“It's not fucking cool – what the fuck!?” Tal demanded.
I'm so the Yoko. God, I'm horrible.
“I'm gonna go, you guys can work this out,” she said, backing away. Tal turned and pointed at her.
“You stay. And you,” he turned back towards his friend. “You have five seconds to tell me what the fuck you were thinking.”
“You said she was a good time. I wanted to see for myself.”
All hell broke loose after that; Tal stormed right up to the other man, got right in his face, started yelling at him. Ruiz rolled his eyes and was a smart-mouth right back. The bartender started yelling at everyone. People were shoved. Threats of violence were made.
Misch turned and scurried out of the bar.
It was one thing for her to destroy her own relationships. She wasn't about to destroy anyone elses.
~What Are We Doing~
“Mischa!?” Tal snapped, walking across the lobby.
“She's gone, man, let it go,” Ruiz groaned, following a short distance behind him.
“Shut the fuck up,” Tal growled back before heading outside onto the sidewalk. But Ruiz was right, Misch was long gone. She'd snuck out while Tal had been threatening to shove Ruiz's head up his ass.
“You can go find your hot piece of ass later. We need to talk this shit over,” his partner called out.
“I don't have to talk about shit with you! You seem to keep forgetting, partner, who outranks who,” Tal reminded him.
“Oh, I haven't forgotten a thing. You seem to have forgotten a lot. What are you thinking, fucking around with her!? Why didn't you say anything!?” Ruiz demanded, walking up next to him. He was holding his nose, trying to stave off the bleeding. Tal had punched him, a clean jab to the center of his face.
Call her another name, fucker.
“Cause it was none of your damn business. It doesn't mean anything, it doesn't change anything,” Tal stressed.
“Are you fucking with me!? It completely compromises the integrity of our mission! So you need to remember what the fuck we're doing here! And remember that we're not gonna be here for long, either,” Ruiz snapped.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means you were looking pretty fucking cuddly with this bitch, which isn't necessary if you're just in it for the pussy. She's fucking married, bro. As in not yours. She's using you, too. You don't live here, you're here for a job, and you need to fucking remember everything that job entails. Remember what we're here for.”
Well, when he lays it all out like that, it sounds fucked up.
Tal glared at him and walked a few feet away. Of course, he knew Ruiz was right. They were in Italy to do a job, and then they would be gone. Assigned elsewhere. It wasn't like he could take Mischa with him – for a whole bundle of fucked up reasons he didn't even want to begin to get into. And even if by some magical way he was able to, she couldn't go. She belonged to someone else.
No. Not while she's here. Something about this woman … while we're here, she's mine.
“Look,” he sighed, turning back to his partner. “I get it, alright. Your little act was super cute, trying to piss me off, trying to scare her off. Don't worry about me, okay? I know what I'm doing. I know what's going on, I know what the mission is. You know me, you know I wouldn't do anything to compromise that. I'm just having a little fun.”
This stopped being “fun” a while ago. How did I not notice? She's more than just a “fun time”.
Ruiz stared at him for a long time, scowling. Then he took a deep breath and nodded.
“Fine. Fine. I trust you, man. And you were right, she's a knock out. A sweetheart. I just ... don't want your little crush ruining all our months of hard work,” he said.
“It won't.”
Ruiz gave a curt nod, then walked off down the street, running his hand over his head. Cursing in Spanish.
Tal turned the other way and snapped for a hotel valet to get him a taxi. When he slid into the back seat, he pulled out his phone. Called Misch's number. But just like he'd assumed would happen, she didn't answer.
He chewed at his thumb nail while the car raced across the city. He hadn't really taken the time to think about it before, what was going on between them. He'd told her they were just winging it, just having fun. That's really all it could be, fun ...
But it was already more. Somehow, in their small space of time, it had become more. He'd felt it before he'd left. He'd felt it even more while he'd been gone. And he felt it now more than ever, as he worried that Ruiz had possibly ruined something amazing, before it had even really started.
What am I doing, chasing a married woman all over Rome? I'm a stupid, stupid man. Only me. I'm the only man on earth who, when I decided to fall for a woman, she's fucking married. Figures.
He didn't bother stopping at the front desk or trying to call her again. Just went straight up to her room. Knocked on the door. It took her a while to answer and he was leaning against the door frame when she opened up.
“I told you not to move,” he said, smiling down at her. She frowned up at him, her bottom lip being worked between her teeth, and she kept the door mostly closed.
“When it's just us, Tal, it's kinda like a dream, as cheesy as that sounds. But being around other people, makes it real. And reality is horrible,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
God, don't say that. Nothing about us is horrible. I'm beginning to think we're the only “right” that's going on in our lives.
“Ruiz was being a dick, he's just … work has him worried,” Tal tried to explain. Tried to reassure her. Tried to remove that worried look from her face. He knew it was lame, but he wasn't in a position where he could tell her more. Her eyes slid away from his, stared off down the hall.
“It's not just him,” she replied.
Oh.
“What happened? Did he call?” Tal asked bluntly. She'd never really talked about her husband, wouldn't say a word about him, and still. In his own mind, Tal had grown to hate the man. Hated sharing something with him. Mischa still wouldn't look at him. She just frowned and nodded.
Tal didn't know what had happened to Mischa's relationship, couldn't wrap his brain around it. She was sexy. Beyond that, she was beautiful. Captivating. Something. Something big. Like the sun, just pulling him into her gravitational field.
He reached for her, tracing his fingers down the side of her face, and her eyes slowly closed. She had amazing hazel eyes, one of them a slightly darker shade than the other. He kept moving, slowly slipping his fingers into her hair. Moving his hand around her head, attempting to pull her forward. She held her ground.
“Tal,” she whispered his name, not opening her eyes.
“Just let me be with you,” he whispered back. He didn't know where the words were coming from, but there they were.
Let me make you feel whole.
He continued pulling, and she finally moved. Allowed him to pull her out into the hall. Allowed herself to be pulled into him. Allowed him to kiss her. Kiss her like how she deserved to be kissed. How she should always be kissed.
What the fuck am I doing?
*
“How about school?” Tal threw out. Misch glanced at him.
“I went to the University of Michigan, studied dancing,” she replied, kicking her leg up for effect. He smiled.
“I knew that.”
“What about you?”
“Didn't really go to school. I was in the Israeli Army for a while,” he told her. Misch was surprised. Not just that he'd been in the army in Israel, but that he'd actually answered the question.
After he'd talked his way into the room, things had calmed down. He'd made himself comfortable while she'd gone into the bathroom and tried to clean up her face. When she'd come back out, he'd been sitting at the foot of her bed. She had a standard hotel room, not a suite like him. There was only a queen sized bed, and two cushioned chairs pulled up to a small, circular table, and that was it for furn
iture.
Misch had stretched out on the bed, upside down, and rested her feet against the wall. Tal laid down from where he was sitting, and both their heads were near each other. Then they started talking.
Something they'd said they wouldn't do.
“Military man, I should've guessed. Is that what you do now, take pictures for the military?” she continued, dropping her feet so they were on the pillows, her legs bent at the knees.
“No, I haven't been in the military for a while. I left when I was twenty-three,” he explained. With him saying that, she realized for the first time that she didn't even know his age.
“How old are you now?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“How'd you get into photography?”
“Long story.”
“I've got time.”
“Maybe I don't.”
“Testy.”
“I'd rather hear about you. You're more interesting. How old are you? How'd college work out for you?”
“Twenty-seven. I graduated with a liberal arts degree, but I always wanted to be a dance instructor. I was in a studio for a long time, but then I tore my ACL. I went to work in insurance, never went back,” she filled him in.
“Why not?”
She shrugged.
“I don't know. It just wasn't … I almost didn't want to dance anymore. I mean, I did, but I gained a lot of weight. I always felt like shit, my marriage was horrible, everything. Dancing just made it worse. So I didn't do it,” she tried to explain. There was a small pause, then Tal cleared his throat.
“So what was your plan?” he asked. It was vague, but she knew what he meant.
“I was gonna come here and be a heartless vixen. I had given up when you found me,” she reminded him.
“I'm glad I did.”
“Me, too. I never meant for it to be more, though,” she spoke slowly, not wanting to spook him. “Maybe a one night stand here and there. It sounds awful, but I just wanted to cheat, just wanted to sleep with other people. I just … wanted to be touched. I wasn't looking to have an affair, I didn't want to do that to him. Physically cheating is bad enough. Emotionally cheating … that's even worse.”
“Why did you marry him?” Tal questioned. She'd been waiting for it.
“Because I loved him. I love him, as hard as that is to believe. We started dating when we were nineteen, and it was so awesome, you know? We had been best friends, and we got along great, and then hey, throw sex in the mix, and it felt like the jackpot. But after a couple years, it kinda cooled off. I just chalked it up to how relationships go or whatever. He had started a new job, I was busy at the studio. I don't know, maybe I shouldn't have spent so much time there,” she finished with a sigh.
“No. If that was the only problem, then it would've changed when you stopped dancing,” Tal pointed out. She shrugged.
“Maybe. I thought getting married would change things. Like, maybe he was all stressed out about proposing. Then I told myself it was the stress of planning the wedding. I just kept making excuses, kept thinking things would be different once we got married. That things would get better. But they didn't. They just kept getting worse. Both of us stopped caring about each other, at least in that way. We're still friends, though,” Misch assured him.
“Hmmm, friends. I can't think of anything worse than being married to a girl who 'friend zoned' me,” he said. She frowned.
“But it wasn't always like this, really. We used to have such great times – we still do. You'd probably like him, he's a lot like me, only funnier. Always up for a good time, always wants to be laughing, or doing something,” she described her husband. Now it was Tal's turn to frown.
“I don't think I could ever like someone like him,” he replied.
“That's not really fair – just because I'm unhappy, doesn't make him a bad guy or something,” she argued.
“That's not why I wouldn't like him, I don't think he's a bad guy.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don't think I could like any man that has touched you the way I get to touch you,” Tal's voice was low. Mischa felt a flush spread across her body.
Heelllloooooo, new territories, new boundaries.
“Oh. Well. I doubt you'll ever meet my husband, anyway.”
“Good.”
“Stop it.”
“You know what the problem is?” Tal suddenly said. Misch turned her head towards him. He was a little lower on the bed and she was looking into his dark hair.
“Enlighten me.”
“You married your best friend,” he said in a simple voice. She rolled her eyes and looked back at the ceiling.
“That's stupid. Everyone should be friends with the person they marry,” she argued.
“Friends, yes. Of course. But you didn't say that, you said he was your 'best friend'. I think when you guys started having sex, you got confused about what you really were. You thought sex meant he was your soulmate. No, sex just meant you were banging your best friend,” Tal explained.
Misch stayed silent and stared up at the ceiling. Best friends. She'd always been so proud of that fact, that she'd married her best friend. That they had such a great friendship. She knew a lot of married couples who barely knew each other. Not her and Mike, they were besties, could finish each others sentences.
But what Tal was saying, it felt right. She and Mike had been best friends for a long time, since before they started sleeping together. She had always been attracted to Mike, he was an attractive guy, and when they'd started sleeping together, that attraction had only grown, because he was good in bed.
It was kind of stupid to assume that having funny jokes and good moves in the sack equated to lifelong marriage material. But that's what had happened. She had loved him, because he was her friend, and somehow, she had mistaken that for being in love with him. She loved her friend Lacey, but she wasn't going to marry the woman.
Yet she'd done just that with Mike.
Oh my god.
“So many years,” she whispered, and a tear slipped down her cheek, ran sideways towards her neck.
“What?” Tal asked. She shook her head and wiped at her face, trying to stop the armies of tears in their forward march.
“Nothing. I just feel stupid,” she managed a laugh.
“Why?”
“You've known me a week, and you've already figured out why I sucked at being married – something I wasn't able to figure out in three years,” she replied.
“Don't say that, you don't suck. You're both to blame, but you're not a horrible person. He's not a horrible dude. He just wasn't supposed to be your husband,” Tal told her.
“No, just my best friend.”
“Everyone needs their proper title,” he joked.
“Then what's your title?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“'Everyone needs a title'. You're not Mr. One-Night-Stand. You're certainly not my boyfriend. What are you?” she continued.
He was silent for a long time, then she felt him rolling over. He crawled up the bed and moved so he was leaning over her, kneeling at her side. She stared back at him, trying not to sniffle.
“They have a word especially for people like me,” Tal said softly, reaching out and wiping her tears away.
“And what word is that?”
“Lover.”
~Mischa~
How much I wanted him took me by surprise. I didn't want to feel that way – I'd been telling the truth. I wasn't looking for another relationship. Clearly, I wasn't good at relationships, and had no business entering into an already-fucked-up-relationship without ending my last totally-fucked-up-relationship.
But it was like he understood me. I could say anything to him, literally anything, and he just got it. He didn't think I was a horrible human being for cheating on my husband. He didn't care that I was married. Didn't care that I was emotionally stunted most of the time, and physically inhibited some of the time. All he cared about was being with me.
Everything else, that was just background noise.
I hadn't ever known that kind of freedom, to just be myself, one hundred percent. Say whatever I want, do whatever I want, in all situations. You just can't be like that with most people, there's always a filter that needs to be in place. But not with Tal.
Not in any situations.
I was drunk on him. High on him. I wanted to swallow him down, inhale him¸ inject him. I wanted him to live under my skin and change my DNA. I wanted to live in his air and breathe his passion.
I thought maybe, just maybe, I could overdose on him. If I could just take him one more time, and shut my eyes, and it would be the last time, with anyone, with anything, that would be alright. Guilt would be gone. Hurt would be gone. Confusion would be gone. Oppression would be gone. Obsession would be gone.
My memory would be his, I would only exist in his mind, and that was fine.
It was the only place I wanted to be anymore.
~Done Pretending~
There were no more “let's see where the day takes us” days. No more “just two friends hanging out” talk. No more ignoring the large, married elephant in the room.
Mischa only had nine days left in Rome. After that, she would spend five days on the Amalfi coast, in Positano – a sort of mini-vacation, given as a reward for all the hard work they were doing.
Positano was where Michael would be meeting her.
Where her marriage would end.
She and Tal talked about it a lot. They were honest with each other – they didn't know what was happening between them, neither had been looking for a relationship, nor could either make a commitment at that time. Tal had work, Misch had life. He wanted to go to the coast with her, but they decided it was a bad idea. Too risky to be in such a small place with her boss so close at hand, with her husband visiting so soon. No, it would be much better to make a clean break in Rome. So they agreed to spend her remaining time there with each other, in whatever capacity.
“Lovers,” he had whispered to her.
My Time in the Affair Page 9
