He invites me in and writes her number down on yellow legal pad paper. There are large equations on the back, I see it just as he tears it from the rest of the sheets. I wonder if he’s trying to solve how he ended up with a woman like Abbey.
I notice their house is decorated like my grandmother’s. What a shame. It’s a beautiful, newer home but it looks like an antique store threw up in here. Being judgmental isn’t one of my finer qualities, but I know what I like, and this isn’t even close to my taste.
It doesn’t need to be your taste, Mara, this isn’t your house.
My damn conscious is a pest.
Chapter Five
Anonymous
I feel a rush of danger as I step foot into their house. The fact either of them could come home at any minute brings me some type of strange satisfaction I can’t quite justify. The first thing I do is head to their bedroom, something I’ve been wanting so badly to do.
The bed is huge, a California king? No doubt they have fun in these gray sheets. I imagine the two of them tangled in each other’s arms after a long evening of love making. I wonder how they do it. I imagine them being the type of couple that enjoys it from behind. I’d like to know more of these intimate details about their life together.
I run my fingers over the pictures in gold frames on the dresser. The two of them on their wedding day, her flashing a thumbs up at the camera in a Cubs jersey in front of the Wrigley field sign. I imagine my own picture replacing these, one from a wedding day that has yet to happen, but will. We would make a better-looking couple, that’s obvious.
I open the top drawer of the tall dresser, panties and boxers are all mixed in together. A red thong, white lace panties, Under Armour boxer briefs. I resist the urge to touch them, although I am dying to. I have thought about what it would feel like to finally get inside their home for weeks and now that it’s finally happening, I feel as if I am suspended in midair, unsure of what to do first. He has awards lined up on a shelving unit above the window, his name engraved into each one delicately. She has a vintage jewelry box with a rose gold necklace peeking out the side.
I make my way into their bathroom, Jack and Jill sinks, a tub with jets, and a glass shower. I visualize the two of them getting ready in the morning; she’s bent over the tub shaving her legs, he’s lathering up with lotion, towel around his waist fresh out of the shower. The two share playful banter and seem so comfortable together.
I hear a door shut and snap out of my daydream. It sounded too far away to be either of them; I’m safe. For now.
I pick up a toothbrush, not sure it’s hers or his. I bring it to my lips slowly, knowing I shouldn’t even be touching it. I part my lips and suck on the bristles. It tastes fresh, toothpaste. I wish I knew which one of them it belongs to. I place the toothbrush back where I picked it up from and I go to the kitchen, making sure nothing looks out of place in the bathroom or bedroom first. It’s spotless in here. Almost like a movie set—the counters shine, there are ripe bananas in a fruit bowl, red apples and fresh lemons. I toss an apple in the air, catching it in one hand as I start myself a cup of coffee. I picture how my morning routine would be, if I lived here instead of that waste. Waking up next to the perfection of my soulmate, getting ready together, cooking breakfast for each other and making my medium roast coffee.
The coffee is perfect; I smell the sweet aroma as it pours into the mug I find in the cabinet above the Keurig. “World’s Best Dog Mom,” that’s strange. There are no dogs here. I shrug and take a sip of my coffee. Perfect. Just like the life I dream of here.
I sit at the table and sip my drink, reading a book that they left out. I am so happy in this moment. I can’t wait for this to be my life. To have my own toothbrush in the holder, to bring my own coffee mugs, read my own literature. Soon, I think to myself. Soon.
I wash the mug, making sure all there is no visible residue in the sink. I put it away and make sure the book is returned to its proper spot. I have the urge to go back to the bedroom and grab an article of clothing, so I do. I assume this is a night shirt; I haven’t ever seen her wear it. I pick it up in my hands and bring it close to my heart, closing my eyes and tilting my head toward the ceiling. I sigh a release.
I leave the house and return to real life, hating that this has to end. I’m already thinking
of the next time I can get another glimpse into the life I am going to have.
Chapter Six
Simon
Mara's standing in our kitchen. This time she's come to drop off a bottle of wine for Abbey, the same kind we enjoyed the other night. Abbey raved about this wine, but she'd never buy a bottle for herself.
Mara’s starting to make this a habit. She never drops by when Abbey’s home. Does she really think I haven't caught on by now? I know she's got Abbey's number because I gave it to her when she stopped by the day before last in those skin-tight leggings. There's no reason why she can't get a hold of Abbey and visit when she's home.
She's going to get me in trouble.
I shake off the thought. If anything happens between Mara and me, I'd only have myself to blame. I don't mention to Abbey that when Mara “drops by,” she lingers awhile too long. I told her I'd stick the wine in the fridge and let Abbey know, that she'd be so excited for it, but Mara was eyeing the inside of our house behind me. She was a tad pushy today and practically invited herself in, even though our exchange could easily have been made on the front porch or in the doorway.
There's an awkward silence as she's staring up at one of my paintings on the wall as if trying to decipher a hidden clue. I can't tell if she's studying it or thinking of something else entirely.
“Is that an authentic Jackson Pollock?” she asks.
Surprise, surprise, Mara knows her shit.
“It’s actually a replica,” I say. “I inherited the piece from my father. One of my most prized possessions right there.” I glance amusedly between the painting and Mara's face. Abbey didn't care for the painting but never put up a fight about hanging it up. She understands how important it is to me, if not the art itself.
“It's mesmerizing.” Mara’s talking about the painting, but her eyes are lingering on my waistline. “You know what? Where’s your corkscrew?” she asks as her gaze snaps back to mine.
I’m sort of frozen, and she doesn’t seem pleased with my reluctance. Before I know it, she’s opening a kitchen drawer and inspecting the contents. “Next one over,” I spit out.
Mara retrieves the corkscrew and goes to work on the wine bottle.
“Isn’t it a little too early for wine?” Not to mention that she is absolutely not my wife and that this situation is vastly inappropriate. I leave that part out, lying to myself that it’s because I don’t want to seem impolite. I hardly know Mara. But maybe getting to know her would be okay.
“It’s just wine, Simon. It’s not like it’s hard liquor.” There’s something satisfying about a woman saying your own name so sharply.
Is there such a thing as a breakfast wine? I know that’s a dumb thought, but I tell myself it’s a breakfast wine as I grab two glasses from the cabinet and carry them to the island bar across the room where Mara’s sitting. It’s so strange to see someone other than Abbey there. We never use the formal dining room; we eat our meals here together. I hope Mara doesn't notice my sweaty palms as I set the glasses in front of her.
“I knew you couldn’t resist,” she says flippantly as she starts to pour. “You loved this wine the other night. You and Abbey both did.”
I don’t give a shit about wine and I was just being nice about it that evening. She knows it’s her I can’t resist and that’s why she’s here. This is wrong.
“How are you two settling in?” I have to say something, anything. She’s sipping and arching her back in a casual fake stretch and her ass looks so good planted on my barstool.
She raises an eyebrow when she catches me staring. “Well, unpacking sucks, but it’s coming along quickly with me being home. Jame
s’s job seems to be going well. It’s all he ever talks about.”
“What would you rather talk about?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Oh god, anything. Books, movies, ideas. Anything besides his work and that stupid car.”
“Hey!” I can’t help but defend the poor guy on that one. “That Corvette is sexy as hell.”
She scoffs, but she’s smiling. “Come. On. Not you too! I bet you’d look good driving it though.”
Now I’m the one smiling ear to ear. Abbey doesn’t flirt with me anymore.
“I have to admit, I was a little surprised when you called the Pollock right away. You’re into art, I take it?”
“Very much, every form of it. It never ceases to amaze me how someone can take a blank medium and turn it into something beautiful, or terrifying, or thought-provoking. I’d argue that there’s nothing in the world more important.” Her mouth curls around her words in a different way when she’s talking about something she loves. She’s definitely deeper than I initially gave her credit for.
“I’d love to debate you on that sometime. But I agree, art is surely up there in terms of importance. Maybe…top five.” I’m poking the bear a little, I know.
“Okay, Simon,” she says with the cutest eye roll I’ve ever seen, smiling into her glass. Her cheeks are getting flushed and I wonder if she’s as buzzed as I am.
“But no, really, my dad was an avid art collector,” I say. “He would take me to auctions with him, he taught me about all the greats. The day he brought home that painting he was happier than the day my siblings and I were born.” Those are the most content, untainted memories I have of my father.
“What happened to him?”
Most people avoid the subject when I accidentally get sappy about my dad. Not Mara. She’s leaning in close and her hand is on mine and I’m letting it be there because it feels so good.
“We’ll save that for another day. Another bottle of wine?”
Shit. Did I just invite her over again? I know I have to snap myself out of this haze that I’m in but being around her makes me feel like my black-and-white life has been injected with neon.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She’s running her hand up my arm now, to my shoulder, and I know it’s supposed to be a comforting gesture, but my cock twitches at how intimate it feels. I let her do it, I let myself have this, I convince myself that I deserve this.
Just then, my phone vibrates the tabletop and I instinctively pull my arm from Mara’s. It’s Abbey texting me. Mara steals a glance at the screen long enough to see who it is and retreats to put distance between us again. I turn the screen off and ignore Abbey’s text, feeling like a giant scumbag. I can’t do this.
Mara just simply being here while my wife isn’t is wrong—let alone drinking with her and letting her get physical, and what about James? If I were him and I saw us like this, I’d kick my ass. The conflict in my brain is a-fucking-lot more than I’ve had to deal with in so long.
I stand, and Mara stands too. I think she knows this is too much. She searches my face for a sign and I get the feeling that all I have to do is give her a green light and it would be all systems go. I need her to leave and at the same time I want to rip off her pants, sit her on the counter, and bury my face in between her legs.
I’m lost in this this thought and she must notice this, because the next thing I know she’s standing close and her arms snake around my neck. She pulls a little closer. God her body feels like heaven pressed against mine. She’s looking deep into my eyes, and I’m foraging for something in hers, any sign that she’s not about to do what I know is going to follow. She presses her lips against mine, firmly yet softly at the same time. I deepen the kiss even though it feels almost criminal. I can taste the sweet wine on her tongue as I finger the hem of her sundress and slide my hand to the top of her thigh. Is this really happening?
My phone vibrates again on the counter and the sound of it startles us both. I abruptly push Mara away. I don’t know if Abbey’s texting again, wondering why I didn’t respond, or a client, but it was the jolt I needed to end this moment. Reality slaps me in the face and I’m starting to feel sweat permeating through my clothes.
“Have a good day,” I say, before my brain even realizes what just came out of my mouth. I force my lips shut before something even more rude comes out. She's looking at me slightly annoyed and bewildered as I attempt to shuffle her out the door. She needs to go.
I watch her walk home through my front door window. Chin up, shoulders back, a swing in her hips. Confidence is so sexy in a woman. Mara's both extremely confident and extremely pissed off.
I have to get some work done. I have to forget what just happened and put Mara out of my mind. Maybe then I can pretend it never occurred. I lock the front door and go to my home office, dreading the mass amount of emails I have to catch up on. I don't know how I'm supposed to concentrate on responding to clients and chasing leads when it feels like everything is so off-kilter. I can't sit down, I can't sit still. I've got a raging hard-on and an innate sense of urgency. I go upstairs and pace our bedroom for a few moments before I sit on the edge our California king and rub one out, thinking of Mara's tight ass and imagining her soft lips on my cock. I don't take long. I reach for a tissue from the nightstand and suddenly it feels like a fifty-pound weight is sitting on my chest. Our wedding picture. My beautiful wife is at work getting shit on by her clients while I'm home jacking off to the neighbor girl. Not internet porn, not an old copy of Playboy, but a real-life goddess who I was just in my house alone with. Who I can still smell. Who wants me as bad as I want her. To feel desired by someone like Mara makes me feel so much like a man, so primal. Why else would she come over like that? Why else would she bite her lip when I speak to her, and make a point to touch my arm as she laughs when the things I say aren't even funny? We've exchanged so few words, but her body language says all that I need to hear. She even let out the most perfect, slight moan when our lips touched.
I grab a joint from my tie box in the closet and take it to the back balcony to take the edge off. Since I met Mara, I feel like I'm living in the moment instead of the day-to-day monotony, and although most people strive for the unexpected, I'm not sure I like it. Comfort zone compromised, I think as I watch the smoke float up and curl through the tree branches.
~
Abbey gets home at her typical time, big surprise. A small voice in my head reminds me how I feel about Mara. I bet life with her would be thrilling, anything but ordinary.
I fall into the loving husband role, greeting her with a kiss and trying not to feel like a huge piece of shit for thinking about Mara sucking me off earlier. Abbey looks tired; she always looks tired. Her patients drain the life out of her until there’s nothing left for me when she gets home at night. Our routine bores me and meeting Mara helps me realize this. Mara has touched me, innocently on the arm of course, more in the past day than Abbey has touched me in months. Abbey and I haven’t kissed as passionately as Mara and I did in years.
We eat, watch mindless television, shower, and get into bed together. Thinking nonstop of Mara has me hard and needing to come again.
I roll toward Abbey and run my fingers from her stomach down to her underwear. She resists a little but probably thinks better of it. She knows how hot Mara is and she’s always been a touch insecure. If she doesn’t give it to me, someone else will. I’m sure she has thought this. I straddle her soft legs and don’t really care if she’s ready for me, shoving myself deep inside her. I tilt my head back and let out a moan, grabbing her tits. She’s moaning softly, falling into the same groove she always does, waiting until it’s over. What a shit way to feel on my end. Thanks Abbey, for the reassurance.
I think about Mara the entire time—and I know this makes me a monster—about her skimpy dress, about her long, tanned legs and what she looks like under that dress, about the way she bites her lip when she looks at me. I imagine fucking Mara instead of Abbey and
how Mara would probably let me do sexy, dirty things to her. I’m fucking Mara from behind, slapping her ass and pulling her hair. Now she’s on top, riding me. I come harder than I have in a long, long time, feeling only a slight twinge of guilt.
I pull out, back in the reality I share with my wife and out of the dream world I was just in. Abbey immediately gets up and goes into the bathroom while I clean up and throw the mess into the can beside the bed.
I fall asleep quickly after my second release of the day, thinking of the life I could have if I wanted it badly enough. I love my wife, but after the little taste of lust I had with Mara earlier, I have the fleeting thought that maybe life with Abbey can never be enough for me. I’m becoming someone I don’t recognize. Mara has some type of power over me that I can’t quite explain.
Chapter Seven
Abbey
Sometimes I have trouble sleeping at night. And by sometimes, I mean often, almost nightly. “Normal” people have their own thoughts lingering around in their minds while trying to fall asleep, making it somewhat difficult to retire to their dreams. I have my own thoughts plus those of seventeen other people swarming around in my head, making it damn near impossible to wind down and drift to sleep easily. I often can’t sleep until my brain has almost certainly shrunken to the size of a pea after being so overworked and exhausted to the point of being more or less comatose.
I think about Patient X and his issues with his obsessive tendencies, Patient Y and his problems that stem from being raped as a child, and Patient Z who can’t get past traumas from a high school boyfriend. The person who was supposed to love her the most also hurt her the most.
I think of the women Patient X stalks and I feel scared for them. They live their lives freely, guards down, having no idea that a mental middle-aged man preys on them in their most intimate moments. They don’t know that he’s fully aware of the most private details of their lives. They don’t see him as he watches through their windows, follows them to their jobs, secretly pining over each one of them.
Those We Trust Page 4