Feeling his hand on mine brings starts a spark inside me. “It’s just a ring,” I shrug. “I don’t know about the love thing.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
His hand is still on mine. Even in my inebriated state, I have enough presence of mind to know that things have gone too far. I lift his hand off and say, “I can’t. I really have to be going. I’ve had too much to drink, and I was supposed to be home hours ago.” I stand up, pick up my purse, and give him one last smile.
My hope for a clean escape disappears when he gets up and follows me out of the restaurant. It’s now dark outside, reminding me that I should have been home long ago.
“Are you okay to drive?” he asks.
I have a slight slur from the margaritas that I’m sure he’s picked up on. I’m not okay to drive but there’s no real alternative. I don’t want to explain to Ryan why I had to leave my car downtown and take a taxi home, and there’s no way I can allow a strange man to drive me home. I’m in enough trouble without adding more charges against me. Good or bad, right or wrong, I have to drive home.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I say.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he offers like a gentleman.
We walk down the street to the new Lexus that Ryan bought me for my birthday. I step off the curb, and reach for my door. Before I can grab the handle, he catches me by the arm and turns me around.
“Very nice to meet you, Beautiful,” he says, putting his arms around me in a more than friendly hug, and holding me in his embrace. It catches me by surprise. When he lets me go, he takes my face in his hands and says, “I really want to kiss you.”
“It’d be nice,” I say, holding his gaze, “but I can’t.”
You’d think I’d never said the “but I can’t” part. He pulls my face to his, and presses his lips hard against mine. His kiss is more forceful than I’m used to. I know I should pull away with all my might, the way Scarlett fought Rhett’s uninvited kiss, but I haven’t kissed anyone but Ryan in over a decade, and the feeling is exhilarating. He opens his mouth, and without thinking about the vows I made so many years ago, I follow his lead, and open my mouth as well. We’re kissing in this parking lot that’s lit only by a streetlight on the corner. I’m lost in his kiss. Any pretense that I’m not enjoying it goes out the window when I put my arm around his neck. He obviously takes my open mouth and my hand grabbing his hair, as an invitation to go further. He kisses me even harder and puts his hand on my breast. I’m not sure what he thinks he’s doing but things are quickly spinning out of control. My breasts should be off-limits to everyone but my husband.
But instead of removing his hand, I continue to kiss him. I moan at the feeling of him fondling my rising nipple, which only serves to encourage him more. He takes his thumb and circles my nipple that’s pressing hard against my thin bra, my silk blouse, and his waiting hand. I breathe heavily in his ear, but catch myself when I feel him release my breast. I thought he was finished toying with me, but instead of letting me go he untucks the back of my blouse, slides his hand under my layers of clothing, and slowly strokes my bare stomach. He pushes up my bra to give him free access to my naked breast. He stoops down and kisses my nipple. It’s been so long since a man other than Ryan has touched me. My whole body responds. I grab his hair and pull his mouth closer, until he has my entire nipple in his mouth.
This is all so impossible to believe. We’re standing beside my car, which barely protects us from public view. I’m well aware that my life as I know it will be over if the wrong person walks by and gets the wrong idea. He sucks so hard that it stings. I come to my senses when I feel his hand slowly slide down my stomach and inside the front of my skirt.
“I can’t do this!” I say, pulling away and breaking the spell. I return my bra back over my breast, which still stings, and I tuck my blouse back into my skirt.
“I’m sorry … I’ve got to go,” I insist. I return to the safety of my car and close the door. Before I can drive away, he knocks on my window.
I roll down the window and he asks, “Do you have a pen and paper?”
I reach into my purse, and pull out a pen and an old deposit slip and hand him both. He writes down his phone number and hands it back to me. “Call me sometime if you want to talk again.”
Talk again! Is that what we just did? I think to myself as I put his number in my purse. I can’t believe things went so far and I hold him responsible for it all. I have three kids at home! I had too much alcohol to think clearly, and he knew it. I was willing to drive off without even a goodbye but he trapped me by my car and took advantage of me.
I start my car and drive away. I make it to the first stop sign, and take a deep breath. My nipple still stings. Now I remember my phone, which I put on silent when I went to the bathroom. I pull it from my purse, and see a text from Ryan. I’m sure he’s furious because I should have been home hours ago. I don’t even want to read the text. Then I see there are two texts and they’re not angry at all.
Ryan
_________________________________________
Today, 6:44 p.m.
Do you need me to pick up something for dinner?
Today, 7:52 p.m.
Are you okay?
I see that I also have two missed calls from Ryan. One came at 8:21 p.m. and the other at 9:22 p.m. with an accompanying voicemail. I push OKAY to listen to his message: “Hey honey. I’m just checking in. Are you okay? Love you.”
Shit, shit, shit! What was I thinking? What am I doing? I pull down my sun visor and see my red lipstick smeared around my mouth. I take a napkin and rub all my lipstick off and lighten my makeup. I grab some gum from my purse, unwrap it, and chew it as fast as possible. A car stops behind me and honks for me to continue forward. I drive home as fast as I can. The clock in my car reads 9:45 p.m. as I pull into our garage. When I go out drinking, Ryan often has some clever remark like, “It looks like you enjoyed yourself” or “A few margaritas I see.” I’ve never been out this late, and I hate to hear what he’ll have to say now.
I walk into the house to find Ryan watching a movie in the living room with all three kids around him. Two pizza boxes and a bottle of soda lie open on the coffee table. By my good fortune, our baby is asleep on his lap and our other two kids are lying on each side of him. I take my place a safe distance away on the easy chair, and pretend to watch the movie. My thoughts, however, are far away.
Ryan waits until a pause in the movie to say, “I tried to text and call you.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I apologize. “My damn phone ran out of power.”
Nothing else is said until the movie ends and we each kiss the kids goodnight. We go into the bedroom and get ready for bed. My only desire is to stay far enough away from him and talk as little as possible so he can’t tell how much I had to drink. I go to the bathroom, and change into my t-shirt and pajama bottoms. That’s all I wear these days. The sexy lingerie I once wore every night has been stored in the bottom drawer of my dresser for over a year.
“Kind of late, isn’t it?” he asks as I climb into bed. “I was getting worried.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying my best not to slur. “Sharon got into another argument with her husband and she was really upset. I was going to text you but I had no power.”
I can’t tell if he believes me or not. If he thinks I’m lying, he doesn’t show it. I lay down and turn away.
“Next time just let me know so I can grab something for the kids to eat,” is his only response.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat as I turn off the lights and lie on my side facing the wall like I do most nights. I can still taste Paul’s kiss on my lips, and I can feel his mouth on my breast. I’ll check tomorrow if he left a bruise.
That night, and the next few nights, I dream about Paul reaching under my shirt. I dream about his mouth on my bare breast. I dream about us climbing into my car and making love. I dream, I dream, I dream. It’s clear from my dreams what would have
happened that night if I had stayed any longer. I wake up with an ache in my body and Ryan fast asleep by my side.
A week after Paul and I said goodbye, I look in my purse and find the deposit slip I had completely forgotten about, buried at the bottom. I’ve never known Ryan to go through my purse but the fact I’d risk so many arguments and accusations by not immediately destroying it now seems incredibly reckless. I’m not a stupid little girl anymore. I’m married with children, and I’ve got to put that night behind me forever, like it never happened. I grab the paper, tear it in half, put it in the kitchen trashcan, and carry the trash to the outside bin. Now all evidence is destroyed. No more temptations.
I go back to cleaning the house, finishing in the kitchen, and moving to the master bedroom. After I change the sheets and vacuum the carpet, the overflowing bathroom trashcan brings me back to the garage where the devil is awaiting my arrival, tempting me like Eve in the garden. When I lift the lid to the trash bin, my thoughts go right back to Paul. I dig through the trash until I find the torn paper. It’s not that I plan to call but why throw it away? Who knows what the future holds? The distance between Ryan and me continues to grow, and it now seems unbridgeable. I take out my cell phone and create a new contact called “Paula” and enter the phone number. Then I tear the deposit slip into as many pieces as possible and stuff the pieces deep into the bottom of the trash bin.
***************** PRESENT MOMENT *****************
You might be reading this and thinking I just made a big mistake. If this is what you’re thinking then you’re right—you just don’t know how big a mistake it really was. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve made more than my fair share of bad decisions. I can see it much clearer now that I’ve lost everything. Some of my mistakes were small and made little difference in my life. Others changed me forever. This is the latter. It’s another moment I wish I could go back and change but now it’s too late. I’m stuck, and I’ll have to pay for this mistake forever.
They say the devil hides around every corner but where I’m at, the devil doesn’t need to hide. You see, the world that I once knew is long gone. There’s no sunshine, no trees, no flowers growing, no birds singing, and no children playing—nothing but sadness and pain everywhere I turn. The devil is at home here.
– CHAPTER 14 –
The memory of my kiss with Paul never fades. It only grows stronger with time. As much as I try, I can’t get that kiss—that man—out of my head. I think about him when I cook, when I clean, when I bathe, and he returns to me in my dreams. The angrier Ryan gets, the colder I get; or is it the colder I get the angrier Ryan gets? Either way, I don’t want to be with him but he refuses to go! I see no solution.
After three weeks, I open my phone and make the call that will change my life forever. “Hey Paul, this is Faith. Do you remember me?”
I hear the voice that’s been stuck in my head. “Of course, I remember you. How can I forget you?”
I’m surprised by his response. He was so smooth and forceful that first evening that part of me wondered if I was just another notch on his belt—well, almost a notch. I’ve wondered if he’s been thinking about me as much as I’ve been thinking about him.
“You said to call if I wanted someone to talk to?”
“Of course.”
After talking a bit about kids and work I get to the real reason I called. “Maybe we can get together and talk sometime?”
“Sounds good,” he says enthusiastically.
Two days later we meet for drinks at a place that looks a little more like a bar than a restaurant. I tell myself it’s all still innocent. When I arrive, he’s already waiting at the bar. He walks up, gives me a hug, and kisses my cheek. We take a table at the very back. After we’re seated, we talk like we’ve known each other for years.
“You look wonderful,” he says.
I repay his compliment with a big smile and say, “Thanks, so do you.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about you,” he says smiling back. “It was such a surprise hearing from you.”
“I’ve thought a lot about you too,” I repeat before I even consider what I’m saying. These words are perfectly fine and sweet for a schoolgirl before a second date with her schoolboy crush. It’s an entirely different matter for a grown woman with three kids and a husband to say something like this to a man she previously met and shared more than a goodbye kiss. I should correct myself and tell him I’m a married woman who shouldn’t say things like that. Actually, what I should do is get up and leave the restaurant altogether. Instead, I continue our conversation even after he takes my hand.
We order another drink, and Paul tells me more about himself. He’s thirty years old—four years younger than me. Fourteen years ago, I was flattered because an older man was attracted to me. Now it’s a boost to my ego that I can still attract a younger man. He tells me more about his job, his marriage, and his little girl. I give him the same background about me. Then things get more personal. I ask him what happened between him and his wife but he avoids the subject.
“I don’t really like to talk about it. We just grew apart.”
“When we met, you said you were separated. Did you actually file for divorce?” I ask.
“Not yet,” he admits. “We’re pretty civil to each other right now. We’re trying to agree on everything and do it without lawyers.”
I tell him things aren’t getting any better at my home, and I’m considering a divorce but Ryan’s a good father and I don’t want to take his kids away.
“So the kids are keeping you together?” he asks.
“I guess so.”
He tells me the same things I hear from Sharon. Divorce is never easy but staying for the kids is not the answer. It’s not better for the kids to live in a home where their parents are arguing.
“I don’t think our divorce will be civil at all,” I let him know.
“Why do you say that?”
“My husband, his name is Ryan, doesn’t want the divorce. He’s made it clear that he’ll fight for the kids.”
“Does he mean it?”
“Ryan loves his kids,” I assure him. “I’m sure he means it.”
“Do you love him?”
“Do I love him?” I repeat. “No, I don’t love him.”
This is the first time I’ve actually said it. It sounds so cold and insensitive that I correct myself. “Well, I don’t know what I feel. I’m just numb.”
“Does he love you?” he asks.
“He sure doesn’t act like it,” I say, getting a little emotional.
He puts his hand under my chin and draws my lips to his. The kiss lasts longer than it should since I’m married and we’re kissing in the back of a public restaurant. I regain my better judgment and pull away.
“I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t be here,” I say gathering my purse and keys, and getting up to leave.
This time there’s no way I can come home late again. After two drinks, he again walks me to my car. I think about the last time we were together. Part of me wants to give life to my dreams. Instead, I get in my car and roll down the window. He leans into my car, and gives me one last kiss.
“I hope to see you again sometime,” he says.
A week later we meet again at a park. Summer in Austin can be hot—even too hot to sit in a park—but the spring and fall are wonderful. It’s now early spring and the weather couldn’t be any nicer. It’s warm but a cool breeze blows over us. I brought a blanket and a bottle of wine that cost almost fifty dollars. Paul shows up with a six-pack of beer in a plastic bag. I lay the blanket down at a spot that provides a little privacy. Once we’re settled in, he offers me a beer. I still don’t like beer but I accept it because I don’t want to appear difficult. I’ve never finished a beer in my life so I accept but only take a tiny sip. Instead of being one of those lime or orange-flavored beers that’s almost bearable, it tastes terrible. I set the beer behind me on the grass and let it fall over so all the beer
spills out on the grass.
The more we talk, the more I realize how much we have in common. He’s easy-going with a country charm and has a sexual energy that’s overpowering. He drives a pickup, lived in the hill country before he separated, and often wears boots. He doesn’t talk as much as Ryan, which is so refreshing. Every band needs a lead singer and I’m tired of being the backup. It’s been three weeks since we first met but it feels like we’ve known each other much longer. It’s hard to explain, but we have an instant connection. I feel something I haven’t felt since I first met Ryan.
I’m wearing a short white skirt that stops just above my knees. He rests his hand on my hip and pulls my skirt up just a little. Before I do anything, he runs his hand down my thigh until it’s resting just above my bare knee. He’s so forward that it puzzles me. He obviously wants to pick up where we left off in the parking lot.
I’m still on my side with my right arm supporting my head. I keep my left hand on his hand to make sure I stop him if he goes any further. He slowly moves his hand under my skirt until he touches my panties and then slides it back down to my knee. He does this again and again. Each time he moves his hand up my leg, my skirt rises and reveals my entire bare leg. I look down and watch the whole thing unfold like it’s happening to someone else, which is very erotic. Instead of stopping him as I intended, I slide my hand up his arm until it’s resting on his shoulder. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath before letting it out.
“You’re going to get us in trouble,” I whisper in his ear.
He stops and asks flirtatiously, “Does this make you uncomfortable?”
With my eyes still closed, I take another deep breath and answer, “Uncomfortable is not the word I’d use.”
He gently rolls me onto my back so I’m looking straight up at the sky He slides his hand inside my panties. We’re in a pretty isolated area of the park but I quickly look around to make sure no one is watching. I don’t think he’d stop even if someone were standing over us. I close my eyes again and let him continue.
The Killing of Faith: A Suspense Thriller You Won't Soon Forget. (The Killing of Faith Series Book 1) Page 8
