by Selena Kitt
And then decide if she could live with it.
That’s why she decided to risk it, she had to know. Maybe she wasn’t thinking straight, but right now it seemed like the only way.
She’d tell Richard about Vern. About what he did. And about how she had reacted.
That would cure Richard of his crazy fantasies. The reality of Melissa actually doing something with another man, even if it was somewhat against her will, or so she kept trying to convince herself, would disgust Richard. She couldn’t tell him it was the biker; Richard might be so angry that he’d confront Vern. Melissa didn’t want to know how that would turn out. Or would he? Some primitive part of her reacted to it, two men fighting over her.
Yet after three days Melissa still hadn’t worked up the nerve. On the outside, their lives had reverted to the usual, work, work, tend to the house, more work. Richard had a quick overnight trip, that gave her a short respite. When she was around him she kept the conversation limited to work, the weather, anything but what she wanted to bring up, what she had to bring up.
For his part, Richard seemed totally—normal. It was as if this new thing in their lives, this unspoken specter, these other men, just weren’t there. The fantasy world that seemed so real to him, to both of them, simply not existing at any other hour. Or maybe Richard could just turn it off, only needing it during sex.
Yet Richard had told her he had been thinking about it all the time. Was he over it? Maybe she should just let it go, what happened with Vern, bury it, not take the chance on getting Richard thinking along those lines.
The night Richard left for his trip, alone in the house, Melissa had just about changed her mind and decided not to tell him anything. Not now, maybe not ever. Her marriage should be strong enough for the truth, but a little secret like this wouldn’t hurt it either.
The next morning she awoke feeling better, having had her first half way decent night’s sleep in days.
Only later did she realize how dangerous little secrets could be.
The fuse was lit on Melissa’s drive to work. The day was clear, crisp, fall was settling in. She had the music going, loud, as she liked it when she drove alone. She caught the traffic signal just outside the development in the left turn lane, not even upset this morning that it had just turned red, knowing it was an especially long light.
The music roared, and Melissa frowned, that wasn’t right for this song, maybe something wrong with the stereo. She fiddled with the knob, the roar growing louder, slowly it dawning on her it wasn’t the song, it was from outside the car, a deep bass throb. She turned to see a car in the next lane, a tiny subcompact, a car that couldn’t be making so much noise. But just behind it, she glimpsed the front wheel of a motorcycle.
The bike was too far behind her, she could just see the wheel, and then a boot, and a leg enveloped in a tight set of jeans, and as her eyes traveled backward her pulse quickened, thinking no, no, it can’t be, it can’t be him. . .
The rear seat headrest blocked her view, she couldn’t see who it was on the bike, it looked like a Harley cruiser, Melissa didn’t know enough about them to know for sure if it was Vern’s, she hadn’t been looking at his bike anyway.
Melissa turned off the music, oddly thinking it would help her know, hearing her heart thumping, seeing the motorcycle creep forward, just another second and she would see the rider, she wanted to know, she needed to know. . .
A horn tooted behind her. Melissa ignored it, the bike was almost abreast of her. The horn sounded again, angry, not a friendly reminder this time. She glanced up, pissed, the light had changed for her left turn, but the light for the middle lane was still red.
Still she waited, but the bike didn’t move. Melissa edged the car forward, every inch making it harder to see the biker, then mercifully the center light changed, and she made the turn without looking where she was going, her eyes dangerously over her shoulder, watching the biker roar though the intersection. Another horn blared, a warning, she had drifted across the lane, and she snapped her head around, jerking the wheel straight.
Had it been Vern? Had he noticed her? Had he thought Melissa was waiting for him at the light?
It shouldn’t have mattered. Why would she care what he thought, even if it had been him?
But she had wanted it to be him. Melissa had a wild thought of pulling a u-turn in the middle of the busy intersection and chasing him down.
But what would she have done then? Part of her wanted to run him down, the cocky bastard. The other part of her desperately wanted him, and, so help her, wanted him to want her.
Shaking, Melissa pulled over to the side of the road. It took almost ten minutes for her to get control of herself.
This reaction, from just the glimpse of a guy on a bike. What would happen if she saw Vern for real? What would happen if she ran into Vern while she was with Richard?
She’d lose it for sure. Then how would she explain it? How would she tell Richard then what had happened?
She couldn’t take that chance. For better or worse, she’d have to tell Richard now. Before something terrible happened.
Chapter 15
At work that day Melissa could barely concentrate. She kept looking at the clock, the time creeping by. A million thoughts in her head, how she should handle it with Richard, how to even bring it up. Over dinner? Richard, did you like the steak? Oh, by the way, I let another guy kiss me. Would you like some more wine?
Or in bed. Waiting up until he came to sleep, saying I’ve been meaning to tell you, I kissed another man, he started it but I let it happen. Sweet dreams.
Or the worst of all, Richard would come to bed and want sex, then what would she do? Say no, tell him first? Or after? Would she be even able to have sex with the truth on her mind?
No, that wasn’t the worst. The worst would be that she’d be thinking of Vern, and that would make her want sex even more.
When Melissa looked up again at the clock she was surprised to see an hour had gone by. She had been so caught up in her musings she hadn’t even noticed. She tried again to work but it was no use.
She couldn’t wait until bedtime, she’d have to get the conversation started over dinner, at least get the right mood set. Melissa reached for the phone, she’d call Richard and ask him to come home early for dinner. Halfway through his number she hung up, she wouldn’t be able to trust her voice if he happened to pick up.
She texted him instead. ‘Could you possibly get home early, even for a late dinner?’ And then, just before hitting send, she added, ‘Really need to talk to you about something.’ She hesitated, realizing that might worry him, and considered adding ‘Don’t worry, everything is okay.’
But she couldn’t even lie in a text.
An hour later Melissa was out of the office, telling her assistant she’d be working at home, not even thinking how odd that would sound given that she had only arrived in the office a few hours ago. She stopped at the market on the way to the house. What to get for dinner? Something quick? Or sumptuous? Melissa realized she was over thinking everything. How on earth could the choice of menu possibly matter in light of what she was about to confess to her husband?
Richard hadn’t even confirmed that he was going to make it; she hadn’t heard a word. I’ll make dinner, just in case, Melissa thought. I’m going to go nuts if I don’t get it off my chest.
She settled on a roast, she could leave that in the slow cooker in case Richard came in late. Some salad, some vegetables. And wine. Plenty of wine.
At home, still keyed up, she went downstairs to the gym. Melissa hated the stationary bike, preferring to run outside, even in bad weather, but she hadn’t done that since her run in with Vern. She hadn’t dared, somehow knowing that wherever she ran, even far in a different direction, she’d be jumping at the sound of every car or bike that went by.
On the bike, pedaling furiously, even with the TV on, all Melissa could think about was what she should say to Richard. Screwing up her courage every
time the little devil on her shoulder told her to not say anything. Scared to death if she kept silent, scared even more if she confessed. Thinking through every possible reaction she could imagine that Richard could have.
When she finished, the sweat was pouring off her. She was still wired. She ran upstairs, needing something cold to drink, maybe she’d ride some more.
Her phone was on the counter, the message indicator lit. A text from Richard. Trembling, she read it. ‘That would be great. I have something to talk to you about as well.’
Shit. What could it be? Something at work? Another whole sequence of conversations ran through her head. What did you want to talk about Melissa? You first, Richard. And he’d tell her about some problem or other with his boss, or even worse, something good happening, a raise, and then he’d say, Now what did you want to talk about? Then she’d be stuck, having to tell him, ruining the moment, maybe ruining everything.
Or she’d chicken out.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway froze Melissa. This was it. Normally she wasn’t afraid of much at all—the things most people feared rarely fazed her at all. She had bungee jumped. Eaten weird foods. Even cliff dived. She wasn’t really a thrill seeker, she was just confident. Even speaking in front of a large audience didn’t bother her. But for one of the few times in her life she felt unsure of herself, not knowing exactly what to do.
Yet the confident part of herself kept reminding her that something was wrong with her marriage that had to be fixed. Vern, insufferable as he was, had been right about one thing: she needed something. Maybe Vern had been right about more than that, but she wouldn’t let herself think of that now.
Either their marriage had to change, or Melissa had to. The alternative was to always wonder, to always know there was something missing.
She turned on some music, something soothing. It didn’t do much for her nerves but she hoped it would set a tone.
Which wine? Staring at the bottles her mind suddenly went blank, escaping. That’s how Richard found her, seemingly absorbed in an intense scrutiny of wine labels.
He had to repeat Melissa’s name twice before she looked up.
“Are you okay?” His voice was soft, concerned. Melissa was immediately struck by how different he spoke to her than had Vern, the biker even now intruding on her. Richard, caring, wanting to help, but in some ways helpless to give her what she needed.
She couldn’t turn to face him, not yet. “No, just deciding on which wine would be better.”
Richard was by her side, just standing there in the kitchen closer to her than he had been in days, a reminder of the physical space they shared.
“Can I help?” he asked.
And there it was, the invitation, the opening she needed, she just had to admit it, tell him what she desperately wanted. Screw the wine! I need you to take me! I need you to know what I want, what I need, and give it to me, not ask me!
Like Vern had done.
Was it fair to compare them? Especially to compare the best of what Vern offered to everything that Richard was, all the while ignoring the loathsome part of Vern?
If only you could create a man out of puzzle pieces.
She hated herself for being so selfish. Handing Richard the corkscrew she said, “Why don’t you decide.” She looked up into his eyes, which held their usual intensity, a look that others found distracting but she had become accustomed to. Richard’s eyes were actually more intense than any man she had been with, stronger than Vern, and even Marcus; they held her, they were what saw through her, it was how he read her, why she could not lie to him.
And yet—the force in his eyes didn’t carry to the rest of him, his thoughts were gentle, his heart kinder and more caring.
How unfair life could be, that her mind could be excited by this, but her body could not. Not in the way she wanted.
You could learn to love someone, she thought. Not be in love, but at least love. But it was impossible to learn to lust for someone.
Melissa watched her husband as he opened the wine, sure with his hands. Not an artist, but competent. The way he made love. All his motions correct, everything where it should be, working, and yet the whole thing a little mechanical, as if he had read it in a book.
Except, she had to admit, the few times recently, when they had used Richard’s fantasy; then it had been different, not wildness and utter abandon, but far more passionate.
He filled the glasses, handing one to her. Melissa took a sip, not really tasting it, something else was not right. Then she realized that Richard hadn’t glanced at his phone, hadn’t looked at the mail, hadn’t done any of the things he normally did when he first got home.
Melissa had been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed his tenseness.
“Is everything okay?” she asked automatically, the very question that she dreaded he would ask her. “Something at work?”
He shook his head. “No. I mean, everything at work is okay. But I’ve got something else I want to talk to you about.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you say you had something on your mind?”
Here it was, just as she had pictured it, the scenario playing out. She prevaricated. “Let’s go sit and relax a little. I’ll just keep the dinner warming.”
Melissa turned down the cooker and took a few moments to gather herself before heading into the living room. Richard was in one of the easy chairs. She sat on the sofa, facing him. He was sitting stiffly, his wine on the coffee table, waiting expectantly.
It had the feeling of a business meeting.
She wanted him closer, if they were going to talk about anything personal, it shouldn’t really be like this, even this little distance a great gulf. But would the confession of her betrayal seem any less horrible if they were closer together?
“Why don’t you come and sit near me,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
“What? Sure.” Richard got up and moved to the sofa, sitting not next to her but at the other end. Still some distance, but it was better.
“I—.” They both started at the same time, stopped, then both said, “You first.”
Melissa laughed, the confusion and formal politeness a small break in the tension. Now was the time to just come out with it—
But Richard spoke first. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us, about our—problems. There. I said it. Our problems.”
Melissa heard the words but it took a moment for them to register; she had been concentrating on what she was going to say. This wasn’t what she was expecting.
“I know you are really unhappy,” Richard went on. “About more than the sex. I guess I’ve known it for a long time. I’ve been avoiding it, thinking it would go away. Or just wishing it would. I’m sorry.”
Melissa was shaking her head, feeling his anguish, seeing it in his tense posture. “I’m not unhappy.”
Richard’s eyes bored into her, that power again, and she tried to meet his gaze, but even as she fought to do so she felt herself shrinking back into her end of the couch.
“Melissa.” His voice was full of knowing.
She tried to deflect him. “Maybe we’ve had a few issues. What couple doesn’t?”
“It’s not what you thought it would be, is it?”
And with that, he had captured it all.
She tried one last time. “It’s just me. I just need to—recalibrate.”
Richard smiled, but it was a sad smile. “That’s so like you. Trying to take the responsibility. It’s one of the reasons I love you, because you take responsibility for your actions.”
Melissa started, her eyes widening, wondering if Richard already knew. Of course not, he wouldn’t have started the conversation this way. Or was he giving her a way out? No, he wouldn’t have brought up the whole topic of responsibility. But when she told him about Vern, he would think she would, or should, be responsible for what she had allowed to happen.
She reached for her w
ine to hide her apprehension. “You can’t expect to be the only one to take responsibility. This—whatever we are dealing with—certainly isn’t your fault.”
Richard’s eyes widened. “I don’t care whose fault it is! I just want to fix it. I know you are unhappy. I just don’t know how to fix that.”
Maybe it was something that couldn’t be fixed. The thought came to Melissa unbidden, but she pushed it away. She wasn’t willing to go there yet. “Things are a little better lately,” she said.
“You mean we’re having more sex.” His voice was flat, a statement of fact. “I know. But look what it took to make that happen. I have to think about you with other men to get us in the mood.”
“To get you in the mood,” she said, instantly regretting it, her words much harsher than she intended. She saw the pain on his face, her words stinging more than if she had slapped him.