent killer, and how women are more likely to ignore all of the warning signs.

I’ve had heartburn. But has it truly been my stomach? What if this entire time it’s really been my heart? There’s also been that tightness in my chest and shortness of breath. I attributed it to allergies, having been prescribed an inhaler years ago to help with that. But this could be early signs of an impending cardiac arrest.

There’s a sinking feeling in my gut as I begin to feel every one of those symptoms simultaneously and because I’m so focused on them, they intensify.

Racing out to the kitchen where I’d left my phone, I yell back at Mia, “Stay here, baby, I’ll be right back!”

I fly down the stairs, my heart practically in my throat as I see my life played out before me. Shaking hands make it hard to dial 9-1-1, but I get it done.

“911, please state your emergency.”

“I think I’m having a heart attack!” My head is spinning and I can hardly breathe.

Mia comes down with a worried look on her little face. “Momma?” she asks with concern. Though at her age she can’t put two and two together, she knows something’s wrong.

“It’s okay, love. Momma is calling for help because I don’t feel well,” I try to reassure her.

“Ma’am,” the operator says, “What are your symptoms?” I tell her and give her my address. “Help is on the way. I hear you have a little one. Is there anyone who can take her?”

“Yes, I’m going to call my neighbor right now.”

“Okay, I’d like to keep you on the line until the ambulance arrives,” the operator tells me.

“I’ll text her, then.”

Me: Having a heart attack. Can you come take Mia?

Two seconds later the other line on my phone starts going crazy, it’s her.

Me: Can’t answer. On the phone with 911.

Her: WTF!! I’m coming right over!

True to her word, not a minute later she’s pounding on my door. I let her in, Daniel at her hip. She doesn’t care that I’m on the phone. “What is going on!” she practically screams at me angrily.

Covering the mouthpiece on my phone, I say, “I think something’s wrong with me. I’m going to the hospital. Do you mind keeping Mia? I can call my dad to come get her, but I think he’ll freak out.” More than her, at least.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” She takes Mia and holds her and Daniel on her lap as she sits in one of my wingback chairs in the living room. The somber look on her face, her blue eyes glistening, makes her look like she’s already mourning me.

The lights of the ambulance flash bright in the house as they pull up, and I grab my bag and tell the operator who lets me go. I give Mia a kiss, saying, “Momma loves you, I’ll be back quick.”

They follow me to the door where the paramedics have just walked to with a gurney. It’s a little weird getting into it, since I pretty much get in myself. The two young men look at me like I may be making this up, or maybe it’s me that feels that way.

The moment I think it, there’s a stab between my ribs and I grimace.

No, there is definitely a lot of tightness in my chest, almost like I have someone sitting on it. This cannot be normal, I think. Even the oxygen mask they fit over my nose and mouth makes little difference in the way I feel.

Jess walks behind us all the way to the truck, where they load me in and I wave bye. And just as they’re about to close the double doors, I pull the plastic thing off my face and yell out to her, “Call Owen!”

* * *

I love having big breasts. It’s especially awesome when a male technician comes in to perform an EKG. As if though I don’t already feel incredibly vulnerable in my light blue gown and no clothes underneath, I am asked to wear the thing backwards and lie on my back.

The tech, Oscar, comes into the room with a machine on wheels and stands next to me. “Okay, Mrs. Roberts, so what I’m going to do only takes about twenty seconds. You won’t feel a thing, no shock or anything,” he laughs though I’m not sure why. “People always think they’ll get electrocuted. Anyway, I’m going to stick these little pads to your arms, legs and some on your chest. Any questions?”

“No.” My heart is racing, wondering what they’re going to find. A blocked artery? An enlarged heart?

The bed is lifted at the same time as it’s flattened, and he practically brings me up to his face. I try very hard not to think about it when he opens up the flaps of my gown to expose my chest.

A female nurse comes in and works on the laptop attached to the EKG, just as he goes to work on attaching the pads to the insides of my arms, then my chest, then he unceremoniously lifts my heavy left boob and starts to stick some under there, too. I want to groan. I want to cover myself. I want this shit to be over.

Really, it’s over pretty fast. Oscar the tech covers me and goes to stand by the silent female nurse. They communicate so quietly I can’t make out what they’re saying at all, then he’s back, opening my gown once again, moving my boob like it’s just a piece of meat, and taking off the pads.

I cover myself and sit up as soon as it’s over and he smiles at me. Guess he’s used to it.

“Doctor Wade will be in shortly to go over the results with you.”

When Oscar walks out, a brown head peaks in, and I’m so relieved to see it’s Owen I almost cry from it.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“Owen!” I reach for him and he comes into my arms, squeezing me. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. Jess texted me, but didn’t tell me what hospital you were in. Had to make a few calls, and even then, I was sent to the wrong floor.”

He pulls away and I hold his cheek in my hand. “No, you weren’t late. They just finished the EKG.”

His brows pull together in worry. “Have they said anything? Is there any indication that it is your heart?”

“So far they’ve only listened to my chest and did the EKG. The cardiologist said that if that doesn’t show anything, she’ll do an MRI.”

“How are you feeling?”

I take a few deep breaths. “Well, not great. But better now that you’re here.”

He smiles at me sadly, but doesn’t bring up any of our problems. Instead, he scoots me over and lays in the bed, putting his arm around me and bringing me close to him. “Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit, try to get some rest. I’ll be here to take you home.”

To my great relief, Owen stays there the six hours it takes to get the EKG results back, which showed no signs of cardiac distress, and the MRI they did just to be sure, which also showed a perfectly normal heart and lungs. It’s strange that when we have this sort of thing happen, you almost want there to be something wrong, just so that you have an explanation. Instead, the lack of an answer leaves you feeling even more ill.

When Doctor Wade comes in at the last hour and asks to speak with me privately, I tell her, “It’s okay, he’s my husband. He can hear whatever you have to say.”

Now, at this point I’m expecting her to say that they’ve found something even worse than heart disease, but instead she says, “Have you considered talking with a therapist?” I suppose that could be worse.

“Um,” I glance at Owen who is now sitting in one of the guest chairs to my right, over by the IV packs. “Are you saying I need a shrink?”

“Mrs. Roberts, we have looked at many possibilities. I’m not saying that there isn’t something physically wrong, the body is a complex thing. What I am saying is that with your symptoms, there is also the possibility that you are experiencing anxiety.”

“Like a panic attack?” God, even now knowing that this may all be in my head, I still can’t breathe right.

“In a way. Have you been under an abnormal amount of stress?”

I think hard. “Not really,” I say, though I’m not so sure that’s true. Usually I would associate large amounts of stress with financial problems. Even when Owen had his affair I didn’t have heart palpitations. Could this be because of everything that’s happened with Bo?

Doctor Wade looks as convinced as I feel. “Sometimes, anxiety can feel like you’re having a heart attack, amongst other things. Lack of sleep, lack of appetite, indigestion, tightness in your chest and yes, even an irregular heartbeat.”

Embarrassment creeps up my cheeks. “I don’t know what’s worse, feeling like a hypochondriac or being told I may be crazy and need to see a head doctor.”

“Anxiety doesn’t make you crazy, we all have it. And there is nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it. As far as your heart, I would rather check a thousand possible cardiac events if that meant that more women would listen to their bodies. The heart is strong, but it’s also a fragile thing. You have to listen to it or you could lose your life.”

I know she is talking about the physical heart, but for some reason when she tells me, I take the meaning differently. The heart is strong, but oh so fragile. And as I start putting two and two together, I begin to realize how true those words are.

37

The drive home is a quiet one. I can’t exactly tell what Owen is thinking, and honestly I don’t worry too much about it as I am lost in my own thoughts. The houses and buildings are nothing but a blur as I remember what Dr. Wade said to me.

There is nothing wrong with me. At least not physically. Emotionally is another matter. Panic or anxiety attacks she said. It makes perfect sense I guess, what with everything that has happened in the last year.

When we arrive, Owen parks in front of the drive and unlocks the car, but doesn’t turn it off.

“Aren’t you coming in?” I ask him.

“I didn’t want to presume that was okay,” he replies somewhat shyly.

“Owen, this is your house, too. And even if it wasn’t, you’d always be welcome.”

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks, and I can see there is so much more meaning to the question.

“I would love that,” I say because I think he needs it, even more than me.

Jess brings Mia over in the afternoon. For the first time in a long time, we enjoy time as a family. Not that we hadn’t been together recently, it’s that this is the first time we truly let go and just are a family. It is a reminder of everything that we’d put on the line with our shenanigans.

“Are you staying the night?” I ask him.

“I thought I could. I’m sure Ray could use the alone time. He’ll probably throw a party,” he says laughing. Ray and his girlfriend broke up three months ago, and Owen has been staying with him. It’s only a temporary thing, though. Owen put a deposit down on a two-bedroom apartment not far from here. Whether he’ll stay there a short while, or much longer, only time will tell.

“We could watch a movie,” I suggest.

He chuckles and says, “Let me pick because you’re going to fall asleep anyway.”

We go to the bedroom and lay on the bed to watch. It’s the only place where we have a television that won’t make too much noise for Mia.

Owen picks Saving Private Ryan.

I squeeze into him and look up into his face. “Is this okay?”

“Mm,” he sounds, and I take that as a yes.

As predicted, my head starts to droop within five minutes. He pushes on me gently and I giggle. “Sorry! I can’t help it.”

“Not even five minutes!”

“I know, I’m awful.” I look up at him through my lashes as I laugh, then stop when I realize he’s not laughing with me. In fact, all I see in his green eyes is heat, and all I feel as he leans down and kisses me, is that all too familiar passion that I immediately respond to. I can’t help it, it’s been ingrained in me for sixteen years, my body so attuned to him that I automatically ignite with his touch.

The movie and my sleepiness completely forgotten, I climb onto his lap, straddling him, my mouth on his. His hands rove my back, his arms keeping me close. I press my core onto his hardness and he moans into my mouth. There’s a desperate need for him, as if though we don’t come together now, it will never happen.

Our breathing is hard and heavy and I start to take my shirt of, wanting us closer. But he stops me. It confuses me, and I search his face, my brows pinched together. He’s struggling for control, I can tell.

“Owen?”

“We need to talk, Cris.”

Sighing, partly in sexual frustration and partly because I genuinely can’t breathe, I sit back on his legs. “I know.”

His hands naturally go to my thighs and rest there. “I want us to work and I think I’ve shown you that.”

“You have, and I want us to work, too. I want to have what we had.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I don’t think that you’re a cheater. At least I don’t think it’s a problem of once a cheater always a cheater. But I do think it’s something to do with this guy specifically. Am I right?”

I don’t want to answer that, but I also want to be honest. He’s not angry, simply trying to find resolution. “Yes.”

“Why don’t we move? We could find a new start, somewhere we don’t have to worry anymore.” He doesn’t say it specifically, but I know he means somewhere he doesn’t have to worry about Bo.

“Move? It seems drastic.”

“I think we need something drastic. Cris, the thing is, that you have a choice to make.”

I huff. “There is no choice to make, Owen. I’m married to you.”

“Yes, but you’re not mine anymore. You are nobody’s. And if you want me, then you have to choose me. Move away with me.”

I stare at his chest as I think of what he’s offering. A new life somewhere else, away from my home, from my friends and family. But I would have him. I would have my marriage back.

“All I’m asking is that you think about it,” he tells me and I nod.

“Where are you going?” I ask when he moves me off him.

“To the guestroom.”

“You don’t want to stay here with me?”

“I do, more than you know. Even more than that I want you to choose me. Until you do, I don’t want to have sex with you.” With those words of rejection that sorely remind me of the one’s Bo used, he leaves me hurt and more aware than ever of one thing. I do have a choice to make.

Damn me!

* * *

I can’t believe I’m here again. Though I’d sworn never to grace Dr. Riker’s doorstep ever again, now I stand here, straightening my shirt and slacks, then look at my watch to make sure I’m on time. Twelve-thirty.

Today is Wednesday. This is the one day where Katie picks up Mia from school and watches her until three-thirty. There would be plenty of time for my session, a quick bite, and then home. No one had to know that I’d come to see the shrink.

Blowing out a breath to calm my nerves, I push open the heavy wooden door painted in Williamsburg blue, and walk into the foyer. If I didn’t appreciate the doctor when I was here last, I definitely appreciated the old house she used as her office.

Located in downtown Charlotte, it’s part of a block of old homes that have been converted for business use. I love it. Not only were the buildings dated from the late 1800s spared demolition when they built the high-rises not a block from here, but they were preserved beautifully, the historic association having taken a hand in the process. Because the homes were large and expensive to maintain, it was decided to allow businesses to bid for them and create a sort of little old time looking business district for a few blocks.

All this I learned from Natalia, her assistant.

Past the entrance hall and to the right is a waiting room. Natalia sits in the dark space at a large oak desk. Though she’s fairly young, no more than twenty is my guess, she wears little rose colored readers with a chain to hold them to her neck. I don’t know if she needs them, or it’s that she wants to look sophisticated. Either way, it’s certainly an interesting look. Maybe it’s that she wants to look a little like the doctor.

The young brunette doesn’t notice me until I step on a squeaky old floorboard.

“Mrs. Roberts, so nice to see you again. Dr. Riker is just finishing up with a patient, but if you’ll have a seat, she’ll be right with you.” Natalia indicates the two chairs placed beside a large window across the room from her.

Before I can sit down, I hear the door to the adjoining room open and the patient, an older fellow, steps out, bowing as he leaves. “Thank you, doctor. I’ll see you tomorrow, same time?”

“Of course, Mr. Steele. See you then.” He waves goodbye and nods his head towards us, too, and then walks out of the house.

“Natalia, please send Mrs. Roberts in,” the voice comes through the intercom about two seconds after I hear it coming from the other room, unsynchronized.

The shrink stands in greeting when I walk through the door and sit on the couch across from her, the vinyl making that fart sound when as it gives to my weight. I cringe a little when I notice we’re wearing almost identical outfits, olive green shirt over black slacks. She may have winced a little, too, but if she did she recovers quickly.

We sit and I see she’s already got her trusty fancy wood pen and notebook at the ready.

“I have to say I was a bit surprised when I saw your name on my appointment calendar. After the way things ended last time, I didn’t expect to see you here. Certainly, not without Owen.”

“Yes, I honestly didn’t think I’d be back either.”

“What’s changed?”

Looking to the recorder sitting on the desk beside the pad, I nod to it. “Aren’t you going to turn that thing on?”

“I did, just as you came in.”

“Oh, okay.” Working my lip and fiddling anxiously with the strap of my bag, I inhale a shaky breath and then let it go slowly. “Owen moved out of the house.”

Her eyebrows raise in surprise, and I wonder if he hadn’t shared that with her or if she was pretending for my sake. “Was this a mutual decision?”

“Not really. It was sudden, though not unexpected given the circumstances, I suppose.”

“What circumstances?” she asks. “Have things changed since the last time I saw you?”

“I had an affair,” I blurt out. “He said he’d talked to you about it?”

She sits back in her office chair. “What I have discussed with Owen in confidential. Are we talking about the same affair you had in New Orleans?”

“No. Yes.” I sigh. “Same man, but recently I’ve been with him again.”

Though she may have been surprised by Owen moving out, I can tell this is not the first time she’s heard that I slept with Bo again. “Mrs. Roberts, tell me something, do you love your husband?”

“Yes. With all my heart.”

“And what of this man. Do you love him?”

“Yes. With all my heart.” Hysterical laughter bubbles up. “I know it sounds crazy, that I could love two men at the same time. But I do.” I shake my head. “They are both expecting a decision from me, but it’s impossible. It feels like I’m standing at a fork in the road, and both ways look right, and they also both lead me to certain death. How can I choose? I feel so utterly lost.

“That’s why I’m here. I’ve told my friends, my dad about this. They each have a side, each giving me a biased opinion on who the right man is. Or they tell me exactly what I want to hear, being careful with my feelings. You on the other hand, I know you don’t like me. You can tell me exactly what I need to do with honesty.”

Doctor Riker cocks her head to the right, a deep frown between her brows. “What makes you think I don’t like you?”

“Your notes,” I say pointing to the pad.

“My notes?”

“Yeah. When I was here you looked at me and wrote with what I can only assume was judgement.”

She laughs, a real amused sort of laugh that makes me feel a little stupid for my assumption. Or maybe more so because I voiced it. Standing, she comes around the desk with her notepad and recorder in hand. “You want to see what I wrote about you?” she asks handing me the thing.

I nod my head and accept it, then begin to read.

Patient; Maria C. Roberts (Cris)

-Comes to me with husband, Owen, to openly discuss the extramarital affairs had by both.

-Posture is uncomfortable, body at slight angle away from husband. Arms crossed in front of chest.

-Short glances only at husband.

-Hostile.

-Distrust.

-Right arm twitches.

-Eyes close at mention of initial affair. Refusal to speak of it.

-Refer to tape CC546

Looking up in puzzlement, I ask, “Is this it?” I could have sworn she was writing every time I looked towards her.

“You’ll see I don’t write very much of the conversations. This trusty little recorder is what I rely on. If I take too much time writing, I can’t really listen. There are little nuances, inflictions of the voice that tell me so much more than the words can. Body posture is a big indicator I use as well.”

She takes the recorder and replaces the little cassette with one I hadn’t seen she had in her hands and presses the rewind button until it stops on its own. For a moment, I have to wonder why she doesn’t use slightly more modern technology, but I guess if she’s been doing this for twenty years, she might be accustomed to doing things a certain way.

“Cristiana, this isn’t something I usually do. No scratch that. This is something I never do. But in your case, I think the only way I can help you is if I can gain your trust. So, I want you to listen to my notes based on the recording from our previous session.”

She hands me the recorder and I hesitantly take it from her hands. Then I press play. There is a moment of silence after a very obvious breath.

In the case of Owen and Cristiana Roberts, today, I will be focusing on the latter.

The patient sat rigid and away from her husband, which to me shows a level of distrust and vulnerability. It was obvious to me as well, that while she voiced a willingness to be here in support of him, her feelings on the matter were quite different.

The posture changed as they both shared memories of the day they met, with Mrs. Roberts holding his hand and for the first and only time during the session looked into his eyes.

However, this quickly changed when the matter of his affair was brought up. There was a blatant refusal to discuss the events that led to the affair, which I hoped would help in the healing process, as they do have a genuine love for each other. But it seemed to have the opposite effect when he told his side of the story, as in the end, when he conveyed his distress over the matter, she shut down, retreating into herself.

I was myself able to see the distance he spoke of, though I do not believe it to be a distance caused by him. This suspicion was further confirmed when she refused to speak of her affair in any degree, and the ache at her part in it was overly evident.

There’s a long pause.

It wasn’t the usual remorse I see in couples that want to rebuild a relationship. Yes, there was sadness in her eyes. So much sadness. But there was more than that. There is no doubt in my mind that what I saw was conflict. Perhaps at the lack of guilt?

But, if she loves Owen, why would there be a lack of guilt at having taken off with another man. Unless… Unless there was also an emotional connection. Mm. This one is too close to home.

The recording stops.

I wipe at my face and am surprised at the wetness that I find. Nowhere in her notes or recording is there judgment.

The doctor gently takes the recorder from my lap. “It seems I was correct in my assumption of your feeling towards this man.”

The knot in my throat is hard to swallow, and it takes me a minute to get it down and answer her. “His name is Bo.”

She nods as if this was all she needed to hear.

I shake my head, tears spilling faster down to the clasped hands on my lap. When I look up at her, she’s studying me in that way that she does, only this time I realize it’s not ill intentioned, but simply watching how I react. It’s her job.

“I haven’t slept with Owen again since I slept with Bo this last time. It feels wrong. Tainted.”

“I can understand that.”

“Tell me what to do.” I look to her imploringly. “How does anyone make a decision like this?”

Taking my hands in hers, she says with true sincerity. “This is a very hard thing to do, Cris. I don’t envy you. Things are so different when it’s a clear-cut affair. But this… It’s not often I encounter it, believe it or not.”

“Then how do I make the choice?”

“Mm,” she says thinking to herself. “You said you envision yourself at a fork in the road.”

“Yes.”

“All right then, here’s what I want you to do. Close your eyes,” she commands softly and I do. “Now I want you to imagine that road. Picture it in your mind’s eye, as if though you are really there. Make it real.”

With my eyes closed, I focus on the image in my head. A dirt road that forks into two, between a dense forest that darkens them so that I can’t see where they end. Both identical paths, beautiful and terrifying at the same time. “I’m there.”

“Assign Bo to one, and Owen to the other. Don’t tell me which is which. Keep that to yourself.”

“Okay, I did.”

“Now, I am going to tell you which one to go down. You must promise me that you will walk down that path no matter what. This is the man I want you to choose. Do you understand?”

My eyes pop open. “What? You mean we’re going to basically flip a coin.”

“Of course. If you can’t make up your mind, both paths equal in your mind, then it shouldn’t matter who you choose. You will be equally miserable, and happy. Am I right?”

“I…” I shake my head, then nod in agreement, remembering the day when I’d stood on a real road, watching Bo and Owen drive away, desperately trying to figure out who’d turned left and who’d turned right. Maybe it was some sort of forewarning, that I’d one day soon be having to make the decision blindly, not knowing who I’d really choose. Who went left and who went right…

What other choice do I have? It’s been dragged on too long. At some point, I will end up losing them both if I continue. The pain will only be prolonged. My lids close and the roads are before me.

“Cris, you need to walk down the path on the right.”

My breath catches even as my heart races and I turn my head to the right.

“You promised. Do not switch now. The choice is made. Go down the road.”

Panic sets in as I begin to walk down, the soft dirt puffing slightly with every step. As I go further in, the man I’d named for the right begins to form. And when I reach for his outstretched hand, I glance to my left and see the other’s face.

The pain that lances within my chest at the thought of never seeing him again is swift and sharp. There is a sting in my left eye and I wipe at the fat tear that threatened to roll down my cheek, catching it with my forefinger instead. I study the wetness, and it dawns on me then what this is.

I look back into loving eyes and down into the offered hand. And I step back.

“I’m sorry,” I say shaking my head.

Yes, I agreed to walk down the path the good doctor set for me, but when I did, I realized that though I could not envision life without the man before me, to live without the other was a fate worse than death.

I cried for myself, I cried for the two of them. And when I finally stop I am curled on Dr. Riker’s lap as she brushes my hair away from my face and rocks me gently.

Dark blue eyes look down into mine with an understanding I’ve never seen before.

Sitting up, I hug her without a word, hoping I convey my gratitude at what she’s just done for me and leave.

I’ve made my choice.

38

“You’re ending this, aren’t you? Once and for all.”

Facing him, I don’t want to say the word because I know that once it’s out, it’s done. It cannot be taken back this time. “Yes.”

There it is, the removal of that scab that keeps forming over a wound that’s never properly healed. His features contort in pain and I feel the shredding of my heart as our lives are pried apart even further. Permanently.

The agony in his green eyes is obvious, though I know just like me, he feels relief that this is finally over no matter how it’s happening.

We are sitting on the couch, facing each other, the house silent but for the occasional hum of the appliances turning off and on.

Jess offered to take Mia for the evening, saying she’d keep her overnight if the conversation went long, but I declined. Mia has school tomorrow and it would be so much easier to wake up with her here. I’d told Jess only that I was going to have a conversation with Owen, that I needed to put an end to this love triangle that was nothing but hell on all of us. I didn’t tell her who I’d chosen, or why, feeling that I owed that much to the two men that were suffering because of my inability to commit.

Owen looks down and with his nail, intently follows the seams of the fabric on the couch. He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell his mind is racing, processing what I’ve just said. Still, it is a different reaction than what I’d imagined.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “This wasn’t how I imagined our marriage would end.”

“I never imagined our marriage would end at all.”

“Neither did I.”

“It’s not all your fault, Cris. As much as I would love to lay all the blame on your shoulders, I’m the one who let the devil in. Five fucking minutes and he came and took what I love the most away.”

“The amount of time is of no consequence,” I say. The reality of it is that all it took was one second of Owen’s sin. The devil had come knocking long before that. I’d recognized the danger and fought against it. But the instant Owen cheated, he opened the door wide enough to let him in. That was all it took. An instant.

Then again, I also wonder if perhaps he hadn’t lost me before that. Maybe I’d been lost the moment my eyes made contact with Bo’s. Or if I believe as Bo does, I was born his.

Owen sighs, his head hanging low. “I’m so tired, Cris. So, so tired.”

Coming closer to him, I reach out to him instinctively, and bring his head into my chest. He’s taking deep breaths, his body trembling, but he’s not crying, perhaps he also has no tears left.

It’s not an easy thing to admit, but our marriage has been in the process of dying for quite a while now. We wanted to keep it alive, to save it, but the injury done to it was too great to survive. And the dying hasn’t been easy. It’s been so agonizing and slow, the toll on both Owen and I so immense, that now that it’s over there is relief. It’s done. There is nothing left to do, but to heal.

“Why him?” he asks quietly. It’s not in anger now, I think, more curiosity.

As I comb my fingers through his hair, I shake my head. How to explain such a thing when I don’t know how the heart chooses?

The thing is, that up until recently even I didn’t know which way to go. In the end, it came down to one thing, and when I realized this, I was finally able to see.

What I discovered in that vision I had at Dr. Riker’s office was that I’d already made that choice. I’d done my best to suppress the thought of it, because the very idea that I could ever leave Owen was unimaginable to me. I thought I’d succeeded in squelching the thought.

But the truth is that even though my brain had managed to function without Bo, my heart and soul wept for him. Literally, the pain seeped through my being, tears a constant companion, a reminder of what I needed, but denied. They ached for him, cried for him, to such a degree that there was a physical reaction even though I didn’t recognize it for what it was. I’d been crying for months. Those tears in my eyes, the tightness in my chest, it was all because I’d wrenched myself from him. Because I’d tried to pretend that he’d been a one-time thing, instead of what I knew he really meant. He was everything. He was forever.

And there it was. My answer. I felt like I would die without Owen. But to be without Bo, that was a fate worse than death.

How to explain that to someone who meant so much to me, even now? Because yes, I still love Owen deeply. I don’t want to hurt him anymore.

So, I say, “I don’t know.”

He accepts this, I suppose, because he doesn’t ask about it anymore. Actually, nothing else is said after that. Instead we sit like that for a long while, with Owen’s head at my breast as I run my fingers through his hair and down his back, comforting him as much as myself.

We sit like that, together mourning the loss of the life we’d built together. For over sixteen years we have loved each other, and I know, at least as far as I’m concerned, I will love him forever. Clinging to each other, knowing that this is the last time, we both drift off.

* * *

When I wake up, the sun is shining brightly through the floor to ceiling living room windows, announcing a new day. A new life.

Pushing off the blanket Owen must have laid on me at some point, I sit up and take in my surroundings. He is gone, but in his place is a folded sheet with my name written neatly on it. Unfolding it carefully, I begin to read.

Cris,

As I write this I’m watching you sleep, and to know it’s the last time I’ll ever have the right to is like a knife through my heart. You look so beautiful. I can’t believe I’ve lost you.

I am going for a long drive. Not sure where, but I need some time to think. Please tell Mia her daddy loves her and I will be back for her next weekend, if that is okay with you. We can talk about the details of who she will be with. She is the most important thing in both our lives, I have no doubt about that. I know we will be able to work out a way that we can both be there for her always. You are the best mother I could have ever chosen for my child; I hope you think the same of me.

Cris…

I miss you already, more than you will ever know. I have loved you from the moment I saw you sitting behind that counter, with those hazel eyes that touched my soul. I have loved you more than I have ever loved anyone, and no matter where life takes us, I will always love you. You are my forever.

I love you,

Owen

Mia wakes up and comes down to find me holding the sheet tightly to my chest.

“Momma, is today school?” she asks, moving the paper away so that she can sit on my lap. She doesn’t care that I’m sad, and she has no inclination of how much my life has changed. “Momma!”

“Yes, baby, there is school. Let’s get you ready before we’re late,” I say, getting to it, glad for the distraction that having a child brings. There is no time to dwell. I’d already called out of work yesterday, though, so that once Mia was in school I would have plenty of time to digest everything that’s happened. There would be plenty of time to think about the chapter in my life that has just ended, and the new one that’s about to begin.

39

Where the hell is he? I wonder as I sit at my kitchen table, scratching my head, looking at my phone like it will ring at any minute and it will be Bo.

“Nothing yet?” My dad comes into the kitchen, a worried look on his face as he sits beside me. After I called him to tell him everything that happened last night, he packed his bags and decided to stay with me a few days.

“Nope. Nada. Not a clue where he is. I texted Jane an hour ago, but she hasn’t replied yet.”

“Do you regret ending it with Owen?”

“No,” I answer confidently. “Daddy, all it was doing was causing him pain. Both of us, actually. It had to end. I know you don’t like it, believe me it’s not the way I ever imagined things would happen. And I know you think I’m following in Mom’s footsteps…”

He lifts a hand to me, stopping me from speaking further. “Cris, what the heck are you talking about?”

“Well, I know you were upset that I’d leave Owen, just like Mom left you.”

He rears back in shock at my words and I’m suddenly not so sure I interpreted anything correctly.

“Wait a minute, I feel like I’m missing something. You were ready to end your marriage when Owen had his affair, am I right?”

“Right.”

“But when you fell in love with Bo, you denied yourself because you thought I’d compare you to your mother?”

“Um… Yes?” When my mom left, I’d been so appalled at her behavior. When Owen was unfaithful, the story was different. But once I became the cheater, it felt like utter hypocrisy to do the same thing after the things I’d thought. “I didn’t want you to judge me.”

“Cris, the only one doing any judging here is you. And I think you need to give your mother a break. She’s an amazing woman, who has loved you and cared for you. You know better than anyone that a mother’s love has nothing to do with a marriage. Do you love Mia any less because you and Owen split?”

“No,” I say, shrinking back at the scolding.

“I would say it’s time you forgive her, if I felt there was anything for you to forgive. She didn’t do anything to you. If anything, it’s me who should ask for your forgiveness. Cris, I have never compared you to your mom, and I’m sorry if I made it seem that way at any point. Though I am so grateful you were there to support me when she left, and you are the reason I was able to get back on my feet, you should never have had to. No child should have to. It was not your job, and I am afraid it gave you some sort of complex, or fear of what you might do.”

“Daddy, no, I am so glad that I could be there for you.”

“I know you are. But in the process, you became so afraid of what you would become. I think you also worry too much of what I may think of your relationships. The thing is, your marriage was nothing like mine. The reasons your mom and I separated may seem similar to you, but they were so different. You only knew the half of it.

“The same with me. I am well aware that I don’t know everything that goes on behind closed doors. I would never assume to. All I’ve cared about is your happiness. I want you to be with someone that makes you happy. Someone that you love with all your heart. And if this guy, this Bo, loves you near as much as I think you love him…”

“He does,” I say. “At least I think so. He’s the one, Daddy. And I think I’ve lost him. Literally!” I let my head fall onto his shoulder, and he brings his other hand around to hold me there.

“Things will work out, I promise,” he squeezes me.

“Thank you for coming. I don’t think I could function without you here.”

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he says.

“I think I need to call Mom.”

“Does she know any of what’s happening?” he asks.

“No. I didn’t know how to talk to her about it without sounding resentful. Now I feel awful because everything you said is absolutely true. She’s always been an amazing mother.”

Buzz. Buzz. A text comes in and I lift my phone, wondering if maybe my mom sensed my sudden need to hear her voice, to apologize for being less than understanding. But it’s not her.

“It’s Jane,” I tell my dad.

“Abuelito!” Mia’s head pops into the kitchen. She’s dressed herself in a princess costume, and has a very annoyed look on her face. “You said you were doing the show with me,” she tells him pouting.

“Yes, I’m coming.” He gets up and leaves me to message my friend.

Jane: Um, he’s gone. I have spent the last hour calling him and nothing. Nate says he has no idea, though I think he’s lying. Still waiting for Lydia to answer, but if I were you, I’d just drive to his house.

Me: I did earlier. There was no one home and all the blinds were closed.

There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I imagine the worst.

Her: Then go to Lydia’s house and ask her.

Me: Shit, I don’t have much of a choice. Thank you, Jane.

Her: Please keep me posted. All this drama isn’t good for me.

Me: Maybe I shouldn’t involve you. I didn’t even think about your state!

Her: Don’t you dare leave me out! I need to know what happens.

Laughing for the first time all day, I send her a thumbs up.

“Daddy!” I call upstairs. “I’m going across the street for a few minutes. You got Mia?”

“Yup. Or she’s got me. Either way, take your time.”

At the Jensen’s front door, I wipe my hands on my jeans and knock. It’s been a while since I’ve seen either of them, just the occasional wave as they drive by. Actually, we haven’t had a conversation at all since that day where Bo took me into their guestroom and fucked me mindless.

That very thought is going through my head when the door opens, and Lydia Jensen’s eyes make contact with mine. My face flames as I imagine the moans she must have heard coming from that room!

“Mrs. Jensen,” I say and clear my throat nervously. “I… I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute?”

Mrs. Jensen surprises me by taking me in her arms for a tight hug, her vanilla musk perfume enveloping me. “Of course you can. You didn’t bring that baby with you today?” she asks.

“No. She’s at home with my dad.” We walk in to her living room, where we sit on her couch facing each other. “Is Mr. Jensen around?”

“He is at an appointment. How are you, sugar? We haven’t seen you in a while.”

I swallow down the embarrassment and brace on to my courage. “About that, I really want to apologize for the thing that happened.”

“Well, I must admit it was awkward.” She tugs at the pearls around her neck and looks at something nonexistent on the wall. The way she says it, like she’s admitting something she’d rather pretend didn’t happen, makes it slightly more mortifying.

“That’s putting it mildly, but yes, awkward. I am sorry. It was not my intention to disrespect your home or make you feel uncomfortable. I hope you don’t think less of me for what I’ve done.”

Her head snaps back to me. “Honey, all I think is that you’re human,” she says honestly. “Bo hounded me for a while about you. I thought it was just some crush, and I did my best to remind him that you were a married woman. But he insisted that he felt something else with you he’d never felt. I will say it’s a hard thing to know your child wants something so badly, and to explain to him that he can’t have it. Seems I was wrong. I guess you felt the same thing?”

“Mrs. Jensen, I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s such a strong emotion it is actually painful. Scary.” My eyes rove the clean but cluttered kitchen. “Owen and I have separated.”

“Is it because of my Boey?” she asks cautiously.

“Yes. Though it’s more because of my feelings for him. I tried to make my marriage work, but it’s a very hard thing to do when there are two men in your heart.”

“Don’t I know it,” she says nodding, and I wonder what she means by that. I guess we all have our stories to tell.

“Now that things have ended, I’m anxious to start a new chapter with Bo. But I can’t find him anywhere. He’s not returning my calls, and I went to his house earlier and sat there for an hour and nothing. I even went to his office and the girl there said she wasn’t allowed to tell me. Do you by any chance know anything?”

Her face goes so pale it makes the yellow of her hair stand out more. “Oh honey, I am so sorry. Bo is leaving today. He may have already left.”

“He’s leaving? Where is he going? When will he be back?” I ask, barely breathing.

She shakes her head, here long silver tassel earrings swinging wildly. “Costa Rica. He’s left the business to Dan for a while.”

“Didn’t he give you a return date?” I feel crazed at the very thought of waiting another minute to see him, and for all I knew it would be months! What if while he’s in another country, thinking I’m lost to him, he finds someone else? What if he makes true on his promise not to let a possible love interest pass him by while he waited for a decision from me? Oh my god!

“Let me call him.” She holds the phone to her ear. “Nothing.”

I groan in frustration. “This isn’t happening,” I say more to myself than her. “How does someone just up and leave like that!”

“Well, he’s been planning this for a while,” she tells me as if though I should know this. People plan trips all the time. Bo has as much right to vacation as anyone else.

Of course, I wished he’d have told me. But really, why would he have? Especially after I specifically told him to leave me alone! In my head, I’m screaming as hard as I can, though for Mrs. Jensen’s sake, I try very hard to reign in my reaction.

“Hold on, he sent it to me here,” she pulls on the readers that have been hanging from her pearl necklace and grabs her phone off the coffee table. It takes a lot not to pull the thing out of her hands and scroll through her texts myself. “Well, maybe he didn’t send me anything. Oh, here it is.” She squints into the phone, pulling it closer and further until she finds a distance she can read in. “Oh, look, his flight won’t leave for another three hours. Maybe you can still catch him. Now why did I think he was leaving this morning?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jensen!” I yell back, already halfway out the door.

“Good luck, darlin’.”

* * *

I’m sure there is something on the news about this weather, but as I rarely watch grownup television, I had no idea to avoid the interstate because a monsoon would affect traffic so much that it would take me twice as long to get to Bo’s house.

His truck is gone, and I know that means he is, too. But I don’t care. My car skids to a halt on the muddy gravel and I am out running towards the door.

“Bo! Bo!” I scream as I pound on the wood, sobbing from the fear that I may have lost him.

I should have told him he’s the one. I need him. I love him.

The rain is slowing, along with the pounding of my fists on the door. Partly because I’m giving up, partly because they hurt.

Finally, after a long while, both the rain and I give up. Everything in my being refuses to let go, but at some point I would have to.

Defeated and lost, I turn to the drive, for the first time noting my soggy sneakers and muddied jeans. Skirting the culprit, a deep rut full of brown water, I walk to my car.

Streams flow down my face, both from my soaked and stringy hair and from the tears flowing so freely now.

As I sit in my car ready to take my soggy shoes off, I hear the deep rumble in the distance, and I stop to listen. It’s a familiar sound that has me racing down to the street, where I see a large black truck coming my way. My heart in my throat, I run towards it as fast as my squishy feet will take me.

The truck stops in the middle of the road, and I can see Bo inside staring at me, almost like he’s trying to determine whether I’m an apparition or something real. Then deciding I’m really there, he jumps from his vehicle and runs to me.

“Cris!” he calls to me and I fling myself into his arms. His lips are upon mine, and I feel the hot steel of his truck as he pushes me against the hood.

When he pulls away, I see that he’s crying, too. Maybe he has been for a while because his eyes are red and puffy.

“I thought you’d left,” I say to him, my hands roaming his arms, his chest. I, too, need to know that he’s real. That this is real.

“I did. My flight’s been delayed until tomorrow because of a nasty storm coming our way. I leave first thing.”

“I’m sorry, Bo. I should have told you, but I wanted to talk to Owen about it first. It seemed the right thing to do. Until I found out you up and left, and I thought I’d screwed up again and I would never…”

“No, I’m sorry. I should have given you more time. I should have been more understanding.”

I nod my head as he wipes two fat tears away with his thumbs. “So what did you want to tell me?” he asks with a smile, because he knows what I’ll say, but he wants to hear it.

“I love you, Bo. Beyond anything I’ve ever felt. It’s you. I can’t live without you.”

He kisses me before I can say anything more. The fire he ignites every time consumes me, and as he lifts me to him I wrap my legs around his waist. I kiss him with every fiber of my being, my heart and my soul.

Bo walks us back to his house and practically kicks the door open.

There is nothing but us now, nothing that can hold us back from giving ourselves in every way possible. Everything is so different. His touch is more intense, his kiss so much deeper. This time, instead of clinging to him for fear that I may never hold him again, I cling to him because I can. And when he tosses me onto the couch, I let go, knowing he’ll still be there. Still come to me.

In his face, I see the same relief. There is also something else I see in his eyes that hadn’t been there as I watch him carefully, standing in front of me undressing. The knowledge that I am his and only his.

“You have too much clothes on, chère,” he reminds me with a gleam in his eye as he kneels down to the couch. “Makes me feel vulnerable.”

“Oh? Let me make you feel a little more comfortable, then,” I say with a chuckle, shimmying out of my shirt and jeans.

Before I’m done, he loses his patience and helps me with the remainder of my clothes, then he pushes me onto my back and I wrap myself around him. His kiss is slow, painfully so. Feeling the hot burn of his cock at my entrance, I lift my hips to his.

Bo moves away laughing, teasing. With a last bite to my lower lip, he lifts his head and looks deep into my soul. “Be gentle with me,” he whispers. I know what he’s saying. For more than a year we have been in turmoil, our hearts are raw.

With my hands in his hair, I pull him down to me and kiss him, putting as much love in that one kiss as I can. He pushes into me at the same time, pouring his soul into me as he begins to move.

We give to each other without restraint, and when we reach the stars, we take our time coming down.

Lazily we lay in each other’s arms, enjoying the warmth of our naked bodies.

“So you saw my mom?” he asks as he draws little circles on my arm with his fingertips.

“Yeah, finally. I thought she’d be angrier.”

“Nah, she knows what life is like.”

“Mm.”

“What about Owen?” he asks hesitantly.

I sigh, out of sadness for Owen and for myself. “I think he’s glad it’s done. He’ll be all right.”

Out of nowhere there is a loud knock on the door and Bo practically falls off me.

“Who the fuck…” he starts.

“Charlotte police!” a woman says loudly from outside, and then I notice the swirling blue and red lights against the white curtains.

“Shit!” I cover myself with random pillows and a fuzzy throw, as my clothes are nowhere to be seen.

“Ready?” Bo asks, but doesn’t wait for me to answer before he opens the door.

There are two officers just outside, a male and a female. The woman takes one look at Bo, with his shorts on backwards, and then her eyes rove around the room taking in the disheveled state of everything including myself.

She isn’t one bit frazzled, though I can see that the man standing behind her is completely flustered, his cheeks flame red as he wipes his brow.

“I’m officer Cruz and this is my partner, Jameson,” she says. “Sir, is that your vehicle out there in the middle of the road?” she asks.

My mouth drops open. Oh no, the truck! I had completely forgotten about that. Bo peeks out the door and laughs nervously.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m going to have to ask for some identification, then I’d like you to move the truck. And, you may want to turn off that car before it runs out of battery.”

Dear lord, I had already started my car before I heard his truck and left it on, too!

Bo complies and he walks past the officers with his head hung low, with Jameson following him.

Officer Cruz looks at me and smiles. “Have a good day, though looks like you may already be.” She giggles and leaves.

“Oh my, that was embarrassing!” I tell Bo when he comes back.

“A little,” he chuckles pulling off his shorts and walking towards me. He removes the throw and pillows and exposes me to him.

I open my arms and legs, and pull him down to me.

“So, are you still leaving tomorrow morning?” I ask him.

“I’m not going anywhere that I can’t take you.”

“Won’t Lionel be upset you didn’t show?”

“He’s got Charles. I sort of felt like the third wheel anyway.”

“I was afraid I’d never see you again,” I admit. “When your mom told me you were leaving, I went into a frenzy trying to get here. And when I thought I missed you…”

He lifts my chin up and looks down into my face with an indecent amount of humor in his blue-green eyes. “You know there are phones out there, too. Besides, I was only going to be away for seven days.”

I smack his arm. “Maybe if you’d have answered your phone I would have known that!”

“Well, I wanted to make you squirm a little,” he says, bending down to bite my neck and making me do just that beneath him.

“I know how much you loved Costa Rica when you went the last time, so for that I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry you’re here now and I get my chance with you. With everything that we’ve been through to be together, I’m never going to let you go.”

He kisses me slowly then, languidly, enjoying me the way I had done that night with him at Bonheur. Even when his shaft is hard as a rock, and he penetrates me, taking my breath as he always does, he takes his time. This is no fuck, but a consummation of love.

I look deep into his eyes, into his soul, and because I need it, I demand, “Say you’re mine, Bo. Say it.”

“I’m yours, Cris,” he says without hesitation. “Always yours.”

Epilogue

“So you made it okay?” Owen asks.

“Yeah, it was a rough landing, but the plane didn’t crash, so I guess that’s good.”

“Hi, Mom!” Mia pushes into the small video image on my phone and waves.

“Hey, love. Are you all ready for the game?” I ask, seeing her in her soccer gear. “I’m so sorry I’m going to miss it!”

“Don’t worry, mom. You always come!” she says. “Have fun, gotta go!” she runs off screen, then I hear her yell, “I love you!” as Owen takes the phone back.

“You remember where to go, right?” I try not to sound concerned, but the lack of confidence comes through in my voice.

“Cris, I go to every game, too,” he reminds me.

“I know, but you usually head right to the stands.”

“Well, if I get lost Mia will tell me. Besides, Laura is going to be there.”

Speak of the devil, her golden head pops into view. “I’ll take care of everything,” she reassures me. “Girls, get your gear in the car please!” she yells off screen. Sammy runs by behind her mother, giving me a quick wave as she passes by the camera.

Knowing that Laura will be there running the show makes me feel better. In the time that I’ve known her she’s proven to be a wonderful mother, who really has her shit together. She’s very much like Jess in that way. And even though she’s got her two kids, JB and Sammy, when she took on Mia as a stepdaughter, she hit the floor running.

“Okay, got to run,” Owen says to me. “Have fun and don’t worry about anything. Mia will be great.” With that he hangs up.

It’s so strange to think about the unexpected turn of events over the last couple of years. Never in a million years would I have thought that Owen and I would be living separate, yet parallel lives. Never in a gazillion years would I have ever imagined he’d have married Laura, Bo’s ex-wife. Never!

But life is crazy and I can’t make that shit up! Mia and Sammy being in the same soccer league set things into motion. Owen came to the game, so did Laura. I don’t really even know when it happened, or how because I can’t bring myself to ask for the details, but one day they met and then it was instant. They married not six months later.

It makes me happy, really it does, to see the way Owen lights up when she comes into the room. Though I must admit, that with the joy it brings me to see him so happy, comes the sting of jealousy. I think that’s normal for anyone with their exes. With me, it’s also that I really never did see him glow that way with me.

I sit on the edge of the bed and reflect on the day we separated, now over two years ago. He’d told me that he loved me, that I was his forever. Well, while I don’t doubt he will love me forever, as I do him, he certainly has found the ONE. Just like I have. Sometimes I wonder if our marriage was a waiting period for the two of us. I will never regret the time we had together. It was great, amazing even. But what we both have now, it’s so much more than we could have dreamed. Though it definitely makes for a very interesting dynamic at holiday get-togethers.

A knock on the door brings me back from my inner thoughts. It’s Wendy, the owner and operator of Maison Bordeaux in the French Quarter of New Orleans. I smile as I see the older woman standing at my door. “Miss Wendy, what can I do for you.”

“Oh, I was coming to see what I can do for you? Is everything comfortable?” she asks.

“Yes, of course. I’m heading out for a little while, actually. My husband is waiting for me at that tequila bar across the street. I’ll walk down with you.”

I grab my purse and we walk down to the long hallway that leads to the main doors. Stopping in front of one of the old mirrors hanging from the walls, I give myself a last glance. Nodding at my reflection in approval, I turn back to Wendy and wave. “Have a good evening!”

“You, too, Mrs. Rougier. By the way,” she says stopping me. “The color red, it becomes you.”

Part III

The Other Side

Bo

40

The cool breeze does nothing to ease the sweat rolling between my shoulder blades on this unseasonably warm winter day. I’ve already stripped down to my white T-shirt and am seriously considering taking that off too when my mother hands me the last of the boxes my stepdad has broken down.

“That’s it,” she says, wiping her brow.

“All right, Momma. I’ll take them to the house.”

“What’re you gonna do with them?”

“I’m going to see Cole at some point this month, so I’ll give them to him. Since he’s movin’ down here, he’ll need boxes.” After loading them onto the bed of my truck, I close the tailgate.

Somewhere behind us, we hear a garage door open and we both turn. A tall blond woman with three very blond kids is walking up the driveway diagonally across the street, and I can hear her chatting with another woman there.

“Looks like there are a lot of families here,” I note. “Do you like it?”

“This was a good move, Boey. But I won’t lie, I miss New Orleans.”

“We’ll go back to visit soon. I promise.” I give her a hug, planting a kiss on her vanilla-scented hair, and then get into the truck. “I’ll be by with some dinner tonight.”

“Just watch the seasoning. Your dad refuses to take his reflux medication.”

“Will do, Momma.”

Turning the key, I feel the engine of my Raptor roar to life. After I circle around in the cul-de-sac, I head up the street and stop at the house where the women are talking. I’m curious to see who my parents will be living next to.

If it had been up to me, they would’ve moved to Huntersville. Somewhere closer, where I could keep an eye on them. But my mother said she was sick of old homes and wanted something newer, even if it was a cookie cutter house in a cookie cutter neighborhood.

Their realtor found this place. It’s nice. The houses are all some shade of white—ivory, bone, off-white, eggshell. But the siding will be easy to care for, as will the small yard in the front.

The two-story house I pull up to now is, of course, white, with perfectly manicured grass and two black rockers on the large porch.

Everyone moves aside, the women gathering the children next to them. When I roll down my tinted window, the beautiful blonde walks up to me with a child on her hip. The other woman, who’s much shorter and has dark hair, stands behind her while holding a little girl’s hand, making her hard to see.

“Hi there!” the blonde greets. “Are y’all new here?”

The brunette peeks from behind her, and I get a clear view of her face. Our eyes lock momentarily, but in that sliver of time, I see a thousand visions of lust, and the other woman disappears. My mouth is instantly dry, and I’m consumed by her unique beauty, the fullness of her lips, the glow of amber irises against smooth tan skin. My hands itch to remove the pin from her hair and release it from its messy bun to see if it reaches the curve of her hip. The thought of it makes me smile.

The heat in the truck suddenly seems to rise a hundred degrees. A bead of sweat makes its way down my neck and into my clavicle. I’m burning up for her, yet she looks as cool as a cucumber in her black and blue checkered jacket.

Or maybe she’s not as cool as I thought. When my eyes return to hers, she appears to be unnerved. Hardly breathing. Sweat rolls from her temple over the soft line of her jaw. And if I had to guess from the way she’s biting her lower lip, it’s me who’s made her that way.

My grin broadens, and being merciful—though I don’t know if it’s for her sake or mine—I turn back to the blonde, and when I remember she asked me a question, I reply, “No ma’am. My folks just moved in. I live in Huntersville, ’bout half an hour or so away.”

Though wouldn’t it be something to live this close to that? To see her every day?

“I’m Jessica Donahue and this is Daniel.” She nods her head toward the boy in her arms. “Over there are my daughter, Reilly, and my other son, Joshua. And this”—she gestures behind her—“is Cris and her daughter, Mia.”

My gaze moves to Cris. She’s looking from us to my mother’s house, and I’m disappointed she’s not paying more attention to the conversation. I would’ve liked it better if she’d introduced herself. “Nice to meet y’all. My name is Bo. Moved up from Louisiana a few years ago.”

At the mention of Louisiana, Cris’s eyes snap to mine, and fuck, but it feels like they’re touching me.

But then, without warning, she takes off down the street. Through the rearview mirror, I watch her practically run to my mother’s house as if I were chasing her up the drive.

“Guess she’s anxious to meet your family,” Jessica says and shrugs.

“It would seem so.” Directing my focus back to her, I say, “I should probably get goin’. I’ll be coming around quite a bit to help my parents, so I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other.”

“All right. It was nice to meet you, Bo.”

“You too.” I drive away, all the while glancing in the rearview mirror in hopes of seeing Cris just one more time.

41

“Purple.”

“Not purple, Dan. Lilac.”

“It’s purple, I tell you. Call it what you will—violet, lavender. It’s damned purple! Bo, talk some sense into your mother. A man can’t live with a purple bathroom.”

My mother’s eyes move to me as she taps her long red nails on the granite bar top, daring me to challenge her authority over the house. Not having expected to be a part of this decision, I take a large bite of my po’ boy. “Fif whavever.”

“What? Speak up, son!” My stepfather puts his hand to his ear, trying to understand what I’m saying.

“Boey, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Laughing, I take another bite, and say, “Af you wif.”

My mother scoffs when she realizes I’m not going to side with either of them. “We’ll paint that bathroom lilac, and Bo will do it for us.”

Dan grumbles as he takes a bite of his own sub. He knows better than to fight it. It’s nothing but a waste of energy. A battle he can’t win.

Finally swallowing, I say, “Why not paint that bathroom purple—”

“It’s not purple!” my mother interrupts, breaking off a piece of her French bread and feeding it to “Puggy the Beggar,” as I like to call the ball of fur.

I continue, “Then Dan can paint the man cave any color he wants.”

“Man cave?” he asks, as if the thought hasn’t occurred to him.

“You have three bedrooms, a den, and two living rooms. Who the hell needs two living rooms?” I ask.

“One’s for fancy company, and the other is for family,” Mom replies.

“So you could give Dan the extra one.”

“Well…I meant to use it as a sewing room.”

“A sewing room? Woman! This house is filled to the brim with female things. Give me one damned room!” he demands.

“All right, Dan. Fine. Take a room. But I want free rein over the rest of the house.”

Dan waves his hand in the air, giving in. “Have whatever you want. But that room at the front”—he points toward it—“that’s all mine.”

My mother rubs her palms together with glee. “I already know exactly where the Christmas tree is going to go.”

“Momma, that’s almost a year away,” I say, shaking my head.

“I’ll ask the girls to help me decorate.”

“The girls?” I ask, looking down at the dog, who’s just placed her paws on my lap and is staring at my food like she’s starved.

“Cris and Jessica. They live down the street.”

At the mention of Cris’s name, I nearly choke on my bite. I haven’t seen her since the other day. At least, not with my eyes. Now, my mind is a whole other matter. She’s there. Constantly. “Right. I met them briefly.”

“They’re nice girls.”

“Oh? Have they come to visit?” I ask.

“Yes. They’ve been here a few times.”

“Um…” I’m not sure how to ask what I’m dying to know. “I only spoke with them for a minute. What do they do?”

“Well, I believe Jessica is in school for some sort of business management. Cristiana stays at home with her—”

“So that’s her name. Cristiana,” I say it aloud, wanting to feel the way it slides across my tongue. When I glance back at my mother, she’s watching me intently. “What?” I ask innocently.

“Bo, I see somethin’ and I don’t like it one bit.”

Sighing, I wipe the corners of my mouth and pet Puggy. “What do you see, Momma?”

“Interest.”

“Would that be a bad thing?”

Dan turns on the television from his seat at the table and ignores our conversation.

My mother rolls her eyes at him. This is the battle she can’t win.

“Cher, Cristiana is a married woman,” she informs me.

“I didn’t say anything about her.”

“You didn’t have to. The way you said her name had enough meaning that there was no mistakin’ what you want.”

I rest my chin in my hand, the possibilities churning in my mind. She’s got a small child who can’t be more than three, so hearing that she’s married is certainly no surprise. But I don’t want her to be. From the moment I met her, I’ve known that can’t be all there is to it. Everything inside me says that wasn’t the end. I’m not meant to look from the outside in, watching her happiness from afar. My gut tells me I’m meant to be a part of it.

“Is she happily married?”

“Bo Rougier!” My mother throws her napkin onto her plate. “Now you listen to me good, boy. I didn’t teach you to be a homewrecker.”

“I’m not—”

“Get that woman out of your mind once and for all. She’s happily married with a child. A family.”

“But what if she isn’t? What if she’s been waitin’ for me?”

“Bo. Son.” She stops, looking to the heavens, praying for patience, I suppose. “You surprise me. This isn’t you.”

“I’m just sayin’ that maybe she’s not supposed to be with this guy. Momma, when I saw her, I felt somethin’. I can’t explain it, but I’ve never felt it before. And you didn’t teach me to be a homewrecker, but you did teach me to go after what I want.”

“I don’t care, Boey. Not her and not where I live. You’re a good man. Handsome. There are plenty of women out there who are dyin’ to be with you. Plenty of free women.”

Setting down my napkin too, I sigh. “All right, Momma.”

“You’re going to let it go?”

“No.”

“Bo! Do you really want to bring trouble to my doorstep? Because goin’ after her will do exactly that. We just moved here. I’m not ready to move again.”

Finally listening to what she’s saying, I snap out of this crazy, persistent mindset where all I can think about is Cris and making her mine. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I told you that I felt somethin’ for her. Guess it’s clouding my ability to think straight.”

“Promise me you’ll stay away.”

“I promise…” I trail off because I’d hate to lie. Instead, I say, “I won’t actively pursue her. But, Momma, if fate plays its hand and puts the chance in front of me, I’m taking it.”

“Then for all our sakes, let’s hope fate keeps her nose where it belongs.”

* * *

After lunch, Dan heads upstairs to the room he’s claimed as his. There’s no furniture, but he doesn’t care. It’s his, and all is good.

My mother asks me to stow away some of the heavy boxes to go through much later, if ever, and I start putting them in the guest room closet. When I glance out the window, I notice that I have an unobstructed view of Cris’s home.

She’s there.

The garage door is open and she’s sitting on the driveway with her daughter. By the looks of it, they’re drawing with sidewalk chalk. Probably taking advantage of the mild weather while it’s warm enough to be outside and enjoy the sunshine.

My mind races with infinite excuses to go over there. I could say, “Hey, my mother needs a cup of sugar,” or “Could we borrow a ladder? We haven’t unpacked ours yet.”

But what I’d really like to say is, “I just came over to see if you’re as beautiful as I remember, because the image of you haunts me all day long.”

How any woman could have invaded my mind this way after only a few minutes in her presence is beyond me. It bothers me to the point where I’d like to prove it’s a fluke, that I’m imagining her effect on me.

“What’re you doin’, sugar?”

The sound of my mother’s voice has me snatching my hand back from the blinds. I turn to her, flashing her a smile that I hope will blind her to my actions. It doesn’t.

“Don’t think that charmin’ grin will keep me from seeing what I saw.”

“What about this one?” I ask, lifting only one side of my mouth.

Laughing, she smacks my arm, her hoop bracelets clanking. She walks to the window and peeks out, then shakes her head and says, “She’s not for you, Bo.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“It’s all over your face.”

“Momma, why don’t you invite her over one of these days? Maybe then I can see for myself that she’s not for me,” I suggest.

“Because I already know she’s not for you. I’d be beggin’ for disaster.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“She loves her husband, Bo.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right.” I say the words she taught me, the ones she says end an argument every time without anyone really giving in.

She huffs, fully aware of what I’m doing, and leaves.

Opening the blinds again, I stare out at Cris. Coveting another man’s wife. My mom’s right. This isn’t who I am. I don’t like it any more than she does.

I’m not a homewrecker. I’ve never even looked at a married woman. Would have been offended should anyone suggest it. Yet I can’t help that pull I feel when I see Cris. That desire to be near her. Even from this distance, I feel it. It’s not normal. What it is, is painful.

Just come over here. I will her to come to me if I can’t go to her.

As if she hears me, her eyes snap up. I watch her intently, wondering if the pull is there for her too.

She stands, collecting the toys and chalk. Then with one last glance in my direction, she heads inside, closing the garage door behind her.

Yes, this is very painful, I think as I walk away from the window.

42

I’ve been calling these people since seven a.m., and neither one has bothered to respond. Now, it’s not anything new for them to lose their phones. But as the day drags on and there’s still no answer, I begin to imagine my parents lying on the floor, having fallen down the stairs.

“Hey, man, you got this? I gotta go do somethin’,” I tell my project overseer, Noah.

“Sure thing, boss.”

I leave work, my heart halfway up my throat, and dial my parents once again. And once again, no answer.

When I arrive at their house in Charlotte, I nearly jump out of the truck before it’s fully parked. I raise my hand to pound on their door but pause when the sound of a child’s laughter reaches me.

Unless my kids were here, there’d be no reason for the high-pitched squeals to be coming from inside. Except…

There are only two possibilities. Either Jessica’s here with her kids. Or Cristiana is. My breathing all but stops at the realization.

I have a fifty percent chance of finally satisfying my curiosity, my need to see if Cristiana’s effect on me was exaggerated, or if, in fact, the all-consuming attraction is justified.

The excitement of knowing once and for all has me pressing the doorbell hard.

Ding.

From inside, I hear my mother, loud and clear. “I wonder who that could be.” A few moments later, the door opens. “Well, mah Lord, Boey! What’n the world are you doin’ here?”

She tries to prevent me from looking into the house toward the noise coming from the living room, but her five-foot frame allows me to see over her head easily.

My eyes still focused beyond her, I say, “Hi, Momma. Neither of you answered your phone all day and I got worried.”

“Oh, Boey, I’m sorry. Now what did I do with that durn thing. Dan, you seen my phone?” she yells out, even though he’s standing beside her.

“It’s all right, Momma. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, well, I’m sorry, darlin’. But at least you get to meet the girls.” She scrunches her nose at me, a movement I catch from the corner of my eye before she reaches out to pinch my forearm. “Behave,” she mouths, turning and going into the main room. “Girls, Jess, Cris, this is my son, Bo.”

I see Cris on the floor in the midst of a strange battle of wills with her daughter as she tries to get up.

I walk directly to the object of my obsession and stop right behind her. No point in beating around the bush. Her little girl sees me first, letting go of her mother’s shirt and hiding between her legs. Cris finally stands awkwardly. She turns her head to me, then her eyes slowly travel up my chest and to my face. Her breathing hitches as her honeyed gaze meets mine.

It pleases me to no end to know that she’s as sexy as I remembered. Exactly as I remembered. It pleases me more to know that I have an effect on her too.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Cris,” I say, stretching my hand to her.

She looks at it before giving me her much smaller one to shake. The warmth of her skin nearly burns me, but I don’t let it go. I want to feel it.

“I’m sorry?” she asks distractedly, as if she didn’t hear me.

“I met Jess. But I think you left before I got your name.”

“Cris,” she says, even though I just called her that.

“So you girls have been keeping my mom pretty busy, huh? I can’t tell you how glad I am that she has you all. She’s moved onto the perfect street.”

She nods, averting her eyes. I’ve played this scene in my head over and over again, imagining what I’d say if I had the chance to talk to her. In my mind, she flirted, but seeing her search for an exit is almost as fun. I like that I make her feel nervous. She makes me feel that and so many other things I can’t put into words. Heat, desire, excitement. A need to make her mine and mine alone.

“Well, come on, girls. Let’s chat while the cornbread bakes.” Momma settles into a chair in one of the living rooms, the not-so-fancy-so-it’s-okay-to-sit one that’s not going to be turned into Dan’s man cave.

I take a seat beside her, figuring Cris will go to the couch.

The girls follow us in. Their kids find a spot in the corner to play, but to my disappointment, only Jess plants herself on the couch next to Dan, who’s sleeping. Instead of sitting across from me, Cris pulls up a chair behind us.

As Dan snores away the afternoon, my mother goes on and on about something, but I have no idea what. All I’m aware of is that she’s behind me, and the fact that I can’t see her is completely unacceptable.

I don’t get the idea Cris is normally this anti-social. Not according to my mom, anyway. And the brief glances her friend keeps giving her say a lot about the strangeness of the situation. So I decide that I’m the one who’s going to have to do something about it.

If I’m making her squirm, I want to be able to see it.

I stand without a word and walk between my mother and Jessica, moving to a wingback chair that’s set at an angle. Incredulity written all over her face, Cris watches me as I sit in it, facing her. Her cheeks redden and she quickly looks away.

But I keep my eyes on her and take her in, every bit of her. The messy hair that makes me think of rumpled sheets, the full lips that beg to be bitten. The way the tops of her breasts swell over the neck of her spaghetti strap shirt. I don’t think she meant to look so damn sexy that I’d want to devour her. But she does.

She chews on that plump lower lip and I nearly groan because it should be my teeth nipping at the skin there. They’d travel over her mouth and to her chin, then I’d gather that messy hair back and expose her throat to me. I’d bite her there too as my hands snuck under her skirt and pulled down her panties. My fingers would find the wetness between her legs and—

“Bo, where are you?” my mother interrupts my wet daydream, waving her hand in front of my face.

Cris’s eyes snap to mine, and she visibly swallows. “Excuse me, I’m gonna check on the kids,” she says and moves away.

“Sorry, Momma, what was that?” I shift my attention to her, but my eyes remain glued to Cris.

“Never mind,” she tells me, and I don’t follow the remainder of the conversation, not that I’d been a participant in any of it. Lunch is much the same, with Cris avoiding me at every turn, which only serves to encourage me more.

I’m disappointed when it’s over, not having had a real chance to talk to her. To connect in some way. I follow her, Jess, and the kids to the door as we all make to leave, my mother trailing close behind us.

“Oh, wait! I didn’t pack any cornbread for you girls to take home. And I’ll get some for you too, Boey.” My mom heads toward the kitchen.

Jess turns to walk back with her, stopping Cris when she begins to follow. “You get the kids; I’ll get the cornbread. Sorry!” Then Jess lets out a small laugh.

We stand in the foyer, and Cris pretends not to be affected by me, but I know she can feel me as much as I can her. The atmosphere is practically vibrating with electricity, particles dancing off my skin at her proximity. She’s so damned close that I could reach out and touch her. And something tells me she’d let me.

As she inspects the pictures on the buffet table, many of which I’m in, I think, Turn. Turn and look at the real me. But she doesn’t. Not right away. Instead, her breathing pattern changes, telling me she’s consciously controlling it. Or trying to, at least.

Then when it all but stops, she looks up. Her eyes lock with mine, daring me to glance away. I don’t. I want her to know there’s no mistake about what I want. Her.

My lips pull up and I grin because in her face, I read the truth. She wants me too.

As if she’s seen the devil in my eyes, she takes the kids by the hand and bursts through the front door, leaving me to stare after her.

“Where’d Cris go?” Jess asks as she approaches me.

“Something must have scared her off,” I tell her.

“Hmm,” she responds with a knowing look on her face. “Well, guess I better go too. Thank you, Mrs. Jensen, for an amazing lunch.”

“All right, sugar. We’ll see you later.”

The moment Jess leaves, I turn to my mother. “I’ve also gotta go. Thanks for— Ouch! What was that for?” I ask, rubbing the sore spot on my arm from where she’s pinched me.

“I warned you about this obsession you have with that girl. What are you playin’ at, Bo?”

“It was innocent flirting.”

“Innocent? Bourbon Street is more innocent than those looks you were givin’ each other.”

“So you saw her looking at me too?”

She whacks me this time. “Yes, I saw. Cher, what’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t know, Momma. When I’m around her, I can’t think straight.” I press my fingers hard against my temples. It’s true. Cris overrides my brain so much it hurts.

“Then I suggest you don’t come around her anymore. She’s a married woman, and I love you, son, but you’d be nothin’ but trouble for her. You could destroy her life! If you like her as much as I think you do, consider that.”

I want to argue with her because it’s been a long time since I’ve wanted anyone as much as I do Cris. If ever. Every part of me rebels against the idea of her already belonging to someone else. But my mother’s right. I’d destroy her life.

“Okay, Momma.”

“You’ll stay away?”

“If she’s happy, I’ll stay away.” This time I make the promise I intend to keep. If she’s happy.

“Good. She is, Boey. She’s very happy in her marriage.”

43

I was told not to come around her anymore. To avoid Cris at all costs. She’s a happily married woman.

Easier said than done when everything I am is pulled to her like some powerful magnetic attraction I can’t fight. It’s a biological thing, I tell myself. Our chemistry is undeniable. Our nature is to procreate with the best match to our body’s makeup, and she’s mine.

Which is why, when I see that she’s in her garage as I park at my parent’s house, I watch her. From where I stand, it appears as if she’s working on a table, painting it. She’s alone, her daughter nowhere in sight.

I should turn around, head into the house and forget she’s there. But I can’t.

Instead, my legs move of their own accord, crossing the street and walking up her driveway. She peeks up at me from under long lashes, her hair piled on her head in a loose bun with long strands framing her face.

The gold of her irises is enhanced by the white patches of paint smudged over her cheeks. She’s a mess, and she’s absolutely perfect. Even those jean overalls that look like they’ve come straight from the bayou don’t take away from her sex appeal.

“Hi,” she says breathily.

“What’re you making?” I ask her.

“It’s a little side table for my daughter’s playroom.”

“Looks good.”

“Thanks, I made it myself.” She grins at me proudly.

“You make a lot of things yourself?”

“Some. I’m very good with my hands.”

At that, my gaze goes to her lips, and I have to wonder if she’s as good with that mouth as she is her hands.

Longing to take my shirt off to dispel the sudden rise in temperature, I clear my throat and say, “Where’s Mia?”

“She’s at Jess’s house. Bo?”

“Mmm?”

“I have a table just inside that’s too heavy for me. Would you help me move it out here?”

I glance at the door that leads into the house, then back at her. Her breathing is shallow, and when she swallows hard, I can tell she’s nervous.

“Your husband can’t help you with it?” I ask, hoping she hears the real question.

“I’d like you to.”

Nodding, I follow her in, closing the door behind us.

“Where is it?” I ask her.

“It’s—”

I’m on her before she can finish.

There’s no damned table to move, and if there is, I don’t care. Digging my fingers into her thick hair, I kiss her the way I’ve been dying to. Her fervent response as I urge her to open her mouth for me only stokes an already raging fire.

I press her against the kitchen counter, forcing her up. Her legs wrap around my waist and I feel the heat of her core through my clothes.

Releasing her full lips only to trail kisses over her jaw and to her ear, I whisper, “Cris, if you want me to stop, tell me, because I won’t do it of my own will. I know you belong to someone else, but I don’t care.”

“Don’t stop, Bo. I’ve wanted you too.” Her mouth is on mine once again. She tastes like sin. She is sin. This is sin. And it’s going to damn my soul, but I can’t pull away. Not now.

Her hands are under my shirt, nails at my back as I grind my erection against her. When she moans into my mouth, I breathe her in. Then she tugs my shirt over my head.

I unbuckle her overalls and they fall to her waist, exposing her beautiful breasts to me. It’s not until now that I realize something’s off. How could she have been out there without a shirt? But I choose to ignore it because I want this too much.

My shorts drop to the floor and when I look up, she’s lying on the counter, naked, her hair fanned out around her face. Ready for me like a damned feast, and I’m starved. I trace my fingertips over her smooth skin, from her toes, up her legs, and to her hips. I bend down, gently kissing her naval. Letting my tongue do the trailing now, I drag it up her stomach and run it along the underside of her breast.

Her breathing becomes erratic as I get closer to her nipple. When I take the firm peak into my mouth, she moans. The harder I suck, the higher her hips lift. Then I move to the opposite breast that’s just as full and beautiful. I nip the crest, all the while brushing my fingers over the other one. Wouldn’t want it to feel left out.

Cris’s cries get louder. She reaches down, her hand wrapping around my shaft and squeezing. I angle my body so that she’s able to stroke me while I kiss my way to the juncture between her legs. But the moment her scent reaches my brain and the taste of her fills my mouth, I realize this won’t last long. The inner beast I’ve kept at bay is set loose and is completely out of my control.

I pull out of her hand and position myself between her legs so I can see her better, feel her more, and eat her the way she deserves. Fuck that. The way I’ve wanted to eat her since the day I first saw her.

My lips press against her, and I touch my tongue to her clit, just the tip at first. When she begins to writhe, I suck it completely into my mouth, and she spreads her legs wider. Then I ease up before starting again.

I insert a finger into her channel and moan when I realize how tight she is. Shit. My dick twitches. She’s going to fit me like a glove.

She tugs at my hair, and when she pulses around me and I know she’s coming, I stand, unable to wait any longer.

Climbing onto the counter, I push her knees back and watch as her eyes glaze over when she notices what I’m about to fuck her with.

I want to tell her I’ll go slow, but I won’t make a promise I can’t keep.

Pressing the tip of my dick against her slick entrance, I close my eyes and thrust—

My arms collapse as they lose their hold on her. Confused as shit, I gaze around to find the room I’ve slept in for years, yet I can’t comprehend it. Because only a second ago, I was in Cris’s kitchen, about to fuck her until we both lost our minds. Only, I’m not. There’s no kitchen, no counter about to be defiled. No Cris. Though there certainly is a boner.

“Fuck!” I get out of bed, letting my dick lead the way to the bathroom for a cold shower.

I catch my reflection in the mirror above the sink. Sweat beads off my brow and my pupils are still dilated from the lust.

One side of my mouth quirks up as I relive the dream. It may have been all in my mind, but I’ll never forget how she looked—like a goddess ready to worship. It’s a memory I’ll take to the grave.

44

“Whatcha think, Bobo? Bo? Boey-poo. Are you even listenin’ to me?”

My “accidental girlfriend’s” voice pierces the very fabric of my brain. It’s not her. It’s me. It’s that I’m too damned aware that Cris will be here at any moment.

We’re standing in the garage with several others, greeting everyone through the open door as we drink a few beers.

No matter how hard I’ve tried to move on from the idea of Cris, I can’t. For over six months, I’ve let my mother keep me from seeing her, always making sure I’m not there when she is. If she sees her on the street, she pushes me into the house. If we’re already inside, she closes the blinds.

But she can’t keep us apart today. Not when I’ve invited everyone she knows to her seventieth “Big Easy” birthday party at my house in Huntersville. The day I sent the invitation to Mr. and Mrs. Owen Roberts, my hand shook from tying her to another man’s name. Yet the thought of seeing her again in person after months of imagining her only in my dreams has me anxious. Crazed. There’s no room for thoughts of anyone but her.

I look at Dawn, see her mouth moving. She’s just asked me a question, but I’ve been so busy watching as guests arrive that I have no idea what she’s saying. “Sure,” I reply.

“Sure.”

“Yeah, sure,” I shrug.

“Sure what?”

“Sure what you said.”

“And what exactly was that?” Her arms cross and she taps a long nail against her forearm. “I knew you weren’t listenin’.”

“Sorry. Tell me again.” The moment I say it, there’s a commotion out in my drive, and once again, whatever Dawn has to say becomes nothing but background noise.

A white Civic that I immediately recognize as Cris’s is doing some strange back and forth movement as she tries, but fails miserably, to parallel park behind a minivan. One of the attendants I’ve hired to help with the large number of vehicles I expect to be here is gesturing wildly at her.

The edges of my mouth pull up as I watch the humorous display.

Suddenly, the window rolls down and I hear, “Can I just leave it like this?” coming from her.

One of the valets steps up to her. “Geev me yor kees. I move,” he tells her.

She steps out of the vehicle, offering him the keys. From the back seat, she pulls out her daughter and a large gift, which she clumsily attempts to hold as she takes her little girl’s hand and walks over the uneven ground.

Doing an awkward dance, she makes her way to the door, yet I’m so insanely attracted to her that everyone else, including my date, vanishes. There’s nothing but Cris in her formfitting black shirt that displays the shape of her breasts so perfectly, she might as well be wearing nothing at all.

When she spots me, her step falters just enough for me to tell that seeing me has affected her. My smile broadens, and though I try to seem cool and collected while I sit on a lawn chair with my legs relaxed in front of me, I’m anything but.

Come this way, I think. Come closer.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she disappears around the corner, heading toward the front door.

A slap on my shoulder makes me turn. Dawn’s brown eyes are spitting fire, her large chest heaving.

“What?” I ask.

“Let’s go out back.”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice. The party is exactly where I want to be. Large purple and green covered tables full of my mother’s favorite Cajun dishes—jambalaya, étouffée, andouille, and cornbread— have been placed on one side of the pool.

“There’s your mom!” Dawn points with glee.

I don’t think she’s truly that thrilled to see her, especially since my mother’s been incapable of hiding her dislike toward her. But Dawn is determined to shimmy her way into every aspect of my life.

She pulls me to my mom, who’s had more than one glass of red wine and the effects are obvious.

“Boey, sit by me.” My mother’s beaded bracelets clack as she taps the chair next to her.

Before my ass has a chance to make contact with the seat, Dawn has touched down beside me.

“Mrs. Jensen, I’m so happy I could come celebrate with you. Thank you for havin’ me.”

My mother laughs hysterically at that. “Yeah, well,” is all she says, but when her gaze shifts to me, her expression says so much more. “Why’d you bring her?” it’s asking.

My eyes answer, “She invited herself.”

Dawn tugs on my shirt, calling my attention to her. “Bo, are you going to take me home soon?”

“The party’s just started,” I tell her, annoyed.

“Yes, but I was hoping we could spend some time alone before Alan brings the kids home,” she says, referring to her ex-husband. “You knew I couldn’t be here the entire time.”

“Dawn, I told you I wouldn’t be able to leave during the party. That’s why I wanted you to drive yourself.”

“I didn’t want to show up alone.” Her pout is meant to touch me. It does. It touches a raw nerve ending, making me cringe.

I close my eyes, praying for patience like my mother often does. Dawn’s a sweet girl, I remind myself. But she’s not for me. And it really is my fault that she’s here. Though I haven’t encouraged it, I haven’t objected either. She’s here because I’ve allowed her to create a relationship in her mind that doesn’t exist in mine.

Dawn and I met six weeks ago at a bar in Charlotte. It was like at first sight, from my end, at least. I’d have to be dead not to be attracted to her. Blonde with big brown eyes, nice body, bubbly personality. When she took me home that night, I never imagined it would turn into another night and then another.

Next thing I know, I’m meeting her kids and she’s invited herself to lunch with mine. Laura was furious, and so was I. I’d mentioned the location of the lunch and it never crossed my mind that she’d show up. That was the tilting point where she went from a girl I was having a good time with to someone I dread seeing. Maybe those things wouldn’t bother me so much if I felt more than simple attraction. If I felt something even remotely close to what I feel with—

“Cristiana!” My mother’s sudden shout finishes my thought. “I’m so glad you could come! Sit, sit! Where are Owen and the baby?”

My eyes flick up to her momentarily, but I’m quickly distracted when Dawn’s hand reaches for mine. “How about we go in thirty minutes?”

“Dawn, it’s my mother’s birthday party. I’m not leaving. I can call you a cab.” Just as I finish my sentence, I’m distracted yet again.

“Um, Owen had to work. Mia’s inside with Jess,” I hear Cris’s reply to my mother’s question clear as day because I’m far more aware of her than I am of this girl I’m supposed to be here with.

“What? I don’t want to…” Dawn’s rambling fades to the background as I listen intently to the conversation between my mother and Cris.

“Ah, okay, I’ll have to go steal her for a few minutes. I have something for her she’s just going to love!” My mother stands, and although she’s a bit wobbly, her drink is completely stable in her shaky hand as she walks away.

Though my head is tilted toward Dawn, I can see Cris out of the corner of my eye. She’s sitting quietly, but I know she’s watching me too.

Damn, I want to talk to her. To sit closer to her.

“Do you want to go for a swim?” Dawn asks.

“Not right now, but you go in.”

“Boey-poo, come with me. If I get cold, I can wrap myself around you for warmth.” She removes her sheer white cover, exposing her barely there bright orange bikini, trying to entice me to go in.

“The pool’s heated. You’ll be fine,” I tell her.

Cris clears her throat and smooths her skirt. She’s pretending to look around, just like I’m pretending to listen to Dawn.

Her husband didn’t come with her. Good. As it is, I feel like an ass for lusting after another man’s wife. Doing it in front of him would make me a straight-up dick. And I do want her. Fuck me, but I do.

After about five minutes of torture, Cris stands and leaves us.

“Jeez, finally. Didn’t she get the hint that she was in the way?” Dawn asks, rolling her eyes.

Little arms wrap around my neck from behind me, and I turn to see my daughter, Sammy. Her eyes are blue, much like mine, and almost glow in the sunlight. She’s donned a two-piece bathing suit with a pineapple and banana print. “Daddy, can I get in the pool? JB’s in there.”

“Of course, ma petite. But only while I’m here watching. If I move away, I’ll ask you to step out.”

“But JB can watch me!”

“He’s ten, chère. He can’t even watch himself yet.”

A slight pout tugs at her lower lip, but she accepts what I say. She makes to go, but before she can, Dawn reaches out and grabs her by the arm.

“Here, baby. Let’s get a family photo,” Dawn tells her. There’s already a phone in her hand and she’s settling herself in what I assume she thinks is her best angle.

Sammy glances at me warily. Dawn may be nice, but she’s not the motherly type. Kids can sense this. I nod because while I don’t want to be with her, I also don’t want to be a complete asshole.

“JB!” Dawn calls to my son when he swims close to the edge. “Come get in the picture.”

He climbs out of the pool and grumbles something at me as he passes, but I make it a point not to listen. As she takes them in her arms and snaps photo after photo, I shake my head, realizing this can’t go on beyond today. It’s not fair to her.

After losing sight of Cris, I decide to mingle with the guests and enjoy some of the savory meats and even better moonshine someone snuck in. We listen to the zydeco band Dan hired and even dance to a few of the tunes, then we jump in the pool to wash off the sweat.

It’s getting late by the time we finally make our way inside. My parents have gone missing and most of the guests have left or are saying their goodbyes. I begin to wonder if Cris has left too.

That is, until we turn to go into the living room and spot them there. My mother is wine-drunk, my stepfather’s completely out on the couch, and to my relief, Cristiana’s sitting on the floor with her daughter, playing dominos.

For a split second, I consider staying like this, enjoying the sight of her as she plays. The angle of her face, which is tilted slightly away, and the way her long hair, wild and free, frames her features. A faint smile on her lips tells me she’s in her element right now.

But a split second is all I have before she notices Dawn and I have just walked in.

Cris’s head turns to us, and even through the deep tan of her skin, I can see the red that crawls up her neck and into her cheeks. I should feel awful about making someone nervous. But when I see how it looks on Cris, it only makes her more appealing to me.

I slap Dan’s knee, “Hey there, Dan. Gonna join us at some point?”

He dazedly smiles up at me. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Dawn picks up Puggy as we sit in the only space available, which, to my misfortune, is behind Cris. I hate that I can’t see her. That I can’t try to read her thoughts. Still, I can tell they’re about me from her body language. The way her head moves just enough so that her ear is pointing my way. The fidgety way she plays with the hem of her skirt.

Smiling, my mother reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Thank you for such a wonderful party, Boey!”

“You like it, Momma?”

“Oh, yes, and your stew was to die for!”

“Wasn’t it though?” Dawn asks.

My mother’s lips straighten, but she stops herself from replying. “Bo, baby, you gonna be able to watch Puggy for me next weekend?”

“Yes, just remember I have the kids, so I’ll have to bring her here.”

“I can watch her!” Dawn interjects.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to bother you,” my mother says, shaking her head vehemently, and reaches over to reclaim her mutt.

“It’s no bother at all! I’d love to help. Besides, we’re family!”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at my mom’s expression of horror.

Suddenly, I hear, “So you two are siblings?” coming from the floor.

We all turn to Cris as she appears to be comparing Dawn and me, searching for similarities.

Her assumption has me outright laughing. Dawn’s audible intake of breath has me laughing harder.

“We’re dating,” Dawn snarls at Cris.

Cris shrinks a little when she realizes her mistake. That, coupled with the disappointment I see in her eyes, stops my laughter. I don’t find it funny in the least. If anything, I want to get down on the floor with her and smooth away the lines that have formed between her brows.

I’m ready for this day to be over.

“Momma, I gotta take Dawn home. She has to get her kids from their dad’s. But I’ll see you in a bit. I love you.” I go to her, leaning down to give her a kiss. Puggy growls at me, and I back away. “Whoa, dog. What happened to us being friends?”

“All right, Boey. Be careful.”

Cris looks up as I push Dawn out, but we say nothing.

“That was a nice party,” Dawn says when we step into the truck. “Bo, didn’t you want to pack some clothes?”

“For what?”

“For tomorrow, silly.” She laughs. “Unless you plan on wearing the same thing.”

“Dawn, I’m not staying the night. My parents will be sleeping at my house, and I’d like to spend more time with them.”

“Oh. Then should I bring back some clothes?”

“Aren’t you expecting your kids?”

“I can always ask their father to keep them the rest of the weekend.” She waves it away as if it’s nothing. Dear Lord, Laura has never given up her time with the kids.

As I gaze through the window, I see very few cars still here, one of them being Cris’s Civic. Something inside me tells me that this will be the last time I ever see her. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Dawn.

Her face lights up. “You getting clothes?”

“No, chère. I need to take care of somethin’. Then you and I need to talk.”

I race inside. When I open the door that leads from the garage into the house, she’s the first thing I see. She smiles at me, and when she tries to move away, I automatically reach out.

“Cristiana.”

“Yes?”

She turns to me, her honeyed eyes locking with mine for the first time all day. In those eyes, I read everything she’s feeling. She’s as intensely attracted to me as I am to her. It’s the sort of pull that makes you ache to touch and miserable because you can’t. Or, at least, you shouldn’t.

“Thanks for coming. It meant a lot to my mom to have her girls here.” And to me.

“Yes, of course. We love your mom.”

I nod. My eyes never leave hers. I’m searching for something to say, something that will keep this from being the last time we speak. But nothing comes to mind. Instead, all I say is, “Okay, I have to go. Thanks again.”

Of its own accord, probably because it senses my brain isn’t going to get it done, my body leans in and pulls her to me. I hug her tightly as, for the first time, I feel her against me. Her arms circle my shoulders, and she trembles slightly while she squeezes.

My face is in her neck, and I make it my mission to take in everything that I can about her so that tonight, I can replay it in my mind, again and again. The way she smells, the way her soft hair tickles my nose. The way her frame fits so perfectly in my arms. It’s better than the dream. So much better.

She was made for me, and I don’t want to let her go.

But I have to. Because she’s not mine and this is fucking hell.

The battle between my brain and my body ends when I push her away. I burst through the door, leaving without another word.

45

The aluminum bleachers might as well be ice against my ass it’s so damned cold. Laura and Sammy are pressed tightly against me, and their foggy breath mingles with mine as we exhale the slight warmth we possess. My balls have disappeared somewhere inside my body, and good for them. Otherwise, Sammy would definitely be my last kid.

We put up with this because JB likes soccer. It’s his thing. That’s all Laura and I want for him. To have a passion for something.

“Here, baby,” I say to Sammy, lifting her small body and sitting her on my lap. “You’ll be able to see better this way.” And you’ll keep my legs warm.

“Go, JB!” Laura points at our son, who’s goalkeeper, as she watches him through the binoculars I gave her last Christmas.

I look out onto the field proudly when he stops a goal. He’s breathing hard, wiping his brow. Unlike us, he’s able to maintain blood flow on this unseasonably cold forty-eight degree day.

The game is paused, the players huddle with their coach, and substitutions are made.

“Aww, I want to see JB again,” Sammy whines.

“Don’t worry, love. He’ll be back after a few plays. They all need a chance to get practice,” Laura reassures her.

From somewhere in my jacket, my phone vibrates, alerting me to a Facebook message. I pull it out and read.

Cris (Garcia) Roberts: Hi. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m your mom’s neighbor, Cristiana.

My breathing stops as I read the name. It’s been weeks since I last saw her. Or heard from her. My mother refuses to even utter her name. I’d finally given into the idea that perhaps I’d never see her again. Until now.

Me: Of course I remember you. Cristiana Roberts. With the little blue-eyed girl.

The one I can’t get out of my mind.

Her: Yes, that’s me.

Me: What can I do for you? Is everything okay with my parents?

Though I’d hope she’s reaching out to me because of me, I can’t forget the fact that my folks are older. The most reasonable explanation is that she’s contacting me because of a problem.

Her: Yes, everything’s okay. Hope I didn’t worry you.

Me: Good. Is there something I can help you with?

There’s a short pause before she replies.

Her: Due to somewhat recent events in my marriage, I have acquired a ticket. I want to use it with you.

Me: A ticket?

Her: A ticket. For one night in bed with another man. I want to redeem it with you.

Her words hit me like a fucking mallet. The world suddenly disappears and every ounce of my blood heats to near boiling point. I stand, dumping Sammy onto the man in front of me, and Laura, who was leaning against my side, falls to the bench.

“What the hell!” Laura exclaims, grabbing Sammy from the man’s shoulders. “Sorry, sir.”

The man, a father who’s probably used to having kids jump on him all day long, laughs it off, waving the offense away.

“Sorry, chérie. You all right?” I search Sammy for injuries.

She pouts, and I can tell her feelings are hurt when she makes no attempt to return to me. It’s probably for the best. After reading what Cris just sent me, I don’t want my daughter on my lap.

“Are you okay?” Laura asks.

“Yeah, I just got a charley horse.”

“Ooh. Sorry.”

“It’s better now.”

Laura keeps her distance too, probably afraid I’ll do it again. I take advantage of the personal space to re-read the message. To make sure I didn’t misunderstand. Put meaning to words that I’ve wanted to see. But no, it’s not a mistake. Cris is, in fact, propositioning me.

I take my jacket off, the cool weather suddenly not cold enough. My ex-wife and child gladly take it from me.

“You sure you’re okay?” Laura asks, a slight frown between her brows.

“Yeah. Just… I need to get some fresh air.”

“Fresh air?” she asks, confused.

“I’ll be right back.”

I make my way off the bleachers, ignoring the complaints from the parents whose feet I step on. By the time I sneak under the metal frame, sweat’s dripping down my back. But it’s not from the effort it took to push past everyone. It’s from the images that flood my mind, dreams of Cris I’ve stored as memories, even though they weren’t real.

Her beneath me, naked, writhing. Me buried inside her, seeking release for the ache that’s plagued me since the day I first saw her.

And now she’s offering me exactly that. The real deal, not something made up in my mind.

My hands shake as I pull up the message again. I’m desperate to reply, to tell her, “Fuck yes! When? Now?” But the moment my fingers make contact with the screen, someone touches me from behind.

“Bo, JB’s up again. I gotta take Sammy to the bathroom.” Laura’s holding our daughter’s hand in hers.

“Okay. I’ll head right up.” I doubt that JB will spare a second to see if we’re watching, but we’ve made it a point to make sure at least one of us is cheering him on from the stands at all times. Putting my phone away, I go back to my seat, pausing the game Cris and I are about to play.

46

I take too long. Damn me. It’s not indecision that makes me hesitate every time I write a response to Cris’s offer. It’s that I don’t know how to word it. Somehow, “When? Right now? I’m ready if you are!” sounds a little too desperate. While, “Sure, whatever,” is too aloof.

That night, I dream of her. Soft naked skin on my tongue as I run it up her leg, over her thigh, and farther still to her belly and breasts. She moans my name, digs her fingers through my hair, and tugs me to her. Our lips clash, and time and again, I taste her. Even when I realize it’s a dream, I know she’ll taste just like that. Only better.

As our mouths press together, she opens her legs to me. Then I push myself inside, feeling her tightness around my shaft.

She pulls away just long enough to murmur, “Bo,” before she brings me down to her once again.

What starts out as tender quickly turns into something more. It’s something heated, aggressive, out of control. Nails scrape painfully on my ass as I pound into her. The headboard bounces against the wall with each thrust, and I fear it might be too much for her. But when she begs for more, when she draws her legs farther back, I can tell she needs it as much as I do.

I wake up with a pounding heart, sweat covered skin, and a boner in need of relief. Only, relief doesn’t come. All night, I relive the dream, having Cris in my arms one second, and the next, I hold nothing but a cold sheet.

Then life happens, I have to go to work, have to pick up the kids from school. By the time homework’s done and the kids are in bed, I’m exhausted. I lie there with the intention of messaging her, but the lack of sleep from the night before has me out before I can type a single word.

So now, here I am, waiting for her reply to the message I sent this morning, checking my phone every five minutes like a damn teenager.

Me: I’m sorry I didn’t answer you sooner. You left me in shock. I was at my son’s soccer game and had quite a few people sitting around me when the message came in. It didn’t seem like the place to discuss a ticket. The answer is yes.

It’s after noon by the time she finally decides to message me. She sends me her phone number. I send her mine and she immediately replies.

Thankfully, this time I’m alone.

Her: Hi.

Me: Hi. So tell me about this ticket.

Her: I can be with anyone I choose. One night.

Me: How did you get it? Why would your husband agree to that?

Her: Why do you think?

It’s not hard to guess why. He cheated. He doesn’t want to lose her, so he offered the only thing he can. A chance for her to get even. I can’t say I’d do the same. Can’t say that I wouldn’t. I’ve never cheated on anyone, but I know relationships are complicated at best.

Me: Why me?

Her: I want you. I did from the moment I saw you.

I’d guessed she was attracted to me. Hoped. But to read the words confirming it…

Me: Why didn’t you say something before? Would have been nice to know you were attracted to me.

Her: I didn’t have a ticket then.

Me: So you’ve wanted me since you met me?

My lips quirk up.

Her: I don’t think this is coming as a surprise to you. You knew how I felt. As a matter of fact, I think you went a little out of your way to make me uncomfortable because of it.

Me: What can I say? I like you too.

Her: You’re okay with being with a married woman?

Me: That’s a loaded question. I’m not sure how to answer it.

Her: Try.

The truth is that I’m not okay with being with a married woman. I’m not okay with her being married. But sometimes life deals you cards at the wrong time. You still have to play to win. I should have met Cris a long time ago, before Laura. Before her husband. Then again, maybe the appeal of the forbidden makes for a much more interesting beginning.

Me: I’m okay with being with you.

Her: Have you ever been with a married woman?

Me: Does that matter?

Her: No, I guess not.

Me: So what are the rules? Where? When?

Her: First rule is pretty obvious. No one needs to know. Not your friends and definitely not your parents.

Me: Obviously.

I’d get a good smack upside the head if my mother found out.

Her: Second is that this won’t go past one night. Our history won’t matter and neither will our future. That night will never have happened. And absolutely no emotions. You’re already going to be in my pants. You don’t need to try to get into my heart too.

Me: So you just want me for my body.

Her: Yes. We need to get blood work. I’m on birth control, but I want us both to go in knowing we’re clean. Have all our bases covered.

Me: Condoms?

Her: Of course. Bases covered, like I said. I can bring some, but I’d rather you did.

Me: I’m getting hard.

I admit it, glancing at the bulge between my legs. Lying back, I stretch out fully on my couch and unbutton my pants. I’d like nothing more than to stroke myself with the image of Cris naked in my mind and her sultry voice in my ear to help me finish. But I’d rather talk to her.

Her: Do you need a minute?

Me: No, just a little difficult to type with one hand.

I stroke my cock once, wishing it was her hand instead.

Her: Lol! Yeah, me too.

Me: I have a feeling we’re going to have a lot of fun in that one night. You sure you don’t want to make it two?

A few minutes of silence gives me my answer.

Me: Ok, so your lack of response tells me that’s a no. Where? When?

Her: New Orleans. Three weeks. You need to get yourself there and have your own room.

Me: Done and done.

47

CLT-MSY.

I stare at my plane ticket as though it means more than merely passage to another town.

Everything’s set up. My friend, Lionel, and his husband, Charles, will be out of town and are happy to lend me their place for a night or two. After that, I’ll be heading to Bayou Teche, Bonheur to stay with my cousin, Nate, and his wife, Jane.

Cris said we’ll only have one day and one night. Then it’ll be over. So over that it’ll be as if it never happened. Or, at least, that’s what she wants to believe. But I know that after we’re together, there’s no way we’ll be able to forget.

As I pack the last of my toiletries into a black leather bag, I wonder how exactly we’ll get things started. Will it be sudden and explosive, coming together the moment we’re alone in a room? Or will we waste precious time with pleasantries while we get a hold of our nerves?

I hope it’s a mix. I’d like to get to know more about her than just the way she looks when she comes. She said I didn’t need to go beyond getting in her pants. But I can’t help wanting to.

I don’t like the idea of leaving my truck in the airport parking garage. And I can’t ask my parents to drop me off, because they have no idea I’m going. Not that Dan would give a shit, but something tells me my mother would sniff out the reason for my trip and I’d never hear the end of it. So I take a cab, which gives me the extra time I need to think, to plan.

Cris could always come with me to Bonheur. Jane would love her. I just have to think of a way to get her there. Sure, it would go beyond the one night she wants. But what about what I want?

“Thanks, bud,” I say to the cabbie, handing him a tip when he drops me off at the curb.

I search the faces of the travelers hurrying to get out of their vehicles and lugging heavy bags. None of them are the one I seek.

All through the airport, I scan the crowd, but Cris is nowhere to be seen. Then a horrible thought hits me. What if she doesn’t show?

It wouldn’t be the end of the world. My life would go on. But it would finally kill any hope I have of being with her. Because I know that this is my one chance.

I walk up to the ticket counter, where a young woman with bouncy corkscrew curls and deep dimples greets me. The gleam in her brown eyes tells me she appreciates the charming smile I give her. “Good afternoon, sir. Where are you going today?”

“New Orleans.” I hand her my driver’s license and plane ticket.

“Anyone traveling with you?”

“A friend. But I don’t see her. Are you able to tell me if she’s checked in?” I intensify the dazzle, knowing the rules but hoping she’ll break them for me.

Her dimples fade as she denies me, “I’m sorry, but I can’t give that information if the tickets weren’t purchased together.”

I nod, though I don’t agree with it. After checking in, I head through TSA. Still nothing.

Being in first class, I’m one of the first to board. A quick glance at the back of the empty plane only serves to inflame my anxiety. Where the hell is she?

“Can I get you something to drink?” the male flight attendant asks.

“Vodka tonic, please. Light on the tonic.”

He smiles before leaving me to get settled in my extra wide seat. I don’t particularly care if I’m in first class or the plane’s ass. But with my height, I have no choice. Today I wish I could fit in coach so that I’d have a clear view of the passengers without having to crane my neck.

“Here you go.” The attendant returns with a highball glass and places it on the small table in front of me. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes, actually. I’m waiting for someone. She’ll be in coach, and I wanted to see if she’s checked in already.”

“I’m sorry, sir. That’s not something I can share with—”

As he’s speaking, I glance behind me, and to my relief, I see Cris boarding. I can tell she’s searching for me. Guess I should have told her I’d be in first class.

My gaze follows her to the back, where she sits next to a particularly large man. The annoyance in her expression is obvious, even from this distance. Just as she’s about to look up, someone releases the curtain that separates first class from coach, obstructing my view.

“That was her,” I point toward where she’s seated, chuckling because she seemed utterly miserable. “Is there anyone sitting here?” I ask, tilting my head to the seat beside me.

“I’ll check for you.” He returns several minutes later. “As it happens, this seat is empty.”

“Can I upgrade my friend?”

“It’ll be about eight hundred dollars for an upgrade now.”

“I’ll pay it,” I assure him.

He smiles, extending his hand to me. “Visa or MasterCard.”

I give him the card. He disappears again, then comes back with my receipt. “What was her name?”

“Cristiana Roberts.”

“I’ll go fetch her for you.”

It seems like an eternity passes while I sit there waiting for Cris. For months, I’ve wanted her. For months, I’ve waited. And now that I’m a few moments away from having her by my side, time seems to stand still. I can’t wait anymore.

I glance down at my plane ticket again. At the time I booked it, I didn’t know how long I’d be in Louisiana. Assuming I’d stay only the night but leaving the possibility open for a few, I didn’t buy a return flight. Just a one-way.

But when I see the look in Cris’s eyes as she steps through the curtain into first class, and my heart damn near stops at the sight of her, I realize that this isn’t simply a ticket to another town.

“Thought you might find this a bit more comfortable,” I say, grinning as she takes her seat, because I now know without a shadow of a doubt that this is actually a one-way ticket to the rest of my life.

And there’s no way in hell I’m coming back without her.

Other Books by Aidèe Jaimes

The Ticket (The Affair, Book 1)

The Red Dress (The Affair, Book 2)

The Other Side (The Affair, Book 3)

Good Mr. King

Work Me

Private Investigation (Private Investigation, Book 1)

Public Affair (Private Investigation, Book 2)

Coming Soon… The Promise (The Affair, Book 4)