The Other Man (West Coast Hotwifing)

by Jasmine Haynes

  There was only an unnerving silence. His home office was empty, the living room silent, the TV screen blank.

  She found him sitting at the dining room table, two place settings laid out, two glasses of wine, his half empty. Rice bubbled in a cooker, vegetables steamed on the stove, and the barbecue sizzled on the deck within earshot of the open sliding glass door.

  “You made dinner,” she said inanely.

  “The fish should be ready.” He raised his wineglass to his lips and took a long swallow, half of what had been left. “Why don’t you get the broccoli and rice?” Without looking at her, he rose, gliding through the door, leaving her to do his bidding.

  They arrived back at the table simultaneously, Zoe with bowls of rice and vegetables, he with a fragrant platter of salmon.

  They served themselves, again in silence.

  The conversation started as he ate. Zoe could only swallow with difficulty.

  “I told him under no circumstances will I agree to a weekend at Sea Ranch, or any other place, for that matter, if I’m not there.” Keith speared her with a look that pierced straight to her core. “He had the effrontery to say that I wasn’t allowed to come with you.”

  “It never occurred to me that you’d want to.” She wouldn’t have wanted it that way either. Maybe, a few years ago, when they’d first started this thing, it would have been exciting. With another man. But not with Spence. She couldn’t be herself with Keith there.

  What a terrible indictment the thought was.

  He jabbed his broccoli straight through to the china. “I suppose it never occurred to you that I’d want to know about St. Augustine.”

  She finished her forkful of the salmon, which had suddenly become straw and dust in her mouth. “I called you from St. Augustine. I’m not sure what else you wanted to know.”

  He leaned in, his eyes narrowed. “Everything. That was our deal. You get to play, and I get to hear every detail. You’ve been holding out.”

  He made it sound as if playing was her choice, not a mutual understanding they’d come to because he’d stopped having sex with her. She was sure saying that would only make things worse. “You know everything. You even told me to fuck him again after that first night. You wanted a video.”

  Tension rippled through the muscles of his face. “But I didn’t expect you to spend time with him outside the bed.” He drained his wine, refilled the glass.

  Zoe sipped hers nervously. “We went house-hunting and did some sightseeing up in St. Augustine. It wasn’t a big deal.” Except that she’d had the best sex of her life. God help her for the thought. Spence had made everything about her, from the houses she wanted to see to the park stamp he’d secured for her to lovemaking in a cozy B&B overlooking the historic town. It had been perfect, wonderful, memorable. And far more than she should ever have taken. She knew it. Keith knew it.

  “How many other times have you been with him that I don’t know about?”

  “I haven’t. You’ve known about every single time.” She concentrated on her meal, pushing the broccoli this way, the rice that way, unable to bring a single bite to her mouth.

  “What about all the sexting you’ve been doing?”

  “Sexting?”

  “Come on.” He sneered. “I know you’ve been sending dirty texts back and forth.”

  She wondered if the number of texts showed on the bill. She’d never thought to ask. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be doing? You wanted me to have another man. I did.”

  He glared at her, his gaze reduced to a beady stare. “Don’t you get that I’m supposed to be a part of this? You barely call me when you’re with him. You don’t show me his dirty texts or your even dirtier replies. All I get is a stingy little orgasm when you arrive home. And I think you fake those.” The contempt in his voice seared her flesh. “This was supposed to be about us, but you’ve made it all about you and some other fucking man. I’ve seen the way you look at him in those videos. The videos don’t lie.”

  Her stomach clenched. It was all true. She didn’t have a shred of a defense. She was sure he’d seen everything in the videos. How could she have hidden the way she felt? You wanted me to have this relationship. You told me to do it. The words were there, on the tip of her tongue, ready to fling at him, but the truth was that she’d jumped at the chance. She’d minimized her feelings for Spence in front of her husband. He’d asked her why she liked Spence, and she’d blithely said it was all about size, knowing she was implying that Keith had nothing to worry about. She’d walked into it knowing that if Keith understood how much her emotions were involved, he never would have pushed.

  When she didn’t reply or refute, he raised his glass once more, but before he drank, he said, “I don’t want you seeing him anymore.”

  She could feel her heart break in two.

  “You were right to have the rules,” he went on. “You’ll go back to playing on your business trips. No one who lives nearby. No relationships.” He drank, shrugged, and continued as if his thoughts hadn’t been interrupted. “I suppose it would be all right if you saw someone you’d been with at another conference. That’s acceptable.”

  She sat there, her dinner barely touched, her wineglass still full. “You want me to continue doing this?”

  “Of course. It worked fine for three years. We’ll just go back to the way it was.”

  It was monstrous, but she couldn’t pinpoint why. There was just something so wrong with it. They’d been wrong for three years thinking that other men would solve their problem. She wanted emotion, connection, to be desired not just for her body but for who she was. Yes, marriage was more than sex, but a marriage without sex was only half a marriage. How could she ever have believed otherwise? She couldn’t go back to the way things were. She’d had a taste of what she needed. She’d had a taste of Spence. Nothing could be the same.

  “I’m not sleeping with men and calling you so you can jack off. I’m not taking videos that you can play on your computer while I’m in the other room. I’m not doing that anymore.”

  He simply looked at her, his face hard and immobile. “Fine. If that’s what you want.” He leaned in, lowered his voice. “But you’re not seeing him either. That’s over.”

  She wanted to throw up the few bites she’d eaten. Oh God. She had to give up Spence.

  He reached for his wine. “Perhaps it’s time we did some marriage counseling.”

  Zoe put her hand over her mouth. Something bubbled up. At first she thought it was a sob. A moment later, she realized it was laughter, rising, brimming, tumbling out of her mouth. She laughed until her eyes watered.

  “What?” he demanded. It was a voice she remembered from long ago, when he’d been her boss, when she was merely his assistant. A lifetime ago.

  He didn’t get it. He’d missed the point completely. They were three years too late for marriage counseling. They might very well be too late for anything.

  Because losing Spence was going to kill her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  He’d been an idiot for the second time in the same day, and that mistake had been more monumentally idiotic than what he’d done at lunch. Sitting in his office the next morning, Keith regretted every word he’d said to Zoe. He shouldn’t have had the wine. He’d been on his third glass by the time she got home. That had been a mistake. Everything he’d uttered at the dinner table had been a mistake.

  All he should have said was I love you and please don’t leave me.

  There had to be a way to fix it. Marriage counseling? No, that was stupid. How did you walk into a therapist’s office and say you’d been letting your wife have sex with other men for three years and now you decided maybe that hadn’t been such a great idea? They’d bring in the men with white coats and a strait jacket.

  He hadn’t gone to bed until after Zoe was asleep. When she’d woken up in the morning, she wasn’t feeling well. He knew it was an excuse so she didn’t have to talk to him.

  What was he
supposed to do? How was he supposed to fix this? He was a fixer, that’s what he did for a living, fixing any trivial matter a client or an associate came to him with. But he didn’t know how to fix this one. It was like his first marriage. Something had gone wrong, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what.

  His phone buzzed, his secretary’s voice humming through the intercom. “Mr. Hudson, it’s Dale Bronson.”

  Fuck. Another thing he couldn’t seem to fix. His client and the whopping estate tax bill they hadn’t expected. His head started to ache. He realized it had been aching all along, but now it began to pound.

  “Fine, I’ll take the call. But get me some aspirin and a soda water, would you?”

  He punched the button on his phone and went into appeasement mode, but inside, his gut roiled, and his mind was stuck in a record groove, repeating over and over, How do I fix it, how do I fix it, fix it, fix it?

  He was terrified he wouldn’t be able to fix anything.

  * * * * *

  “We can’t see each other,” she said so softly her voice was like a disembodied announcer at the ultimate moment of a golf match, the moment where you either won or you lost.

  Spence felt her words choking him. “Why?” He rose to close his office door. “If he doesn’t want us to do the weekend, we won’t do it.” He was weak, giving back points he’d already won. He’d wanted more, not less. But she was talking about giving him nothing at all.

  “He was very upset last night.”

  Back in his chair, he leaned forward, putting his head in his hand and closing his eyes. If she’d told Keith about St. Augustine, if she’d just done that, but even as he had the thought, he knew there was more. The man had simply exploded, as if he’d been holding everything inside until that bit about St. Augustine had been the match lighting his fuse.

  He tried anyway. “I’ll talk to him again. Explain about St. Augustine.”

  “It isn’t St. Augustine.” Her voice was harder, as if she were talking to a child who wouldn’t listen. “He’s been watching the videos. And he doesn’t like what he sees.”

  “The videos were perfect.” Christ, he wanted to watch them. All he had was one picture.

  “He thinks—” She stopped, started again, “He thinks—” A second time, she couldn’t finish.

  “What does he think?” His insides wrenched tight.

  “He thinks it’s better if I only see a man once, like before, on business trips.”

  Fuck if he’d let her have one-night stands again. But he knew what Keith had seen in those videos. He’d seen Spence’s feelings written on his face, in every touch, every look, every kiss. Fuck, he shouldn’t have kissed her. That was a dead giveaway.

  “Let me talk to him,” he insisted. “I can explain.” Explain? Hell, no. He’d lie. It’s just sex, Keith. I don’t feel anything for your wife, Keith. You don’t need to worry, Keith, I won’t try to steal her away. Spence wasn’t a nice man, and he’d do whatever he had to, including lie.

  But she took the option away from him. “That’s not a good idea.”

  There had to be something. “Meet me for lunch. Let’s talk about this.” He sounded frantic. He felt fucking frantic. If he couldn’t convince Keith, he had to convince her.

  “I can’t do that either.”

  He wanted to shout. He wanted to beg. Please don’t walk away. All he could say was “We’ve got a good thing, Zoe. We shouldn’t throw it away if we can make it work.”

  “It’s not going to work, Spence.”

  I love you. We can make this work. But she wouldn’t believe him. He had to think of something else. “If you’re still going to do this when you’re on trips, then we can arrange to be at the same conferences.” Christ, it sounded so fucking pathetic.

  “I’m married, Spence. I can’t do this anymore.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. She’d been doing this for three years. Why the hell stop now? But he knew. Because he’d crossed the line. He’d gotten involved. Because Keith had seen that in the video. Spence had confirmed it when he’d asked to take her away for a weekend. He’d ruined the whole damn thing because he got greedy.

  He clenched his fingers around the phone, trying to force his energy and tension out so he could keep his voice calm and rational.

  “I know you’re married, Zoe. I respect the boundaries. Planning a weekend away was the wrong thing to do. I’ll follow whatever rules Keith lays down.” Just don’t leave me.

  Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “It’s too late for that. He saw the video. He says it doesn’t lie. And he’s right. This has to end.”

  He could barely listen to her, the pain inside tearing him apart, like the day he held Fiona for the last time, when she’d begged him to change. And he had, even if it was too late. “I can change it,” he said. “I can act differently. I can be whatever you want me to be.”

  “I have to go, Spence.”

  “No, wait—” He’d say whatever he had to. But she was already gone.

  * * * * *

  It had to be done. She was married. But God, she missed Spence so much, she was making herself sick. It was only a day since she’d told him they couldn’t see each other anymore. Zoe curled into a small ball on the bed. Keith was showering. She should get up. But every muscle ached, and her stomach twisted and turned. She wanted to stay here forever, in the bed, in a ball.

  She hadn’t known she could miss a man this much. That was for angsty teenagers. As Keith’s secretary, she’d never let herself feel, because he was married and off limits. Until he’d left his wife. Then he’d returned her feelings, and everything was wonderful. God, she’d been so young.

  She didn’t know what this was with Spence. Or rather, she didn’t want to know. She’d been telling herself since she talked to him yesterday that it was simply about losing a man that made her feel special, the blissful sex.

  Soon she’d have to admit she was a liar. It was Spence himself. She’d let herself fall in love with him. How stupid could she be?

  The shower stopped, and the last of the water circled the drain. If she didn’t get out of bed, Keith would find her here. She’d have to talk to him. Polite, meaningless conversation like they’d had last night over dinner, when truly, all she’d wanted to do was throw something at him. As if it was his fault she felt this way. Maybe part of it was. He’d pushed her to see Spence once she got home. He wanted the bareback thing. He’d wanted his fantasy. Now he expected her to dump Spence. Guilt and resentment burned equally in her belly.

  So she crawled out of the bed, grabbed fresh panties and bra, nylons, a blouse, a skirt, and made her way to her bathroom. He used the master bath, which was smaller; she used the main, off the hallway.

  In the mirror, her face looked green, her eyes red-rimmed with dark circles beneath. She dropped her pajamas onto the tile floor and stepped beneath the hot spray, letting its force beat the life back into her.

  She still felt queasy by the time she’d dressed and put on her makeup.

  Is this what a broken heart felt like?

  * * * * *

  Three days later, Zoe had to admit this wasn’t exactly how a broken heart felt. Instead, it could be how a brokenhearted pregnant woman felt.

  Early on Saturday morning, she stood in the feminine care aisle in her local pharmacy and stared at the array of home pregnancy tests. How was it possible? She was on the pill. She’d missed her period, but she’d done that before. Her doctor had told her it wasn’t unusual. But she’d felt sick again this morning, and there were other things, a tenderness in her breasts. She’d gone online, researched symptoms, read every site. And she knew.

  The last three mornings, she’d hidden the queasiness from Keith. The last three days, she’d ignored Spence’s calls, texts, and emails, despite the aching hole inside her. The last three evenings, she’d made dinner and smiled and watched TV and pretended everything was normal.

  Keith had pretended, too, but they both knew something was wrong. H
e just didn’t have a clue how totally their lives were about to be changed irrevocably.

  She read the packages, chose a brand, paid for it, and carried the bag next door to the restroom in the grocery store. In the quiet of the stall, she waited for the result.

  When it came, she almost cried. Years ago, she’d wanted this. She’d gotten over that, accepted her life the way it was. She’d been fine, happy, she had a decent job and a good husband, and she didn’t need kids to be fulfilled.

  Zoe bent over and hugged herself, rocking. The awful truth was that she’d lied to herself for all these years. Because she did want a child. She always had.

  Now, when it was finally happening, it wasn’t her husband’s. The baby belonged to the other man. The man she couldn’t have.

  * * * * *

  She’d ignored his messages and texts. Spence couldn’t take it anymore. At lunchtime on Monday, he haunted the parking lot outside Bay Metals waiting for her. Some would call it pathetic. Spence saw it as determination.

  Although he did feel conspicuous waiting in his car. He didn’t even know if she went out to lunch or brown-bagged it.

  At twelve-thirty, she exited the building in running clothes, fitted pants and a shirt with zippered pockets for her keys and cell phone. Her long hair was restrained in a ponytail pulled through the back strap of her visor.

  He got out of his car. She didn’t see him until he stepped straight in front of her.

  Stopping short, her hand flew to her mouth. She swallowed, blinked at him, and he could have sworn something swam in her eyes. Tears? It couldn’t be. Maybe it was.

  “Zoe.”

  It was all she let him get out before she asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “Talk. That’s all.”

  She glanced over her shoulder as if afraid someone might come out of the door. “You have to go. We said everything on the phone.”

  He raised a hand as if he would have touched her, and she backed off. “We didn’t say anything, Zoe. You have to tell me what happened. Why the sudden change?”