by Roya Carmen
He wears an impish smile. “You know…”
I gasp, still confused. “What do you mean exactly?”
He cocks a brow. “You know…what you do sometimes when I’m not there.”
I swallow hard. “I don’t do that.”
He laughs. “Oh, you do. Don’t think I don’t know,” he teases as he tickles my hip with a gentle touch. “I’ve seen your toys.”
My first instinct is to pull his hand away. But he tickles me again, and suddenly he’s over me, and his face has taken on a whole different expression.
I want him to kiss me. I know he wants to. I can feel it, literally. “Of course you have,” I breathe. “You’re the one who bought them for me.”
“And I know you use them,” he teases, his hand under the skirt of my slip. I bite my lip, wanting him to stop playing games and pull off my cotton briefs…now.
“Okay,” he says, “back to the game. That one was too tough. How about this,” he says softly, his mouth inches from mine. “What do you care more about? The house? Or me?”
I laugh, but my laughter is jagged. I’m so aroused as I feel him still pressed against me. I want to play a little. “Why, that’s a tough one,” I tease. “This is a really nice house.”
He laughs but doesn’t say a word.
“But you… you’re a very nice man; a good husband, a good father,” I tell him as I trail my hand to the band of his sweat pants. He closes his eyes and moans as I travel further south and feel his hard-on through the thick fabric. “A good lover,” I go on, “and you do have rather impressive attributes,” I add with a cheeky smile.
He groans and laughs at the same time, the sound is slightly odd.
I smile and bite my lip. “You, of course,” I finally reply.
He smiles. “Good answer.”
I pull him to me and kiss him.
Finally.
His lips are warm and soft, and his kiss warms my entire body. I feel myself soften in his arms. I trail my hands under his grey t-shirt and glide them along his smooth skin. I want to touch every inch of skin. I suddenly wish I had ten pairs of hands.
I don’t quite understand when he pulls his mouth away from mine. I know he wants this as much as I do.
“Uh, Ella,” he says as he pulls away. “We should stop. I don’t want to start anything we can’t finish.”
I sit up on the bed. “What do you mean? We can’t finish?”
“It’s only been five weeks,” he reminds me. “The doctor said up to six weeks.”
“Yes, up to six weeks. It’s not an exact science.”
He bites his bottom lip. “I don’t want to risk it. I don’t want to hurt you or give you an infection or something. I think we should wait.”
Ugh.
“Fine,” I scoff.
He smiles at me, seemingly amused. “And besides, I need to go take a shower. I’m so sweaty. I probably reek.”
I smile. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ll be doing in that shower.”
He laughs, bouncing off the bed. “You know me too well.”
“Tease,” I mutter under my breath and crash back down on the mattress in a heap of pent-up sexual frustration.
CHAPTER TWENTY
And he does what Gabe does best.
“Hi, Mom,” Chloe cheers as she enters my classroom. She’s in charge of getting her little sister and bringing her to my classroom every day after school. And she’s very responsible, does a great job without fail.
I smile at her. “How was your day, girls?”
“Fantastic,” Claire tells me.
“Epic,” Chloe says.
When did ‘epic’ become a word?
I gather my things and head out with the girls, keys in hand.
As soon as I step out, I see a tall shaded stranger, looking like the back of a fashion magazine, a glossy black and white ad for Calvin Klein. This time I know who he is. It’s like déjà-vu. An unwelcomed déjà-vu.
Despite myself, my gaze sweeps over him and I say a little prayer. He’s decked out in a white shirt and suit vest, and he looks so good.
He slides his shades to the top of his head and flashes a smile at the girls. I notice all his battle scars are gone. He is flawless again.
“Hello, girls.”
Claire runs to him and gives him a big hug. “Hi, Weston. Where have you been?” She asks, just like he’s an old friend. It would be so cute, if it weren’t so damn wrong.
Chloe shoots him a shy smile.
And I glare, but just a little. I’m desperately trying to control my emotions. I cannot make a scene. “Did you just come from work?” I ask. “You’re a little overdressed.”
He smiles. “Yes, I did. Just thought I’d come and see how your day was.”
I bite down a curse. “You did, did you?” I say politely, knowing this is far from an innocent friendly visit.
His smile fades as he buries his hands in his pockets. “How are you?”
I attempt a smile, trying to retain an iota of composure. There are people all around and I don’t want to look like I’m in a lovers’ quarrel. And then there are the girls too. Chloe is not stupid.
“Walk with us to the car,” I finally manage. “We’ll catch up.”
“Sure,” he says, eager. I catch a glimpse of his town car parked on the road, off in the distance.
The girls trail behind us as we walk toward the parking lot.
“You know you shouldn’t be here…the girls, my colleagues,” I tell him, my words a whisper.
“I know,” he concedes. “I just wanted to see how you were, after…I know you haven’t appreciated my calls.”
I smile at him. “I’m fine, Weston. Really. That’s the truth.”
I can see relief wash over his features. “I’m glad.”
I want to say goodbye. I want closure. I want to end this, once and for all. But this isn’t the place or time. “I would like to talk sometime, just the two of us.”
His face lights up. I can see his eyes through the amber shade of his glasses. He seems so happy. “I would like that…very much so.”
I wince a little. He doesn’t realize I’m about to end things. He’s still so delusional. But I do owe him a proper goodbye, after all we’ve been through, all we’ve shared.
I press the button on my key fob and hear the familiar beep of my car. “I’ll contact you soon within a week, I promise.”
He scratches the edge of his jaw, his five o’clock shadow in full evidence at three o’clock. “I’ll be waiting with bated breath,” he tells me as he shoots me one of his devastating smiles.
And my knees weaken a little. “Goodbye, Weston,” I say as I open the back door of my blue Mini Cooper.
He waves as he strides off.
Looking way too happy.
Gabe and I and the girls have a run-of-the-mill conversation over wings and mac and cheese.
How has school been so far? Awesome. Are your best pals in your class? Melanie and Candace, but not Jessie. How are the kids this year? Good, but there’s one little guy named Sebastian who is going to give me a run for my money.
It’s just a regular conversation, but the next few words are life-changing. It seems Gabe and I communicate telepathically. We know what we need to do, for the sake of our family. And we both know our entire lives are about to be up-rooted, woken from their cozy sleepy states, shaken up.
It starts with a few words.
“So,” I say.
Gabe looks up from his plate of mac and cheese, a honey-garlic flavored wing in his hand. “So what?”
“So,” I say again, sucking in a breath. “Weston came by today after school.”
He drops his wing. He closes his eyes and blows out a long breath. I see the restraint in his face, in his stance, in the grip of his fist. “I see,” is all he says.
“He didn’t stay long. I told him we would talk soon.”
“And you told him about Phoenix?”
“No,” I say. “But I wi
ll.”
“Yes, please do.”
“So, we’re really doing this?”
“We have no other choice.”
Gabe and I have decided to put the house on the market. But unfortunately, it’s not exactly in tip-top shape, there’s a lot of work to be done.
We decide to do most of it ourselves, and it seems we spend hours going over the renovations.
This is just what I need. Between school, the girls, moving, and these renovations, I barely have any time to think about Weston at all.
We plan to repaint the oak cupboards in the kitchen a pristine shade of ivory. We’re removing two cupboards and replacing them with dark shelving on which I will display some nice decorative kitchen items. I’ve also spotted a cute blue stand-alone country-style island at Ikea which will be just perfect in the wide open space of our kitchen. It’s amazing what you can do with just a bit of money.
We’ll also be removing all flowered borders, and replacing all toilets. And I plan to put up some of my ‘masterpieces’. I knew those art classes would pay off one day.
But the biggest project is the main bathroom upstairs, which is incredibly outdated. Thankfully Gabe is skilled enough to do most of the renovations; putting in a new toilet and two vanities and light fixtures. We’ll have to hire his contractor buddy to put in the new bath.
It all seems like a lot of work, but it will pay off when we get our money’s worth. You really need to stand out in such a tough real estate market. And we need to sell this house as soon as possible. We can’t afford to have two mortgages.
I’ve also been busying myself checking out properties in Phoenix. The prices are so much cheaper. We can almost afford a castle. Well, maybe not a castle, but definitely a super-cute house with a pool. I’m getting very excited.
I’m standing on a step ladder, dragging a wet sponge over the dreadful border in our bathroom, when Gabe grabs my rear playfully.
I laugh. “Hey, watch those hands,” I scold, turning to look down at him. “You wouldn’t want me to fall, would you?”
“I’d catch you.” He shoots me a smile. One of those wicked grins; the kind that usually lands me right in bed, on top of him. I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s thinking — all he thinks about these days. But he hasn’t made a move. He’s been giving me lots of space. His playful moves and mischievous smiles make me want him, practically every second of the day.
But neither of us has dared to start anything. It’s like we’re seventeen again and madly in love. I smile at the recollection of us at that age. He had a little more experience than I did at the time, but he was very patient with me, knowing I was a virgin. He teased and played, but never pressured. That is kind of what this feels like.
He stretches out under the new double vanity, working on the plumbing. He wears a sleeveless undershirt and green work pants I’ve never noticed before. They hang deliciously off his hips. And I almost want to jump him right here, in the middle of our bathroom. But I’m too shy. I smile at the ridiculousness of it all.
What the hell has happened to me?
“Did you see the print-outs I left for you?” I ask as I ogle the bit of exposed skin between his shirt and pants. His white briefs peek out ever so slightly. If his pants rode a little lower, I could see my name etched on his flesh. I’d really like those pants off.
I think about trailing my finger along the edge of his briefs. That would surely send the message, loud and clear.
But he’s busy…
“I love the one with the pool,” he says, “everything about it.”
My heart fills with anticipation. “Me too. I can’t believe we can afford a pool. And we can use it all year-round.”
“Yeah, it will be epic,” he says, clearly making fun of Chloe and Claire who have been uttering the word like it’s going out of style.
I laugh. “Yes, I’m really looking forward to it.”
“Me too.”
“What I’m not looking forward to though, is telling the school, and telling the girls.”
“The girls will be fine,” he says, “as long as we get a house with a pool.”
“I hope so,” I say, thinking about the few friends they’ve made over the years. No close friendships thankfully.
And then I think about Gwen, about my classroom full of kids, about Weston…
Gabe manages to maneuver his body out from under the sink. His soft hazel eyes fix me in that particular way they do when he’s about to say or ask something difficult.
“Have you talked to Weston yet?”
I twitch a little. It’s like he can read my thoughts. I shake my head and bite my lip. “I’ve been putting it off. That’s something else I’m not looking forward to.”
He sighs heavily. “You need to do it. Say goodbye for good. Tell him you’re moving and won’t be sending him any Christmas cards.”
“Maybe we could be friends on Facebook,” I joke.
He glares at me. “That’s not even funny,” he says. “No.”
I smile. “Weston’s not on Facebook. He’s much too anti-social for that.”
“Good,” he says before he disappears under the sink again. “No contact what-so-ever,” he adds, loud and clear.
I sneak one last peek at his navel, and the trail of soft dark hair underneath disappearing into the band of his briefs.
Okay, back to work.
I don’t see the words, or the grayish paper as my thumb flicks through the pages. All I can see is this woman’s story; her quaint little house, her beach town in California. I am riveted. I am reading one of my favorite authors.
There always seems to be a recurring theme in her books — women who have been somehow slighted by the man they thought loved them. They begin a new chapter, rediscover themselves, and realize they are happier on their own, and that their husband’s betrayal was, in the end, a blessing in disguise. I love these stories about new beginnings, but still, I have no desire to be in these women’s shoes. I don’t ever want to say goodbye to Gabe. I want him to be my beginning, my middle and my end. I want him to be my whole story. I don’t want to start a new chapter.
This particular story is no different. The woman realizes her husband has another family across the country. It’s clear at this point this woman is loved by this man, but what’s not yet clear is why he chose to do this to her? Oddly, part of me can relate to him. Maybe he was in love with two women. He married the first one and was bound by marriage, children and years together. And then he met someone else and fell in love again, but wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to anyone.
I don’t think I’ve even blinked in the last minute, I’m so captivated by the story. But when Gabe knocks at my bedroom door (our bedroom door), I shoot a glance up at him, all of him. He’s wearing a worn red t-shirt. And those green work pants again — the ones which hang low off his hips. And he’s sweaty and dirty… and I kind of like that. Suddenly my book is not so interesting anymore.
He smiles as he sweeps a hand across his abs. “Do you mind if I use the shower in here?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. He looks dog-tired, but somehow manages to still look damn sexy. “You know how useless the other one is.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, sure,” I try to say as normally as possible, but my voice cracks. I hope he hasn’t noticed. He shoots me a smile as he dashes to the en suite. He swings the door shut half-heartedly and it bounces back open a little. I can see him through the three-inch sliver.
He pulls off his shirt and I bite my lip, watching him.
“We should get something nice for the new shower,” he says.
My eyes flicker from my book, back to him, back and forth. He shakes the dust out of his hair. He pulls off his pants and his briefs in one fell swoop.
I’d almost forgotten all about the beautiful curves of his back and ass.
Oh hell.
I think I’ve read the same sentence five times.
I put my book down on the night table. Who am I kiddin
g? I’m done reading for the night.
I catch a quick glimpse of my name inked over his hip bone and he’s off into the shower. I wonder if he did that on purpose; left the door open like that, giving me a glimpse. I wouldn’t put it past him.
The sneaky bastard.
I hear the water run and I lay down across the bed, stretching my legs. I close my eyes and imagine him naked in the shower. He sweeps his hand over his head as the water cascades over him. I smile and arch my back at the vision.
How did we get here?
He’s my husband, for crying out loud.
I am lusting after my own husband. How very odd and kinda hot.
This is the night, I decide. I need to make the first move. This isn’t the way the story typically goes with us two, he’s usually always all over me. It seems I never get the chance to make the first move. Which is what is strange. It makes me doubt myself. What if he doesn’t want me anymore? Why has he not put the moves on me? But he did seem to want me the last time we found ourselves on this bed. Perhaps he’s still waiting.
But seriously, haven’t we waited long enough?
I hear the water turn off and I feel my body stand to attention, in anticipation. I hike up the skirt of my slip a little. I want to show him more. I want to show him all of me, but this will have to do for now because I don’t want to come on too strong. I want to be demure. Well, as demure as I can be when all I want is him all over me…naked preferably.
He saunters out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped around his hips, another one in his hand, rubbing at his head, drying his crazy curly locks. He smiles as he makes his way out.
I really don’t think he was trying to turn me on. He was really just having a shower.
Damn him.
I sit up straight on the bed. “Gabe,” I call out, my heart hammering in my chest.
A beat later, he’s at my doorway again. For a second or two, I try to devise a strategy. Do I go with the direct approach and ask him to come and fuck me?
Can’t quite do that.
I blow out a breath and tilt my head in a come-hither pose. But I don’t think I’m very good at come-hither poses because he just cocks his head and looks at me weird.
