The Other Other Woman

by Mallory Lockhart

  As I reached up and grabbed his nipple with my lips, the increase in his thrusts overcame me. I arched my back and surrendered myself to another dizzying climax, this time feeling him lurch and a sudden burst of hot liquid pleasure rippling deep inside of me. I was only faintly able to make out his groan, “Yes… Yes… YESSSSSSS” over the buzzing in my own ears.

  He crumpled into a heap on top of me, and we wound ourselves around each other, both of us slippery with sweat. We remained in that spot with our eyes closed, half dozing while silently enjoying the comfort of each other’s warmth. I kissed him on the side of the face by his ear and kept going around to his cheeks, nose and lips. His skin tasted so warm and salty sweet from perspiration. I got a good look at his hair and started laughing. It was a hopeless wreck now. I tried to smooth it out for him, but I was just making it worse. “You may have to cut those dreads, now, babe.”

  “Not until I get a ponytail.”

  “Not even dignifying that with an answer,” I responded, shaking my head. “What shall we do now, Mr. Wynne?”

  “Well, I guess we should maybe get cleaned up and start thinking about dinner.”

  I leaned over to kiss him and whispered, giggling, “I don’t know how to break it to you, but I think we missed the early bird special.”

  “Haha, funny girl, where would you like to go? Any ideas? What do you feel like?”

  “Well, I tried to look around on my phone this morning for some dinner places, and aside from about one million coffee shops, everything kept coming back to this place called Table 16. I think I saw the sign for it over in that same area where we had lunch. All the reviews were like ‘Don’t bother with this place or that, just go to Table 16 instead.’”

  “You want to go there?”

  “I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind looking at the menu. I think it’s a nicer place, steak and fish. Unless you want Italian or something else…”

  “I want whatever you want, sweetie. I’m not picky. There were a lot of other places around that same area so let’s go check it out.”

  “Okay, sounds good.”

  I chose not to mention that it was rated the best but also the “Most Expensive Restaurant” in Greensboro.

  He got up out of bed and went over to the table to check his phone. I had wanted a picture of him naked for some time, so I saw an opportunity and took it while he had his back to me. He didn’t notice, so I didn’t tell him. We showered and I put on a tank top because I wasn’t sure what I was wearing just yet. I was sitting on the floor and out of the corner of my eye I caught him staring at me. He must have thought he hurt my feelings a little earlier because he crouched down next to me. “Your boobs still look gorgeous. Especially in that tank top,” he said, smiling and tenderly kissing my forehead.

  I decided to wear my Hudson jeans, which were the only pair of jeans I had ever spent a lot of money on. But they were so worth it. They were still brand new so I had to do a little bending-squat-ass-shaking move to stretch them out, which he found very appealing.

  “Um, what was that? Can you do that again?”

  “What, this?”

  “Niice!”

  I put on a black wrap top and some really cute but very tall peep toe pumps that made me almost as tall as him without his shoes on. I made sure to show him when he was in front of the bathroom mirror wearing just his jeans. In my expert opinion, there was no eye candy sweeter than the sight of him in his jeans with no shirt on. Have mercy.

  “See? Look…” I said, wrapping my arms around him. “Now you barely have to bend down to kiss me.”

  “Hmm, I dunno, let’s see…” he said, pulling me to him and laying one on me. “Yeah, you’re right, pretty good. But are you going to be able to walk in those things?”

  “Who are you talking to?!”

  “Haha okay, just making sure.”

  I loved shoes far too much to buy any that I wasn’t able to walk in. He knew that.

  “Hey, babe, I need to call Tess, the friend I’m going to see tomorrow, okay?” he said, walking over to the table and reclining back in the desk chair.

  “Yeah, sure, go ahead. I won’t make a peep,” I replied, practically salivating as I stared at him sitting there half-naked. No shirt. No shoes. NO PROBLEM.

  Tess was his lesbian biker friend. For once, I wasn’t worried. But I still caught bits and pieces of their conversation as I was touching up my makeup. I heard him say something about seven a.m. and I quickly peered out from around the corner of the bathroom. He mentioned getting there in the morning and I came out and put my hand on my hip, shooting him my best “WTF?!” face. He stopped talking mid-sentence.

  “What? No good?” he whispered to me.

  And I just shot him another incredulous look and shook my head NO.

  He seemed confused, so he quickly covered by saying, “Hey, Tess, let me get right back to you on the time, okay? I have to check on something. Okay, great, I’ll call you back or text. Thanks!”

  He hung up and I immediately started getting upset. I told him before he made these plans that I didn’t want his visit with her interrupting mine, and he had promised it wouldn’t.

  “Just what time do you think we’re getting out of here tomorrow morning?!” I said, glaring at him.

  “Well, I don’t know exactly, babe, but I can’t stay forever. I have to be home in Atlanta early tomorrow evening for my nephew’s birthday party. So if I want to see Tess at all, I’ve got to make it early.” He added, “We were going to try to go for a bike ride but we probably won’t even do that.”

  “You didn’t tell me you had to be home that soon. I thought we’d at least be able to relax together in the morning and have breakfast,” I grumbled.

  He could see the obvious disappointment on my face. He got up and wrapped his arms around me, holding me against his bare chest. Must resist power of magical anger-melting chest hair!

  “We can do that, sweetie, but it just means you have to get your ass out of bed,” he teased.

  “Not funny.”

  “Okay, how about this, we get up around eight, we’ll have breakfast together here in the room, and then I’ll go around nine. That will only give me a couple of hours with her, but I’d rather see you anyway,” he said, nuzzling my ear and pacifying me for the moment.

  “Mmmm hmm.” I was still irritated though. I had hoped to have him at least until checkout at 11 a.m.

  He put his shirt on and helped me pick out some jewelry to wear, kissing my neck and telling me I looked beautiful as he latched my necklace. It was just a little after six, so fairly early for dinner, but I had read that reservations were strongly recommended. I hoped we wouldn’t have any problem getting seated. Plus, Mr. Early Bird over there was probably ready to chew off his arm by now since his day always started way before mine.

  Chapter Twelve

  We exited the hotel and hopped into his car, heading back over to the same cute section of downtown Greensboro we had visited earlier that afternoon. He rested his hand on my leg again and I did the same to him. I rested my eyes leaning against my headrest for a few minutes thinking about how happy I was when we were together. As he pulled into the parking area near the shops, his phone rang. It was definitely his wife because he gave me that “Oh shit, what should I do?” look.

  “It’s okay. Go ahead and answer it. I’ll be quiet.”

  “You sure you don’t mind? I’m sorry…”

  I nodded as he picked up. I had never heard him actually talk to her before, but right away you could tell he was very short and abrupt with her. Much like he was the few times we had fought. A lot of heavy sighs like she was obviously bothering him, but maybe that was just for my benefit. He pointed his finger at me like he was going to be a few minutes and stepped out of the car, probably a good idea in case I sneezed or something. He seemed to talk to her forever. I’m sure it was no more than five minutes, but he appeared to be getting more and more annoyed out there and kept throwing apologetic glances my way. I ho
ped nothing was wrong. I sent him a text just to be silly.

  You look kinda sexy when you are irritated.

  When he finally came back to the car, he rolled his eyes and shook his head. He grabbed my face and pulled me to him for a big kiss.

  “What was that for?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “You ready?”

  We walked the short length of the parking lot and over the stone paths to where the block of restaurants was located. He was very worried about me walking in those shoes, but I assured him I could handle it. It was an absolutely gorgeous evening, not late enough in the year for it to get dark too soon, and the temperature was mild. It was the perfect night for eating dinner outside. We found the restaurant which had a very large patio area right out front, covered in lush greenery, old lanterns, and candlelight on each white cloth covered table. It looked very charming and romantic. Even though I saw his eyes bug out of his head just slightly when he saw the prices, he really liked the place and thought we should try it. There was a short wait, as expected, about 45 minutes. We put our name down and decided to walk around the historical area surrounding the block. To my disappointment, he didn’t hold my hand, but we sat on a bench where he squeezed me against him and nuzzled my ear as he whispered wisecracks about people going by. To be fair, it was still very light outside and there were a lot of people walking around. I always felt like my round cheeks made me look younger than I was, so I couldn’t help but wonder if people passing by thought we made a strange couple.

  When our wait was over, we were seated at a table outside on the patio just as we had requested. He held my chair out for me and pulled out his reading glasses *swoon* to look at the wine menu. Those glasses, they got me every time. I pulled out my phone and snapped a pic while he wasn’t looking at me.

  He ordered a bottle of Pinot for us, always a favorite, while we looked more closely at the menu. I knew I wanted steak, but it just so happened that the Angus Tenderloin was, by far, the most expensive item listed. He asked me what I wanted, I presume to order for me, but I was hesitant to say. I didn’t want him to think I was purposely getting the most expensive meal I possibly could out of him.

  “You said earlier you felt like a steak, didn’t you?”

  “Well, I already had a hot beef injection,” I giggled. I couldn’t resist. He broke out in a big embarrassed smile. Oh man, those dimples…

  I added, “But it’s huge, and it’s the most expensive thing on here.”

  “Yeah, so?” he replied.

  The waitress came back with our wine and I watched him while he sampled it.

  “Here, Mal, what do you think?”

  He handed me the glass to taste it as well. I took a swig and handed it back to him, answering, “Yeah, tastes good to me.”

  “Spoken like a true connoisseur, babe.”

  “Matt, when you have stubborn little drama queens at home like I do, ALL wine tastes good.”

  “You know, I can’t imagine where they get that from.”

  I shot him a look. “I might just get the pheasant. That tastes like chicken, right?”

  “Yes, I think so,” he said, laughing. “But you need to get the steak. That’s what you want, so that’s what you should get. Don’t worry about it, babe, it’s not a problem.”

  “I know, but you drove all the way up here. You are already getting the room, and you got lunch earlier. I feel bad doing that to you.”

  “Don’t feel bad. I’d get it myself if it wasn’t for my cholesterol. I got it, it’s fine.”

  “Why don’t you let me get dinner?”

  He peered up at me over the top of those glasses and I shifted very uncomfortably in my seat. That hot sonofabitch.

  “You’re getting the steak, and that’s final.”

  “Well yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” I answered a bit sarcastically. “Wait, I didn’t know you had high cholesterol, babe…”

  “Oh yeah, it’s not a big deal, mostly hereditary for me. The doc put me on medication for it,” he answered. “I’m pretty good about watching what I eat though. I only eat steak maybe once or twice a year now.”

  “Once or twice a YEAR? Oh, Matt, that makes me want to weep.” No lie, I ate red meat at least once a week.

  Ahhh, but the wheels started turning in my head. I knew from friends that cholesterol and high blood pressure drugs can often cause a little trouble down yonder for men. So maybe his earlier issue had nothing to do with me at all. That made me feel so much better. The waitress came back around and took our dinner order. He asked for some sort of salmon and crab dish and, just daring me to argue, ordered the steak for me but told me I was going to have to give him a bite.

  “By the way, Brooke told me you were an incredible cook.”

  “She did!?” I asked excitedly. “When?”

  “When we were talking about Miami, I asked her if you were as good as you say you are.”

  “Well I’m glad she confirmed the rumors!” I said, reminding myself to give Brooke a kiss on the lips for that one. “Ahh, but you’d never survive my cooking if you have cholesterol issues,” I lamented.

  “I know! It’s bad enough you are trying to get me hooked back on the butter!” he laughed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She told me you left some in the fridge in Miami on purpose. You know I’m not going to be able to resist it compared to my lite butter substitute!”

  “Oh,” I said, sheepishly now. I remembered doing that. “Well I didn’t know you were using that because of high cholesterol. I thought you were just stupid or something!”

  Both of us broke into giggles and could not stop.

  Our food began to arrive. We started off with a prosciutto and mozzarella plate, which was fantastic. We somehow got onto the topic of politics, which was typical for us. Both of us loved being right almost as much as we loved convincing someone else they were wrong. We were both passionate about our views, and it could get heated between us. But it never got ugly because, in his heart, he was socially liberal too. And that’s what was most important to me. He was fanatically conservative about money and taxation, but at least we shared some common ground when it came to gay and women’s rights and the other big social issues. As much as he liked to think he looked like Obama, he did not care for the way Obama ran things for the last four years on the job and economic fronts.

  “That’s what Sandy was calling about, actually,” he said. “One of our neighbors who is friends with her on Facebook was kind of yelling at her about my son Mitchell, because he posted some message about supporting the Democratic Party and this guy saw it.”

  “Hold up. What? YOUR son is a democrat!? How did this happen!?” I blurted out, thinking surely, he must have been switched at birth.

  “I know, I know, but he’s been away at college getting brainwashed with you crazy liberals for four years!” he explained.

  “Ahh, I see. Well, at least there is hope for the Wynne family with that one,” I teased, running my fingers over his hand.

  “Well, that’s what this guy was calling her about. He was like ‘I’m really worried about your son. He’s obviously been led down the wrong path, and I was wondering if there was anything we could do to help you set him straight.’”

  Matt didn’t even looked shocked to be telling me this, but I was blown away. “Are you kidding me?! You are telling me that this guy called the parent of a 22 year old grown ass man to try to change him back into a republican?!”

  “Yeah, basically.”

  “And you don’t see anything wrong with this?”

  “Well, it’s kind of nosy I guess. But his heart is in the right place.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” I was flabbergasted. “Matt, that’s like trying to shove religion down someone’s throat. You can’t do that.”

  Our salads arrived, followed shortly by our entrées.

  “Yeah, but Mitch irritates me with that stuff too, though… I mean, he’s down there spending a week for fr
ee in MY Miami condo that I paid for with MY hard-earned and heavily-taxed money while he’s living off of, again, MY money. He hasn’t even been out in the working world yet, just been going to school forever and spouting off about how much he loves Obama. I don’t see Obama putting him up in a condo in Miami!”

  “Oh, here it comes,” I said sarcastically. “Yes, Matt, so because you get paid a buttload of money for what you do, it’s hard-earned. You don’t think people who make less money ever work any harder than you?”

  I took a bite off my plate and added, “Oh my God, this steak is incredible. You’ve got to taste this,” cutting him a piece and feeding him off my fork.

  “That might be the best steak I’ve ever had. Well, I do work really hard. I only took one week off this entire year so far and that was to go to Ukraine!”

  “I know you do, babe, you definitely work hard. Here, have another bite… But that’s your choice. You could work a lot less and still make a hell of a lot of money. You could basically sit there with your finger up your nose, or, you know, goof off talking to your girlfriend all day and still make a lot of money. You make more in a month than I do in an entire year. Does that mean you don’t think I work hard?”

  “Of course you do, sweetie, I tell you all the time you should be running that place!” he added, “Want some salmon?”

  “No thank you. You know my policy on seafood. But don’t you think, say, a farmer who shovels shit all day or a housekeeper, for instance, physically works a lot harder than either one of us do, and they don’t make anything. You can’t say that harder work always equals better pay because it doesn’t.”