Howie enters with our coffee.
“Now, was that so hard?” she asks.
“Not at all.” He sets them on the desk. “Just don’t expect me to get the IncrediBlast Mascara launch proposal done tonight like originally planned.”
“Oh, but I do expect it tonight,” she says casually. “Wait.” She puts a hand up to stop him from leaving and takes a tentative sip of the latte. “Good. You’re dismissed.”
He leaves us alone again, and I pick up my drink.
“So this friend,” Amelia says. “What’s wrong with her?”
I try not to look affronted. “It’s not her, I don’t think. I mean, who’s really to blame in these situations?”
Amelia waits me out, tapping the end of her pen on the word November.
I scratch my wrist, then under my nose. Not even the intricate terrarium hanging by the window is enough to keep my attention today. “How long was Reggie having his affair before you found out?”
Amelia stops drumming her pen. She talks about Reggie frequently enough that I’m not uncomfortable bringing him up. “About a year. And that’s only the affair I know about.”
“What were the signs? Looking back—what was different during that time?”
She purses her red lips. “The smallest thing would set him off,” she says. “He’d get angry with me for no reason at all.”
“Really?” I cough, my throat dry. “Don’t most marriages kind of go through that?” Mine hasn’t really, not until recently. But I’ve seen whispered arguments between my friends and their husbands over things that just don’t bother Nathan or me—whose turn it is to pick a movie or who last used the bicycle and let the tire go flat.
“I’m guessing by the look on your face that your friend’s husband displays this behavior.”
I school my expression so I look just the right amount of concerned. “He seems to be, I don’t know, fed up with her? Annoyed.”
“That’s typical. My psychologist will tell you he’s not really angry with you—sorry, her. He’s mad at himself, and he’s taking it out on you.”
“Her,” I correct.
“Right. Sorry.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “It’s not me.”
She shows me a palm. “I know,” she says defensively.
“Is there anything else you can think of?”
“Oh, that’s only half of it,” she said. “Here’s an example. Once, I’d made a drink and dropped ice on the floor without realizing it. He slipped—just a little mind you, he didn’t even fall—and he exploded at me. I was so upset, I cried. Later, he came into the bedroom as sorry as could be. Said he’d take me anywhere I wanted for dinner to make it up to me. He felt terrible.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Everything was extreme,” she says. “Extreme anger became extreme remorse. He’d withhold love for days and then drop an insane amount of money on a bottle of wine or Louboutins to make it up to me.”
Ever since this began, Nathan hasn’t given me a genuine sorry that I can remember. He hasn’t made any attempts to smooth things over or comfort me. He withholds, then withholds more, to the point that I’m beginning to get desperate. “He felt guilty?” I deduce. “About the affair.”
“Exactly,” she says. “You could be a therapist.”
“It’s not a difficult conclusion to come to.”
She makes a thoughtful sound. “So, does that sound like your friend’s husband?”
“I haven’t seen him apologize . . .”
“He’d do that in private. His temper happens in the heat of the moment. The apology has better timing.” She shakes her head “Sick, isn’t it? Reggie was a manipulative asshole.”
“And if he doesn’t? Apologize?”
She takes a sip of her latte, studying me over the rim. Her lipstick leaves a splotchy red mark on the white lid. “I don’t know, honey. Doesn’t mean he isn’t having an affair. Doesn’t mean he is. Guilt manifests in a lot of ways. A lot of women get a Jekyll and Hyde on their hands when he’s stepping out. Everyone is different, though.”
I spin the cardboard holder around my cup. Amelia is open, but I’m not sure where the line is with her. But my question burns hot. I need to get it out before it sets my insides on fire. “A year is a long time to be sleeping with someone who isn’t your wife . . .”
“Yes, it is.” She looks directly at me. “You want to know if Reggie and I were intimate during that time?”
I lift the coffee to my face, as if the cup will hide my embarrassed nod. I sip, and liquid warmth travels down my throat.
“We were for the first few months. Then it got to be less and less. He’d make up excuses. And then it just stopped. He showed no interest in me.”
My stomach somersaults. It just stopped. I can’t imagine never feeling Nathan’s weight on top of me again. Never climaxing under his skilled fingers and firm thrusts. I love the face he makes a few seconds before he comes, like he’s trying to catch something I can’t see. This tune is too familiar to ignore, though. The lipstick stain, the telltale cigarette stench, his defensiveness and unwarranted anger—Nathan’s behavior is a textbook example of a cheating husband. But if what Amelia says is true, it’s fresh salt in my growing wound. Just because Nathan’s unusual behavior started two months ago doesn’t mean the affair did. How long has this been going on?
Oh, God. Nathan’s as vital to me as my own heart, as the blood in my veins. If he’s planning to leave me for another woman, he might as well slice me open and leave me to bleed out. Amelia’s expression is sympathetic, but not surprised. In her world, this kind of thing happens. It happened to her. It happened to many of her friends. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s had this same conversation with others.
I return to my office. Throughout the day, I wonder what the right reaction is. Anger? Sadness? Confusion? The thought of bringing it up gives me cramps. I’d rather hide under my bed and ride out the storm. I don’t have real evidence. Not even a gut instinct. My heart says it can’t be. My head knows it can. People cheat. I’m not immune to it. The potential consequences of an affair turn my blood cold. Would I have to leave him? Would I want to? Would he leave me first?
My heart doesn’t beat—it throbs like an open wound no bandage could hold together. Who could possibly have Nathan’s attention? Finn’s wife was beautiful and funny—why would he want to kiss me when he has her?
Even if I could stomach the thought of confronting Nathan tonight, I can’t. It’s his night out, and he’ll be at Brooklyn Bowl. Still, I can’t help hoping, as I make my way home from work, that he’s waiting there for me. That he regrets turning me away this morning.
I’m steps away from my apartment when the door to 6A opens behind me. “Sadie.” Finn’s urgency echoes in the hall. I stop. Nathan hasn’t said my name with that much emotion in a while. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says.
It may be the wrong man. It may be the wrong apartment. But I got my wish. There is someone waiting for me after all.
NINE
“Let me explain,” Finn says.
I don’t turn around. I can think more clearly if I don’t see him. “You have a family.”
“Yes, but—”
“You lied.”
“No,” he says. “I tried to tell you after our walk to the dry cleaners, but you shut me down. You knew I had something important to say, and you didn’t want to hear it.”
I keep my eyes forward, unsure who’s at fault. A few more steps, and I’d be home. Ginger is most likely waiting in the entryway. Sometimes, I think she hears me coming from the elevator. “You should’ve told me anyway,” I say, but I hear the waver in my own voice.
Finn’s door closes and latches shut. He comes up behind me. “Let’s not do this out here.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“You know why.”
I ball my fists. If I press him, whatever’s between us will no longer be unspoken. Deny it as I might, the fact remains t
hat Finn’s here and Nathan isn’t.
Finn takes my elbow.
I glance back at him, startled by the warmth of his hand, the way it melds with my skin. “Where are they?” I ask.
“Not here.”
“Where?”
“Home.”
I shouldn’t have turned. Now I don’t want to look away. I’m reminded of how nice it is just to be near him. “You locked yourself out,” I say.
His green eyes mellow. He digs into his pocket, opens his fist, and shows me a key. He leads me to his door, keeping his free hand on me as he unlocks it. His hold is authoritative. Strong. I let him pull me into his apartment.
He slides my handbag over my shoulder and puts it on the ground. He goes for my coat, but I stop him.
“You’ll overheat,” he says simply.
After a moment, my shoulders ease. I let him take it off. Entering his apartment is like nearing the equator.
“Can I get you a drink?”
I don’t know why I’m here. I’ve never been very good at denying myself, and I’d rather be here than in my empty apartment right now. I walk farther inside. Sunlight is dying, streaming reddish-orange rays through the open window. A draft flaps the cover of a paperback on the ledge. In the center of the room, propped on a sideways wooden crate, is a record player.
“Kendra never let me get one,” he says from behind me. “If it’s not the latest thing, it’s better left in the past. Everything in New York is old to her.”
The record sleeve has grayed, worn edges. Janis Joplin’s Greatest Hits.
I turn and look at him across the room. I think he’s keeping his distance. “So what is it?” I ask.
“What?”
“You’re separated? Getting a divorce?” I cross my arms. “Mid-life crisis?”
“Worse.”
It’s getting darker. A car horn blares in the street.
“None of the above,” he says. “We’re fine.”
Instantly, I understand how that’s worse. Finn and I both have other places we should go and try to be happy. “You’re not separated?”
He shakes his head. “Like anyone else, we have our issues. But once things are wrapped up at the house, she and Marissa move in. I came early to set up the place, and, to be honest,” he pauses, “to get some alone time.”
“When?”
“End of the month. After Thanksgiving.”
My nails bite into my palms. “But you wanted to kiss me.”
“You didn’t want me to?”
Though I’m not always up front, I’ve never been much for lying. “I did,” I admit.
“You’re not separated, either. You’re not having doubts about Nathan.” He pins me with a look. “Are you?”
“No,” I say too emphatically.
“So why am I the bad guy? This isn’t one-way. We’re attracted to each other.”
I open my mouth to deny it, but we both know it’s true. I’ll only sound defensive. Adults should be able to talk about these things. “Fine,” I agree. “But you should’ve told me about them. You weren’t wearing a wedding ring.”
He shows me his hand, where there’s still no evidence of his commitment. “I don’t wear it while I unpack. I’m alone in my apartment. I wasn’t trying to trick you.”
I rake my hands through my hair. “It doesn’t matter. You have a child.”
“Would that have changed how you feel?”
“Yes,” I say. “I wouldn’t have—”
“What?”
I didn’t come over here last night with any intention other than helping a new friend. Would I have told him, days ago, he couldn’t walk me to the dry cleaner because he has a family? No. It was innocent. Now I know the truth, and I’m still here.
Sweat drips down my temple, and I swipe it away. “What now?”
He crosses the room and stands in front of me. His presence is palpable, like a stroke against my arm or a hand around my neck.
He reaches out. I struggle with my protest, but he just picks up the record and slides it out of the sleeve. “It’s been a while since I did this,” he says.
I study his face, but he’s focused on getting the vinyl on the player. The song warbles a little before it plays. He shuts his eyes and moves closer to me, as if it doesn’t count if he can’t see. “Nice, isn’t it? ‘Ball and Chain.’”
He’s referring to the song, but his smug irony isn’t lost on me. I don’t respond. The wrinkles around his eyes deepen as he smiles. His beard is darkening to dirty blond as it grows in. Suddenly, I can’t remember the exact shade of his irises, if they’re pine trees or emeralds.
“Finn.”
He opens his eyes. They’re a rich forest green, but his pupils expand, turning them dark. Looking down his nose at me, he sticks his hands in his pockets. He’s close enough to nudge me with his elbow. “I bought this at a thrift store tonight. After Kendra left.”
“Will she be mad?”
“She’s already mad. Where’s Nathan?”
“None of your business.”
“I answered your questions.”
“I didn’t hold a gun to your head.”
“Is he home?” he asks.
I frown. Not answering isn’t any better than lying, but I can’t peel a yes from my mouth. It’s not true.
“Stay,” he says. “Have a drink.”
“It’s a million degrees in here.”
“You don’t mind.”
My huff comes out a sultry exhale. “I don’t?”
He shakes his head slowly. “No.”
He’s even closer now. Close enough that it really does feel like it might be a hundred or more degrees in here. He presses the tip of his shoe into mine like a kiss. I could easily move away. I have half the living room behind me. “Are they coming back?” I ask.
“Not tonight. They couldn’t take the heat.”
The heat is intense, but not enough to keep a family apart. “That isn’t the reason.”
“Marissa has to go back to school tomorrow. Kendra hates the city. I don’t have space for a second car. Our beds haven’t arrived yet. Take your pick.”
My chest rises and falls. Neither of us even blink. “Where do you sleep then?”
“Mattress on the floor,” he says. “It’s enough.”
My throat is raw. I realize it has been since I left the bathroom this morning. It’s thick with unshed tears and bottled accusations. With lust, served neat, undiluted and strong. “Do you get hot?”
“Unbearably.”
The record sticks. With his hands still shoved in his pockets, he leans forward and plants his lips on mine. We each go stiff, breathing through our noses. Here’s a man who wants me. I can sense it in his every movement, no matter how restrained. I don’t think there was ever a moment he didn’t want me. And what about me? Haven’t I wondered about those pillowy lips of his? He touches my cheek. Keeping my eyes closed, I lean into his balmy palm.
He pulls away but leaves his hand. Our eyes meet. He slides his thumb firmly over my mouth, so my teeth slice against the inside of my bottom lip.
“Sadie.” He treats my name like it’s some kind of command. He doesn’t care that it doesn’t belong to him. He doesn’t ask my permission.
The music continues to skip. The last light disappears fast, as if turning a blind eye—let the dusk deal with cheaters and liars.
Finn lowers his head. I should stop him. He’s risking even more than I am—and yet, that’s part of why I don’t want to. There’s nothing headier than being wanted that badly. My stomach is all rocks and butterflies. I’m back in ninth grade, in a stranger’s garden, strangling a red plastic cup in my hand as I receive my first kiss. How can it feel the same, when back then, there were no stakes?
He wraps his other arm around my neck and draws me in like he can’t wait another second. His lips on mine are a thousand times better than my first kiss. I’ve had years of practice since then. Finn’s mouth is soft but greedy. I try to keep up.<
br />
He tightens his hold on me, and his groan tastes sweet like candy. I can’t resist hugging him back, fisting the fabric of his t-shirt. Hard, alive, he presses against my stomach, and the butterflies go wild.
I haven’t seen another man’s cock in seven years.
Panic smacks me in the chest. My excitement incinerates into a puff of smoke, searing me. I push Finn away, but I’m the one who stumbles. I bump the crate, and the record player clatters to the ground. The music stops.
I cover my mouth. “I’m sorry.”
He’s breathing hard, staring at me. “Why?”
“I . . . didn’t mean to . . . your record—”
“No. Why did you stop?”
It should be obvious, but even I can’t get the words out. I’m afraid of going any further. What if I hate it? What if I don’t? “I’m scared.”
He stares blankly at me. I can’t tell if he’s mad or relieved. Finally, he runs both hands over his face. “Thanks for being honest.”
I step back. “I have to leave.”
He pushes some sweat-stuck hair off his forehead. “I don’t want you to.”
“I know.”
“Wait.” He pulls me forward by my bicep, so I’m directly in front of him. He brushes his palm over my hairline and runs his fingers through the strands. I’m damp under my breasts and arms. He thumbs my slick upper lip, but I don’t think it’s helping.
“He’ll think you ran home from work,” he says.
I wrap my hand around his wrist, and he stops. “Bye,” I say.
He lets me go. I gather my coat and handbag and walk out. The hallway, though heated, is refreshing against my sticky skin. I go home.
The entryway lights are on. Ginger doesn’t greet me right away, which can only mean one thing. “Nathan?” I call.
“Yeah.”
I cover my mouth, turn to the nearest wall, and put my forehead to it. He’s not here. He can’t have been this close. Just across the hall as I let Finn put his hands, his mouth, and his claim on me. Feet away as I crossed a line I never thought I’d see, much less step over. But in my heart I know the truth. Even while Nathan is in the next room, he and I have never felt farther apart.
Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set Page 9
