by Rachael Wade
She licks along the white edge and her eyes finally flick up to meet mine. I’m distracted by the pink tease of tongue. “It looks to me like you’ve lived a pretty uptight, boring life the past few years. Perfect house, perfect car, perfect job, perfect wife. And it’s pretty obvious after what just happened downstairs that you haven’t been fucked properly in a long time. You’re young and the world is at your fingertips.”
“You could say that,” I reply, a bit miffed by her assessment of my life. She doesn’t know anything about it. She doesn’t know me. But apparently, I’m pretty easy to size up, because she did it within thirty minutes of walking into my home. I won’t deny she’s right. I’m rich, with youth and power on my side. But I’ve been bored. More than bored—unsatisfied. I only have myself to blame for that one, but it doesn’t change the truth. It can’t change reality. I got wrapped up in Kylie. Wrapped up in everything I thought we could be. But we never had that chemistry.
We never had anything like this.
Elise flips the top of her lighter back and lights up, taking a long, deep drag. A few seconds pass as she holds the smoke in her lungs, her eyes latched onto mine. I’m mesmerized by the cloud of white as she releases it in a slow, steady stream. I hate smoking of any kind, but seeing her do it is oddly fascinating. Sensual and sexy. “Well,” she tosses the lighter down on the patio table and rises to her feet. “I think it’s high time you lighten up and live a little, don’t you?” She takes another hit and hands me the joint, strolling leisurely back into the bedroom.
My gaze drops to the pot in my hand. It looks so unnatural sitting there, wedged awkwardly between my fingers. But it feels natural, because she handed it to me. It suddenly seems like the most effortless thing in the world. I rest it on my lips and inhale while my eyes roll toward the bedroom, devouring the sight of my dirty little angel, the one who crashed into my world and turned it upside down in the matter of a day.
She pads over to the bed, letting the bathrobe slink to her feet. It pools around her ankles, revealing every exquisite, bare inch of her. Scorching lava burns my chest and stings my eyes when I spot the ink on her hips. I apparently missed it downstairs, and fuck me, am I sorry I did. Kylie would never, ever even think about getting a tattoo. Let alone on her damn hips, dipping to some forbidden, luscious place. My mouth begins to water again.
I can’t sit still any longer.
My fingers roll the edge of the joint onto the side of the patio table, stubbing it out. I set it down and stalk inside the bedroom, heading straight for her. She leans over to the bedside table and turns on the radio, running her finger over the iPod music selection. Settling on Cracker’s “Low”, she cranks it up and lifts her hands to cradle her head, resting back on the headboard. Her gaze simmers as she looks up at me expectantly. My eyes can’t help but to rake down her chest, all the way down to her navel, before travelling back up to those deep, smoky irises.
The high hits me, the blissful fog overtaking my senses, and I begin to crawl onto the bed to meet her. She sits there patiently, parting her lips to open for me when I climb over her thighs, planting my fists on the mattress next to her hips. The kiss is painstakingly slow, raw and sizzling, nothing but breath and heat and sensation. The music covers us, sinking into the sheets, bleeding into our skin like charred embers. My mouth melds to hers on a moan as we drift into ecstasy. We smother one another, never coming up for air, never leaving our hazy, lust-filled bubble. Not until we have to. Not until two hours later, when my cell phone buzzes with Kylie’s texts. She’s on her way home, and Elise is out the door before I can even say goodbye.
***
“What is that god awful…smell?” Kylie’s nose wrinkles as she wanders aimlessly around the bedroom, sniffing like a little dog. I’m smoothing the edges of the sheets, making the bed like a stay-at-home husband, which is the farthest thing from what I actually am, but helping straighten the house seems to be the only thing that really eases some of the tension between us lately. Kylie’s fired the past three maids, swearing they’ve been rifling through her jewelry. I think she’s full of shit, but I don’t tell her that, I just go along with the dramatics and go about my business.
The truth is, I really don’t give a damn about who cleans the house, as long as it gets cleaned. I’m not home very often, anyway, and when I am, I’m not worried about the little hand towels in the bathroom or whether or not the carpet’s been vacuumed twice a week. My business takes precedence, not to mention I have a life to live. A life that extends far beyond these walls, far beyond my life with Kylie.
I’m not sure I ever planned to bury my interests elsewhere, outside of the home. Things just kind of happened that way. Much like everything else in life, we pick and choose where we invest our energy, and over time, things shift and evolve. We change. Our relationships change. Sadly, ours fizzed out when we weren’t looking. While we were busy chasing ambitions, chasing dreams. The lack of connection only added fuel to the fire.
Now, here we are, making the bed and talking about funny scents in the bedroom because there truly is nothing of importance to discuss.
“When did we change out these drapes?” she asks, feeling the fabric as she studies them. She’s standing at the French doors, messing with drapes that she just changed out herself last week.
I sigh and toss a pillow onto the bed. “You did. Last week. Remember? Said you wanted to freshen the room up for our anniversary or something.”
“Hhhm,” she murmurs, entirely too focused on a piece of lint stuck to the drape fabric. She picks at it and huffs under her breath, then steps out onto the balcony to straighten the patio chairs. I toss the last pillow onto the bed and do a double take when I see her move for the patio table.
“Shit.” I hurry after her, remembering the joint we’d left on the table. It’s a little too late. Kylie’s already plucked it up, her eyes wide with horror. There’s definitely some disgust lurking in there, too.
“Is this what I think it is?” she shrieks, holding it up in my face.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Had I not been so preoccupied pleasuring Elise’s sinful body for the past two hours, I might have remembered to dispose of the evidence. That’s what I get for rolling around in the sheets until the very last minute. We cut it way too close. I barely had time to clean up the broken vase downstairs. We’ll have to be much more careful next time.
“Christian?” Kylie raises a brow, breaking me from my train of thought. I’m beyond distracted, just thinking about a next time with Elise Duchamp.
I’m in serious fucking trouble.
“What? No. It’s not what you think.”
“Oh?” She laughs darkly. “You’re telling me this isn’t marijuana. In my house.”
“Actually, it’s our house.”
Her nostrils flare. “Why is there marijuana in our house, Christian? I deserve to know.”
I exhale and throw my hands in the air. Why even try to lie to the woman? It’s no use, and it’s not like I have anything to hide, anyway. I’m sure Kylie has tons of secrets she keeps from me. Elise might be one I’ll never divulge, but when it comes to smoking a little pot for what was probably only the second time in my entire life, I see no reason to deny anything. “So sue me,” I say, snatching it from her hand. “I decided to try it. Just needed to relax. It won’t happen again.”
Kylie’s expression softens a bit, but there’s still no disguising the disgust that plagues her features. “What the hell has gotten into you? Since when do you smoke to relax?”
“I don’t, Kylie. That’s my point. This was a random thing. It’s not a big deal.” I turn to walk back inside the bedroom, searching for my car keys. It’s about that time. Time to get out of the house and let her do whatever it is that she does. Over the past six months, a routine has developed. She comes home, we attempt to make small talk and do the married-life dance, but when we see how miserably we fail at it, I say I’m going for a drive, and she says she’s going to take a
bath. Who knows what she really does while I’m gone. For all I know, she could be having affairs of her own.
“Where are you going?” Kylie follows me. She’s still fuming.
“You know where I’m going.”
“No, no I don’t. I don’t seem to know much of anything about you anymore.”
“Well, that goes both ways, now doesn’t it?” I swipe my keys from the bedroom dresser and take a deep breath when I turn around to face her. I didn’t mean for my response to be laced with such irritation, but the woman really drives me to the edge sometimes.
Now is one of those times.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She crosses her arms and her lips stiffen, contorting her face into a scowl.
“It means I don’t know you either, Kylie.” I shrug half-heartedly. “I don’t know why we keep doing this dance. Do you? Honestly, do you ever wonder that?” Her scowl lessens a bit. Now she looks offended. Hurt. I’m an asshole. “Shit. Look, I’m just going for a drive, okay?”
“Right.” Her voice comes out small and meek this time. “A drive.”
“Yes, a goddamn drive. And you’re taking a bath, right?” My eyes narrow, scanning hers warily.
“I’m not fucking someone else while you’re gone, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Is that what I’m implying?” I know I shouldn’t, but I keep testing her. She needs to know that I’m well aware that she isn’t innocent either. She can’t be. Not when she’s so closed off, so disconnected from me all the time. She’s never outright admitted an affair, but then again, I guess I can’t blame her.
Her eyes roll and she drops her arms, taking a lazy step forward. The hurt in her expression has shifted into cold, hard anger. The pain is still there, but it’s buried beneath the surface, so deep it’s been etched into her skin.
I did that. I’m responsible.
“You’re forgetting something very important here, Christian,” she says, her tone icy.
“Kylie, let’s just drop it. I’ll be back in a few hours.” I turn to leave but she steps closer, and something in her eyes brings me still.
“The difference between you and I is investment.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Investment,” she repeats, her tongue sharp. “Anything you don’t know about me is due to your lack of investment.” She takes another step toward me, tilting her chin up. “Anything I keep from you is not out of choice, it’s out of helplessness.”
“Will you please stop speaking in code? I’m really not in the mood to argue, okay? Like I said, let’s just drop it.”
“You drove me to secrecy, Christian. You drove me to this.”
“I drove you?” My head falls back and my fist closes tightly around my keys. I mumble on a hushed breath. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“You did,” she insists. That scowl is back, and the pain in her eyes returns with a vengeance. Tears begin to form along her eyelids, and I feel like even more of an asshole now. But my patience is wearing thin. Too thin. And the truth is, all I can really think about right now is finding out when I can see Elise again.
Like I said, serious fucking trouble.
“I never wanted this. I wanted you. I wanted this marriage. I still want you. That’s the difference. I love you.”
I swallow hard, unable to look her in the eyes. My gaze drops down, and the guilt swarms me. “I love you. Don’t try and tell me I don’t.”
“Yes. I think you did. In the beginning.”
“Kylie, if I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t stay in a loveless marriage.”
“If you’re honest with yourself, I think you’d find you would. That you are.” She chokes on the words a bit, and the tears break free, streaming quickly down her cheeks. A pang of hot coals burns in my chest. “I don’t know why you keep us in this place.”
“There you go again, putting all of this on me. If you’re not happy, why aren’t you walking? Why do I have to be the one to walk?”
She closes the little bit of space left between us and raises a shaky hand to cup my jaw. I make eye contact again the moment her fingertips touch my face, and I instantly regret the connection. “I love you,” she whispers. “Love doesn’t walk. It waits.”
Her hand leaves my face and she walks past me, out of the bedroom and into the hall. I can hear her footsteps, can still feel the warm touch of her skin on my face. My jaw works and my lungs ache. I raise my gaze up and out to the balcony, where remnants of my day with Elise already begin to haunt me.
I exhale and turn for the door. It’s time for that drive.
***
The last five days have been the longest days of my life. I haven’t heard from Elise, and I’m beginning to question my sanity, not to mention my marriage. Hell, if I wasn’t questioning my marriage before, I’m sure as hell questioning its value now. Not only its value, but its impact on my entire wellbeing. This can’t be healthy for me anymore. It can’t possibly be healthy for Kylie.
So, what the fuck are we doing?
I give up trying to answer this question, because if I’m honest with myself, as Kylie suggested, I’ve been trying to answer it for a long damn time. Instead, I find myself pulling up to park at Stella’s, scanning the diner windows for any sign of Elise.
Just as I move to step out of the car, my phone buzzes and my heart jumps. It’s after six in the evening. It can’t be anyone from the office. They know better than to call me this late in the day. It could be Kylie, but I’m hoping for a dirty blonde with a wicked tongue.
I reach for my phone and a disappointed sigh rolls from my lips. It’s not my dirty angel, and it’s not Kylie. “Lola,” I mumble, running my thumb over the screen to open the text. She wants to fuck. Of course, she does. I haven’t fucked her in over a month and she needs a little Christian Walker in her life. Lola’s a curvy, sensual brunette I bumped into one afternoon at the gym. She’s great in the sack and can be a lot of fun to kill time with, but she’s one fuck buddy on the speed dial that I might need to delete soon. She’s starting to get clingy, and I just recently found out she’s been bullshitting me about her single status. She’s married, too, and has two kids at home. Too much baggage. I have enough of my own.
Choosing to ignore her text message, I step out of the car and head into Stella’s, looking everywhere for her. I try to keep it discreet, but let’s be real, I’m already a sick fucking puppy. God help me.
“Hey there, how many?” A guy with a nametag that reads Brad greets me, menu in hand.
“Just one.”
“Right this way, please.” He seats me in the far corner to the left. I don’t bother to ask for Elise’s section instead. I haven’t seen any sign of her. This pit stop might be a bust. “I’ll give you a few minutes. Anything to drink?”
“Just water, please.”
“Coming right up.” The waiter disappears and I crack open the menu, but I’m not really looking at the damn thing. My gaze is carefully scanning the diner, peeking back at the kitchen entrance, just in case it offers me a glimpse of that golden head of hair.
The diner is pretty packed. Each and every booth is filled with customers ordering milkshakes, fries, and other assorted junk food, while the retro bar stools are occupied with people enjoying hearty dinners. The front door jingles and a middle-aged, greasy looking guy walks in, adjusting his gut over his pant buckle. A man named Jay, the guy who I hear owns this joint, wanders around the bar to greet the man. He doesn’t look too happy to see him.
“Elise work tonight?” the greasy man asks as Jay approaches him.
“Go home, Tim. She’s not here.”
“Well, when does she work again?”
“Come on. You’re making a fool out of yourself,” he says, turning to scan the restaurant. He catches me staring and I drop my attention back to the menu.
“No need to give me a hard time, brother. I just wanted to thank her for the great service yesterday morning. In fa
ct, I’d like to put in a good word for her. Consider this a formal one. She should be promoted. Hell, give her a raise.”
“Noted. Now get going. Isn’t Cheryl waiting for you?” Jay’s brow lifts and he starts to walk away, but the greasy man named Tim doesn’t let him get very far.
“Not until you promise me you give that girl a raise. She works hard. Let her know I came by, will you?”
I feel Jay’s eyes flit over to me once more and I can’t help but look up. He knows I’m listening, but he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, he’s incredibly annoyed by this greaseball’s request. My fingers dig into the menu. I’m annoyed, too. Who is this guy and what does he want with Elise?
“Tim, the smartest thing you can do right now is go the hell home. You leave that girl alone, you hear me?”
Tim raises his hands innocently and begins to walk backward, toward the door. “Just trying to help a hard-working young lady out, that’s all. See you later, brother.”
“Uh huh. Beat it, Tim.” Jay shakes his head and returns to his spot behind the bar, stationing himself at the register to ring up a waiting customer.
I watch greaseball return to his car, plop the menu down, and rise from the booth. No sense is sticking around if she isn’t here. The waiter catches me leaving and I give him a loose wave to say thanks anyway, then I’m out the door. My body sinks into the seat when I step into the car. I’m antsy, horny, and now annoyed, thanks to this guy Tim the greaseball, asking about Elise. My Elise.
Revving the engine, I shift into reverse and scroll to Lola’s name on my speed dial. “Hey,” I say, the second I hear her voice. “I’m on my way. Wear those heels. And something red.”
FOUR
When can I see you again?
The text message is short and sweet, but to the point. I caved. She hasn’t contacted me, so I’m making the next move. If she doesn’t respond, I’ll approach her again at the diner. No way in hell does Christian Walker give up that easily. I refuse to let her discard me like a quickie one-night stand.
Lola rubs at my shoulder from behind as I sit up on the edge of the bed. I quickly tuck my phone into my pocket. “Leaving so soon?” she asks, crawling up onto her knees to dig into my other shoulder, slowly working the tension from my neck and back. Her lips hit my earlobe and I lean forward, moving to stand to my feet. I begin buttoning my shirt up, eyeing the bedroom floor for my shoes. They’re around here somewhere.