But I dropped out as soon as I could. Slamming the edge of my wrist against some attacker’s nose and breaking it, just isn’t my kind of thing. Too much blood to clear up afterwards. Yuck. I’m more of an ‘aim high between the legs and hope to God my foot or knee connects with something squelchy’ kind of girl.
And that being said, even though I’ve always been confident in my aim, the sound of metal tinkling against metal travels from the kitchen down the hall and I instantly freeze.
It can’t be Zane, so who is it?
Maintenance?
Henry would have informed me about any repairs, and I didn’t complain about any appliances being in poor working order.
Like a deer turned to stone in front of a set of headlamps, my body turns rigid as my mind attempts to identify the who and the why.
It has to be a burglar.
My imagination skips into overdrive. Didn’t I just read that there have been a string of burglaries in this neighborhood?
Why not this apartment?
And why not with me in it?
Envisaging myself in all sorts of scenarios, wishing I’d listened to Marina and then, after five minutes of continued statue-like behavior, I start to feel like a dumbass. Because there has been no other move or sound from the kitchen and I’m standing in the vestibule, directly opposite the kitchen door. No burglar goes to the kitchen, when there are a couple of prints on the back wall in the living room worth my yearly salary three times over.
Sucking in a breath, relief fills me. I’m just being paranoid.
My ears played a trick on me, it has to be.
Even so, I leave the door open behind me and tread lightly to the kitchen door. The swing hinge doesn’t squeak as I nudge it open a sliver and peek through.
What I see makes me wish it was a burglar.
Because while I’ve never met the guy, I’ve seen enough pictures to recognize that Zane’s AWOL husband is, in fact, standing by the stove watching over a hissing coffee pot.
“You don’t have to hide behind the door, I know you’re there.”
His voice jolts through me with the power of an electric shock, and I suck in a breath, seeking calm and patience. The last thing I need is to get upset. It doesn’t matter that inside, my gut is bubbling like Mount Vesuvius on the brink of another devastating explosion. I have to hide the way I really feel or start to break down like a big wimp.
Am I scared?
No.
Ashamed?
Yes.
That’s where my anguish finds its root but there’s little I can do to improve the situation.
I analyze his words, seeking hidden weapons that could detonate in my face. But for a man scorned, he’s doing a good impression of sounding unaffected by my presence in this apartment and what it signifies.
Because even though Zane immediately went chasing after Jake, I’m still in his property, he hasn’t kicked me out even though it’s a good two weeks after the first printing of that damning article.
Which means the affair looks as though it’s still ongoing.
Which it is.
And for all my principles, for all my beliefs and dictates, I can’t find it in me to let Zane go.
“I need to shut the front door. I thought you were a burglar,” I murmur as coolly and as calmly as I’m able.
It’s important that I don’t sound like a fool in front of this man, who for whatever reason is standing here, obviously wanting to talk to the woman who is fucking his husband.
Why it’s important, I don’t really know.
Jake will, understandably, be pissed off. With me, and with the situation itself. And that is one-hundred percent justified.
My speaking nicely or intelligently won’t make him accept the torrid affair Zane and I are involved in.
As I shut the front door and deadlock it, I wonder if I’m about to get bitch-slapped. Gathering my groceries, I hug them to my chest, blow out a breath and prepare for war.
Dumping my purchases on the counter, I say nothing as the coffee pot begins to spit and whine, merely place a carton of milk on the side of the stove on my way to the fridge with a packet of cheese and some butter.
In silence, he prepares himself a drink and I unload the groceries. When everything is packed away, I notice that he’s taken a seat at the counter.
“There’s enough in there for another cup,” he tells me and had he been a woman, my suspicions would have skyrocketed. There’s nothing to his tone; no anger, no rage, no pain. It’s bland and blank.
With women, that’s like a flashing ‘warning’ sign.
And with men, I’m not experienced enough to really read them, but I don’t think it’s as dangerous as it would be with someone of my own gender.
Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
Could be.
“Thank you.”
It’s hard to maintain eye contact, hard not to shift my gaze whenever our glances brush. I hold my own, taking in the clean lines of his face, admitting that in the flesh he’s even more attractive than in the photos I’ve seen.
He’s not the archetypal hunk that Zane is. Jake is about five inches shorter, but that’s still a head taller than me. He’s stocky, bulky. Zane looks sleek and lean, like a jungle cat. Jake’s built like a boxer. In fact, at some point in his life, he obviously broke his nose. There’s a dent at the bridge before it returns to the shape of a sleek blade. High brows, hazel eyes that give him the look of a hawk… he’s attractive but if I were Zane, would I completely overturn my life for him?
I don’t know.
That thought makes me want to dig deep beneath the surface and find the man capable of turning another man gay.
And I know, Zane says he isn’t gay. But hell, let’s face it, he gets a hard-on for this guy. There has to be some gay about Zane for the semantics to even work.
I make myself a cup of coffee, even though I get the feeling I’m about to choke on it. His very lack of emotion is disturbing. So disturbing, I don’t know what to do with myself. My fingers fumble with the spoon as I stir in the sugar and milk, and it’s with great discomfort that I place the dirty utensil in the sink and turn around, coffee cup in hand.
His eyes are on me.
Not in any unpleasant kind of way like Henry. But even so, it’s unnerving.
I like to think that I’m not a coward, so I make sure to retain eye contact with him. It’s hard. But, my stubbornness comes into play and I refuse to back down. Even when I take a sip of my coffee, I make sure he knows I’m not intimidated. And even though he’s emotionless, even though there’s no real intensity behind his stare, I know he’s trying to pressure me. Into what, I’m not sure. But I can feel it. And I’m not being paranoid.
I’d understand if he wanted to yell at me, shout at me, demand I stop seeing Zane. But he isn’t doing any of that. He’s sitting there, calmly sipping from his cup as though he didn’t have a care in the world. And it’s only down to my obstinacy, something that has my eyes glued to his, that I can feel the tension emanating from him. The man makes a poker-face look about as emotional as the characters on a soap opera. Jake’s features are as placid as a robot’s.
Unsure of what to do or what to say, I eventually, in the ever-growing silence, move around the counter and sit opposite him. I wonder if he’s waiting for me to break the ice or if it’s vice versa. I really don’t know.
Nearly three-quarters of my coffee is gone by the time he speaks, and not only are my nerves at breaking point, I’m starting to feel like that beetle from earlier. On the edge of a tightrope. Below me is a six thousand feet deep pit, and the only thing between me and that fall is a man who isn’t even here. Who is in fact searching for the AWOL husband seated opposite me.
When Jake does eventually speak, the break of silence almost scares me. For the last fifteen or so minutes I’ve just sat here with a man who, I can only imagine, hates my guts.
I bet anyone in my circumstances would be slightly nervous.<
br />
“Are you pregnant?”
The question makes sense, considering where Zane and I were 'papped', but it still shocks me. “No.”
“That’s some consolation, I guess.” He purses his lips, staring at me like I’m a bug under a microscope. “Would you say, Mona, that Zane loves me?”
The question is unexpected and extremely discomforting. At that moment, I’m in the spotlight and I know I could easily lie. Tell Jacob that Zane doesn’t love him. That he loves and wants me. That Jake isn’t enough for him because he needs me. But I can’t do that.
I’ve been with Zane for four weeks, and for two of those weeks he’s been looking for Jake. Zane’s feelings are quite evident: no matter the circumstances, Jake is of the utmost importance to him.
So, how can I make a claim that would destroy Zane’s life as well as this man’s?
I’m not that spiteful.
Maybe if I felt like Zane had been anything but honest with me, I could be vindictive. Nothing like a woman scorned and all that jazz. But he hasn’t. Save for that first night, he’s been completely honest.
He might be playing a game with my affections, then again, he might not. Personally, I think Zane is more confused than myself or Jake. We know what we want. Zane. Whereas he’s lost in the quagmire of his sexuality. He loves Jake, probably has a crush on him and wants to fuck him raw. But in his heart, he still needs a woman. And at this moment in time, I fit the bill.
I’m guessing that I do more than that, for him to have changed the way he picks up and deals with the women in his life.
My feelings for Zane are complicated. When I saw him react to the news report on our relationship, I felt sure I loved him. And to this day, I know that the seedlings of love are there. But I’m no fool and I don’t want to tumble head first into a relationship where there’s only heartache down the road.
What I feel for Zane is more heart wrenching than anything I’ve ever known in my life. Maybe, no matter what I do, pain is at the end of all of this for me.
And if I do wreck Zane’s relationship with Jake, there’ll be no benefit in it for me. There’s no guarantee that he’ll stay with me, that he’ll even come to me. And there sure as hell is no guarantee that he’ll make us permanent.
For that reason, I murmur, “Yes. He loves you. Very much.”
I can tell that shocks him. He expected a bitter reply and he didn’t get one. His head tilts to the side in question, and I shrug. There’s nothing else for me to say. In that one gesture, I silently tell him that Zane could pretty much and pretty quickly become the center of my world. But on his part, Zane has made me no real or lasting promises. I can’t forget that. And salvation I might be, but for how long?
“He chose well,” is Jake’s reply. Something that in turn, shocks me.
A compliment. I certainly hadn’t expected that.
“Your honesty does you credit, Mona.”
I want to tell him that only close friends call me Mona but rather than nitpick, I jerk a shoulder and say, “I’m from a Christian background.”
I hadn’t meant for it to sound as wry as it did, but he laughs in amusement at my words.
“That doesn’t stop some Christians from lying,” he remarks, a chuckle to his tone.
“No, I guess not. But it does me.”
“Apparently not from engaging in adultery with my husband, though.”
As his comment slices through me, I freeze. My gaze collides with the counter for endless seconds as mortification slams through me. Then, urging myself to speak, I retort, “Why are you here, Jake? I’d understand if you wanted to rip me limb from limb, and looking at the size of you, you’re perfectly capable of that, so, why haven’t you?”
“Beating a woman isn’t my style.”
The flippant answer agitates me more than anything else he’s done this morning. I slam my cup down and yell, “Stop playing games with me. Why are you here? Have you come to cause trouble? Or have you come to confront me? What? Because whatever it is, just do it.”
“I’ve come to proposition you.”
“Proposition me?” My voice is, quite definitely, a squeak.
Now, the definition of proposition is varied. It can mean many things. And while I don’t think he intends to proposition me as Zane did, there’s something about him that makes me think he’s not far from doing just that.
Even though the looks he shoots my way are in no way sexual, hell, they’re in no way anything. He could be looking at a dog. To him, I could be a dog. I’m neither the most beautiful woman in the world nor the most hideous and to Zane, I’m attractive. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten himself into this mess.
“What kind of proposition?” I ask, when there’s still no answer from my earlier squeak.
“You’ve admitted that Zane loves me, correct?”
Don’t rub it in, I want to say. But I don’t. I just nod.
“With that admission in mind, I want to know if you love him.”
“Would that make it more acceptable? The fact that I’m screwing your husband? Does it make you feel better, knowing my feelings for him?”
“Actually, it would. I know Zane. He has these moments. And I’m perfectly comfortable with that. I love women too. And I know Zane’s sexual orientation is not as cut and dried as my own. I forgive him for his little affairs, because he never does them in Maine, he never flaunts them or mentions them. And I know he’s ashamed of himself, I know he hates doing this, because he loves me. But I’m not enough for him, he needs something I can’t give him. I know that and to keep him, I’m willing to do a hell of a lot.” He grimaces, but the look in his eyes is rueful, when absorbing my surprised gasp at his leniency.
“So yes, it would help to know if you’re crazy about him. Because you’re the woman who made Zane change. Who’s turned him off course from being discreet, who’s living in one of his properties and who isn’t just another one-night stand. It would help to know that you aren’t screwing him over for his money.”
His brutally painful honesty encourages me to be equally as frank. Maybe if he wasn’t dealing with me in such a candid way, I’d hedge and hesitate. Umm and aah over what to tell him. But faced with such candor, it would be disrespectful to react in such a way.
And let’s face it, I’ve disrespected the guy enough as it is.
“If I told you that I think I do, I don’t know if that tells you enough. I’ve never felt this way for another man. I’ve never compromised my principles for anyone the way I have Zane. And it was his idea. I’m not saying that to hurt you. It’s the truth. I met him in a bar and things went from there.” Sighing, unsure of why it’s important he knows that, when it can only cause Zane more problems, I circle my finger around the rim of the coffee cup. “Jake, if I’m honest, I don’t know what to say to you. I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I appreciate that honesty and I know you’re hesitating because you’re coming to terms with the way he makes you feel. Zane is one of those people. Magnetic. Dynamic. Different from anyone else on this earth. I don’t know what it is or why I was lucky enough to capture his attention for long enough, when. . .” His sigh is as heartfelt as mine was.
“You see, Zane thinks I don’t know that he isn’t really gay. He loves me but not men. And it’s because I never talk about it that he thinks it’s a taboo subject. But it would be stupid to question the best thing that’s ever happened to me, wouldn’t it? All I know is, I’m grateful Zane wrecked his life for me and if that makes me lenient, then that’s another thing entirely.
“But this changes everything. This is a catalyst and I have to act.” He rests his elbows on the counter and bridges his hands. His eyes are still pinned to mine.
This time I’m not nervous. If anything, I’m curious. “A catalyst to what?” I ask.
“A new life path.” He tilts his head to the side again and studies me in that unnerving way of his. “If I asked you to do something to save my marriage, would you do it?�
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“I’d prefer it if you didn’t place me in that position.”
“Well, your preferences at this moment aren’t my entire concern. You’ve set up home with my husband and I think you owe me a favor or two.”
I want to tell him that I owe him nothing. But I can’t. I’m fully aware that I’ve become what I most feared: a home wrecker. And if Zane weren’t exactly as he’d said, powerful, energetic, dynamic, magnetic… then I’d feel as guilty as hell.
But just like this man opposite me, I’m wrapped up in Zane’s web. And I’m stuck, trapped. A willing victim.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to come away with me.”
“Come away with you?” My voice returns to that irritating squeak and I want to roll my eyes at myself, but the stuff coming out of this man’s mouth is truly astonishing.
“Yes,” he grits out.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“To save Zane’s marriage. Because if you don’t do just as I say, then I’ll file for a legal separation.”
Chapter Nine
I’ve never left the country before. I’ve always wanted to, always hoped, that one day, I’d travel around the world and visit the places I’ve seen in movies and on TV. But in all the dreams, I never imagined it would be under duress or in the height of luxury. Even in my fantasies, I never aimed high.
The flight from JFK to Charles de Gaulle was very uneventful, aside from the fact that I was with my boyfriend’s husband in first class.
The ease in which Jake displays his wealth is equal to that of Zane’s, the pair of them are so accustomed to being rich, they’re not even showing off. Neither man flaunts it, but I find it no less discomforting to be at the center of such largesse. I doubt I’ll ever be at ease with such frivolous spending. I’ve been on a budget for far too much time.
Saying that though, I don’t know how long I’ll be exposed to it, so there’s little point in being irritated, or in growing accustomed to it. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m uncomfortable around such displays. When it’s gone, I won’t miss it… Yeah, right. That’s the theory, anyway.
Sinfully Theirs: Naughty Nookie Part I Page 13