Mara answers the door quickly, almost as if she was waiting for me. I slip inside without asking, because I cannot linger on her porch. I take in the sight of her and instantly feel like I'm at a disadvantage. Drug addicts aren't forced to see their poison of choice dressed up like a birthday gift. Her perky tits are barely covered by the thinnest silky tank top and matching black shorts hang from her hips. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and wispy pieces are falling around her face.
“God, Simon. Let me get my robe. Why are you here?” She's trying to act aloof. “I'm trying to get ready for tonight.”
“I just wanted to talk to you.” I try to steady my breathing as she ties the sash of a robe around her waist. Good, cover up, Mara. “I'm sorry for being so rude the other day. But this can't happen, Mara. It can't happen again.”
She sighs deeply and walks away from me into the living room without saying a word. I wait in the entryway for a few seconds, assuming she's coming right back but she doesn't. This feels like a game.
I follow her because clearly I'm an idiot, but I'm not done saying what I came here to say.
I find her sitting sideways in an armchair, looking fixedly out the window. Gazing at my house. She looks sad. Abbey is never this dramatic. I don't know if this is an act or if she's genuinely feeling hurt. It makes my heart pang either way.
“Hey,” I say gently, taking a few careful steps toward her, “I like you. A lot. We're both married though. I've been feeling so disconnected from Abbey for a long time now, and when you came over, I had a moment of weakness. You were there, touching me and kissing me and I made an excuse to myself to let it happen. But that's all it was. A one-time mistake that Abbey cannot find out about.”
“Really?” she snaps at me. “Did my mouth on yours feel like a mistake to you? It didn't feel like one to me. It felt right. Didn't it?”
“No.” Lie. “We were buzzed and shared an emotional moment together, but that doesn't make it right.”
“I'm not asking you about your morals. I'm not asking you if it was deceitful or wrong or unethical. I'm asking you if that kiss, in that moment, didn't feel like everything was right in your world and like, like the sun was finally shining on your sad, boring life.” She's standing now, not breaking eye contact, waiting for my response. I'm frozen and I don't know what she's going to do if I don't say something soon. Mara scares me in the most hedonistic way.
I go to the couch and sit, putting my head in my hands, trying to figure out how to explain to her that she's exactly right without encouraging her further.
“Honestly, yes. That's what it felt like. Are you happy? You got me. I'm entirely hung up on you and it's turning my world upside down.” I'm staring up at her now, my face practically pleading her to listen, to really hear me. “But I don't want my world turned upside down. I want to work on things with my wife. I don't want to trash everything we've accomplished. I can't destroy her perspective on love and marriage, she's done nothing to deserve that.”
This lights a fire in Mara's eyes. “Oh, bleeding-heart Simon. What about what you deserve? You can stick Band-aids on your marriage as much as you'd like, but deep down I think you know it'll never heal. It's been over for a long time between you two. You know she'll never be me, and as long as I'm living here as your neighbor, I'm not going to leave your mind.”
What she says doesn't sit well in my stomach, not because of how narcissistic it sounds, but because it's all accurate.
“You won't leave my mind, either. I've never been around someone who makes me feel so understood, so important. I dream about you, Simon.” She sits down beside me. Hearing her say that melts my icy facade slightly. Maybe I'm being unfair. I've been so preoccupied with how Mara makes me feel that I haven't stopped to think about what she must be struggling with. She's married, too, but she doesn't seem very ashamed of what happened. It makes me wonder what her and James’s marriage is like behind closed doors. I can't picture a man doing anything other than worshipping every inch of her, body and mind. That's what I would do if I had her, but I don't. At first I thought maybe she craved the excitement of being with a man who wasn't her husband, the rush of a different body so close to hers, but she can't be satisfied in her relationship either if she's saying these things to me.
“What are we going to do?” I sit back and rest my head on the couch, feeling defeated and hoping she has an answer to that impossible question.
“We're going to keep this a secret.” She reaches over to me and caresses my face and beard and suddenly I feel sorry for the man I was before I met her. This visit isn't going the way I intended, but in this moment, I don't care.
I can't help myself. The closer Mara gets to me, the more I crave the physical touch that Abbey doesn't give me anymore. I move closer to Mara and take her waist into my hands, pulling her in and burying my face into her soft neck, breathing in her intoxicating smell and making a mental note to remember it. Perfume, shampoo, pheromones. I lay eager kisses down to her neck to her collarbone before moving to her mouth. I'm not hesitant this time. I want to immerse myself in her and savor every second of this kiss. God, she tastes so fucking good.
I want to be on top of her, I want to be in her and know what she feels like from the inside. I'm letting go completely and trying to guide her down onto the couch, but she pushes me back and straddles me instead. It's a power play that turns me on more than I ever thought was possible.
I'm fondling with the tie on her robe and she's not breaking eye contact. With her, it doesn't feel uncomfortable or awkward; it’s like she's staring into my bare soul and she knows exactly what I need. We kiss again as I slip the robe off of her shoulders and let it fall at my feet. I reach up and cup her chest over her satin tank top and rub the pads of my fingers over her nipples. This makes her moan into my mouth and makes my cock ache and pulse. We're still fully clothed, but she's starting to grind into my lap and it takes so much concentration not to come in my suit pants. I grab the tops of her thighs and push her shorts up a little, until my thumbs are able to slip under their hem. I can tell how wet she is before I even touch her, and I know there's no going back now. I rub her bare skin, she's so soft, so ready. She lets the straps of her tank top slip off her shoulders to uncover herself.
This is almost more than I can take. She's moaning loudly as I touch her, and as she gets closer to coming, she grabs my neck with both hands and kisses me hard. If she squeezed a little harder she'd be choking me, but I like it. She could completely destroy me and I'd thank her for it. She breaks the kiss, lets her head roll back, and in a satisfied breath, she moans my name.
She slips off my lap and onto her knees between my legs. I can't believe we're actually doing this. It seems like an illicit dream that I never want to wake from. She tugs at my belt and I help her get my pants down before she hungrily grabs me with both hands. Her fingers are touching parts of me that haven't been touched by a woman in so long, like she wants to explore every inch. Mara takes me into her mouth, after working her tongue for a while, and my legs are shaking at the sensation. I need to release so badly. My breath quickens as she digs her nails into my thigh, her other hand at the base of me. Jesus fucking Christ. She looks up and locks her eyes on mine while she's sucking and that's when I'm sent over the edge. I come into her mouth with a guttural sound I've never heard myself make before.
Who in the fuck do I think I am? Mara notices the look of pure ecstasy fading from my face, but I can't control it.
“What's wrong?” She uses my knees to stand up from the floor. I'm sitting here with a another man's wife with my dick out, that's what's wrong.
“Nothing, Mara. You're perfect,” I say, even though I shouldn't. I mean it, though. This seems to satisfy her and she crawls onto the couch as I pull up my pants. My stomach feels like a big, empty hole. I try to wrap my head around how something can feel so good, so natural, yet still be so wrong.
“Stop trying to deny the chemistry between us. Think about what just happened.
Don't you want more? I do.” She puts her head on my shoulder and sighs. “I've been thinking about that since before I even knew your name. We can't stop this now.”
She's right, I'm not going to be able to just shut this off. I think about work earlier, how I was so ready to start fixing things with Abbey. I still feel that way. Would Mara and I be able to keep this between us? Does she have as much to lose as I do? All I know is that I need a plan. I know I'm stronger than this, and I have to figure out a way to keep myself away from Mara. I've got to put some space between us if I want to save my marriage.
“Were you about to be on your way somewhere?” She was in the middle of getting ready when I came here, and I forgot about it until now.
“No, silly. I'm getting ready for tonight. I'll make sure I wear something hot so you've got some eye candy for once.”
“What are you talking about? What's tonight?” I ignore the dig at Abbey.
“You two are coming over for a dinner party, didn't Abbey tell you?”
Son of a God damned bitch.
“That's why James isn't home yet. He's picking up the groceries.”
Shit, shit, shit. I forgot about the party and I've almost lost track of time. I glance out the window and don't see Abbey's car. I look at my watch and realize I've got ten minutes, give or take. I ask Mara where the bathroom is. I need to gather my bearings before I go home.
My heart races as I splash cold water on my face. I know I've got to get out of here, I need to stay away from Mara, but how, if her and Abbey are going to be friends? If we're going to have dinner parties together? An image of Abbey and I sitting on the couch I just got a blow job from another woman on pops into my head. This is so bad. Before I leave, I notice a small bottle of perfume on the bathroom sink. I pick it up, and it smells like Mara. Yves Saint Laurent Black Opium. How fitting.
I don't say bye to Mara; I just find the back door and go. I walk across the alley and around the block, back to my house in case the snitch neighbor is watching again. I make it home before Abbey, thank God.
I go to our room to change out of my suit, and I stuff the whole thing in the back of my closet. It smells like her. I notice something on my leg and look down to see a few dried blood drops and five half-moon shaped punctures on my thigh where Mara was holding onto me. She's left her mark. And it's definitely going to scar.
Chapter Thirteen
Anonymous
I scroll through the Facebook feed, picture after picture of the two of them together. It makes me emotionally ill. I don’t want to see this but I keep on looking. It should be the two of us.
A picture of them at the Bean, blah. Another on vacation hiking, typical. I fall back on the bed; my heart aches.
I should get up and be a productive member of society but I have no will to do anything right now besides think of the one I crave.
I’ve felt this way before, that’s true. It seems a little different this time, though. The desire I have is borderline uncontrollable. I feel like a sex-crazed teenager. Nothing satisfies me. I wake up thinking about how to attain my goal. I don’t concentrate while working on anything besides this. I go to bed thinking about it, and most nights I dream about it.
I need to figure out a way to get closer. To lay my hands on you, to feel you against me. I don’t know if I have ever needed something more than I need you.
I dig deeper by doing a Google search. I type the name, licking my lips, practically salivating while spelling it out. So perfect.
Not much shows up but there are some images from high school clubs and sports. Even better looking with age. We’re lucky to be in each other’s lives now instead of back then.
There are a few problems standing in the way of what I need, what I know is needed in return. I’m at a standstill currently but I have no problem admiring from afar, getting in a glimpse when I can, and keeping my distance for now. The time will come though that I will no longer be able to watch you from a distance.
You’re the only thing keeping me going. I feel as if I have mentally exploded. I kept it all in for so long, I did so well, but I can’t anymore. Something inside of me has snapped and I need you now more than ever.
I think about you always and I know you know how bad I need you in my arms. I think about the future as I gently run my finger over your smiling face through my phone screen. We will be together soon, my wonderful dream.
Chapter Fourteen
Earlier that day...
Abbey
I wake up in the morning with a splitting headache and I attribute it to the fight I had with Simon the night before. We’ve been having small arguments lately. All stemming from my insecurities. Simon is already up; I can smell the coffee. My favorite smell to wake up to.
I feel crazy for accusing Simon. I even feel a bit bad about accusing Mara. I never thought I’d like her as a person but I genuinely do. Having coffee with her the other morning helped me see her for who she is. I actually admire her somewhat. It had to be hard going through that at such a young age; the scandal must have really taken a toll on her. She has totally turned her life around from the looks of it. She’s beautiful and intelligent and so down to earth and welcoming. I wish I could be as confident in my skin as she is. I mean, being gorgeous like that probably makes it easy to feel so secure, but I would like some of that to rub off on me, too. I make a mental note to try playing around with makeup a bit more—it works for Mara.
I realize after scrolling a bit on my phone that I failed to mention if Simon and I could make it to the dinner party that James thought up. I hesitate briefly. I believe my husband. I know he’s not the type of man to lie to my face and besides, I know all the telltale signs of a liar and he didn’t show even one. Something in the back of my head still wonders though, could I really blame Simon if something had happened? Of course I could, that’s just stupid of me to think. Really, though. I can’t blame him if he feels an attraction to Mara. I’d be ignorant to think he doesn’t. She’s easily likeable. That doesn’t make it any easier to feel, though. I don’t want my Simon to feel anything for any woman besides me. It’s a childish thought but it’s mine. I’m struggling with wanting to wholeheartedly believe in my husband but at the same time knowing I can’t.
I reply to Mara that we’ll be there tonight. I need to take a page out of her manual for security and confidence. I can’t chain Simon up for the rest of his life and keep him in the basement so he doesn’t see any attractive women. I ask Mara what I should wear and she replies almost instantly that I should wear my sexiest, formal dress. James is going all out. I’m not sure what I even have for dresses anymore. My wardrobe consists of mainly pant suits and pajamas.
I head to find Simon and my coffee. While we sip our coffee together on the porch, I tell him again that I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions last night, and Karen just really got to me. I hadn’t thought before getting angry and I didn’t mean for my trust in him to waiver. His eyes are tired, like he didn’t get much sleep. Simon tells me to not bring it up again and there’s nothing for me to be sorry for. I go on to tell him about the fancy shmancy dinner party we’re invited to tonight. Simon checks his Outlook calendar, which I didn’t expect. He says he may have a business dinner tonight in the city. His phone is next to me so I check, nothing scheduled. I tell him to make sure his best suit is ready because we are going to dine in style tonight.
~
When I get to work I find out from Marcy, my receptionist, that my first appointment cancelled. Normally this irritates me. Cancelling without a twenty-four-hour notice is rude, but now I have time to kill. I do a little happy dance because I was worried about having enough time to find an outfit for tonight. I now don’t have an appointment until eleven, two hours to spare.
Fashion is admittedly not my forte, and never has been. I don’t even know where to go look for a formal dress for tonight. I do the first thing that comes to my mind, open Instagram. The great thing about this social media platform is that trendy wo
men can link to their favorite outfits, thus giving those of us who have no idea what we’re doing a chance.
A store called Anthropologie, that I’ve heard of but never shopped at, seems to have a lot of tags so I Uber to the one on Freemont. When I get inside, it’s like a foreign country to me. They have bits and pieces of everything, rugs, jewelry stands, clothing, shoes, anything you could think of when it comes to home goods and clothing.
A young, skinny blonde girl asks me if she can help me find something special. I explain that I’m going to a dinner party and need to look sexy. She smirks a bit when I say sexy. I immediately wonder if the word is out. Maybe I should have said something like hot or risqué. I don’t know the lingo anymore. I bet Mara does. I roll my eyes at myself for my insecurities. I do want to channel my inner Mara for tonight, though. I need to find something Simon will find me irresistible in, something I can compete with Mara in. I instantly feel bad: I don’t want to compete with her, and she’s my friend. I’m forever caught in a battle with my own mind of being too much and not enough.
The sales associate convinces me to try three different dresses on. She tells me she’ll find heels and jewelry while I try them on. She leaves me and I stare at myself in the dressing room mirror and suddenly I’m convinced they make mirrors in fitting rooms with a slimming effect. They make you look good in everything.
Until they don’t. The first dress is a no go. I’m a sardine.
I try on a white one next, with a plunging neckline. My boobs are hanging out and I have no idea how to get them to stay in. I feel like a slutty bride.
I move on to the last option she chose. I think she said it was a “V-neck fit and flare,” but I could be totally jumbling those words around. It’s black and simple, no extra beading or design. I pull the dress on and I’m shocked at how much I like the way I look in it. The V-neck stops right between my breasts, showing just the right amount of skin. The dress hugs my waistline, something I don’t mind, it looks good. It jets out from there and bounces as I do a little half spin. I found the dress. I scan my reflection and look myself up and down, imagining that I’m Mara. I think she would approve. I take my hair up in my hands into a mock half ponytail, debating if I should wear it up or down. Just as I decide to wear it up, to keep my neck line free and drive Simon crazy all night, the associate calls to me that she has “pumps to die for,” whatever that means. I change back into my work clothes and when I exit the room, she’s holding shiny black high heels. “They’re Sam Edelman!” she says, assuming this means nothing to me. It reminds me of a cookie.
Those We Trust Page 8
