by K T Morrison
WATCHING NATALIE CHEAT
KT MORRISON
CONTENTS
About the Author
Also by KT Morrison
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Afterword
Other Books by KT Morrison
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KT Morrison writes stories about women who fall in love with sexy men who aren’t their husband, and loving relationships that go too far—couples who open a mysterious door, then struggle to get it closed as trouble pushes through the threshold.
Visit My Blog!
sparrow3dx.blogspot.com
ALSO BY KT MORRISON
SERIES
Maggie
Obsessed
The Cayman Proxy
Landlord
NOVELS
Cherry Blossoms
Learning Lessons
Going A Little Too Far
Pool Party
SHORTS
Taken While He Watches: On Their Honeymoon
Taken While He Watches: At The Combine
Taken By His Best Friends: At The Hockey Rink
Measured Next To Her Ex
Size Curious Brat
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Models on cover are meant for illustrative purposes only.
WATCHING NATALIE CHEAT
First Edition. December 22, 2017.
Copyright © 2017 KT Morrison
Written by KT Morrison
Cover by KT Morrison
CHAPTER 1
NELSON
T he big, beaming face of Frosty the Snowman had been paused on their screen—mouth frozen mid–happy birthday—for almost twelve minutes now. Nelson Stacks lay on the floor of the family room propped up on one elbow while his wife still jabbered on the phone. Natalie lay next to him, back propped up on pillows, her head resting against the front face of their couch seat, talking on the phone to her new friend from work, Jenny.
It was December 15th, a Friday night after a long week of work for both of them. He had to work on Saturday, some bogus system administration stuff that needed to be done before Christmas break, and Nat was going to spend two days with her sister in Kingston, leaving on Sunday morning, so tonight was the night the two of them had decided they would celebrate Christmas with an enormous long-running marathon of Christmas TV specials. They arranged pillows and blankets on the floor over top of a camping pad, moved the coffee table aside, and began with the classic Rudolph The Red Nose Reindeer.
Natalie baked brownies, and Nelson picked up a tray of Christmas cookies from the bakery. They had eggnog with lots of rum and lay on the floor together cuddling and watching shows and movies from their childhood. Then, eleven o’clock at night if you could believe it, Jenny called and Nelson lay next to Natalie wondering how long this was going to go on.
“What? Oh, yeah … No, I know … He did?—seriously, that guy is such an asshole … uh-huh … And what did you say? … You did not … Shut up, you’re such a liar … Right … No, that makes sense …”
Natalie Taylor, now Stacks—with that shiny ring on her finger—attended the MacKenzie School Of Engineering at the University where a young Nelson would pine for her from a distance. While their areas of study were separate, they overlapped two classes. It took a whole semester for him to work his way to a coveted seat next to one of the prettiest girls on campus (if you asked him—or some of his other lecherous mates). Once they were friends, he had his hooks in, and while she occasionally dated (bitch!), he was always there and by the time they were in third-year they were a couple. He was off-campus then, sharing a house on Baker Street with six other dudes, and in fourth-year they had to have a sit down with him about her maybe kicking in rent because she was there all the time. That was Warren though—resident bureaucrat. The other guys showed up for the meeting just because they thought the idea was funny.
Now they were married, and they had their own home. No roommates. Just two young people with promising jobs and a mortgage. The adventure of their youth was preserved in their choice of neighborhood: Market West. Their old stomping grounds. A section of the city that catered to them when they were twenty. Market Street, with its coffee shops, the tattoo parlor, weirdo bookshops, and a half-dozen music venues, had, for now, still managed to stave off gentrification and preserve that charm that had attracted them when they were emerging adults. Though there was a rumor there might be a Starbucks going in at the corner of Market and Tate.
“He is totally one bad word away from getting a call to HR … Right … Super-gross … Ha, yeah, but not in his own mind … What did Jake say? … No way—you didn’t tell him? Why not? … Uh-huh …”
Jenny was the same age as Natalie—actually maybe even a year older—but she seemed so immature in comparison. Though, Natalie reveled in the inane gossip that Jenny always delivered; but Jenny wasn’t married yet, and maybe that’s where the distinction lay: two similar girls, one with responsibility and one without. Jenny still lived much like Nat and Nelson had when they were still in school.
“No, I’d love to … I would … I told you, me and the dude are settled in … No, I know it’s not late … It’s … Yeah? … It’s family time …”
Nelson hung his head again, pretending he fell asleep while he waited for her. This time he leaned forward and rolled so he collapsed on her, settling his head on her tummy, his ear right over the red nose of an airbrushed reindeer. He bought her a sleep shirt down at the market for tonight to be festive; just a regular T-shirt but purchased in size XXL so it came down to her knees. She wore only that, a pair of cotton panties, and some warm colorful socks, bunched up at her ankles. He cranked the furnace for tonight, keeping them toasty while it was -10 outside and snow gently fell in fat, wet flakes.
Now he rolled to his back, his head resting in the cup of her navel, eyes looking up to the ceiling; the blinking lights of their Christmas tree on his left periphery, Natalie’s face on the right. She smiled at him, Jenny’s tinny voice emanating from the gold iPhone pressed to an ear. He smiled too, even though he grew frustrated. Natalie’s glossy chestnut hair hung down the sides of her long neck, held back from her beautiful face by a hairband with a set of fuzzy cartoon antlers that branched out from the top of her head. She continued to smile warmly.
“Uh-huh … Yeah, no, I know … Sure … Where? …”
Nelson groaned, and she smiled wider, her fingertips coming to scratch through his hair then tug at his locks and wind them around a finger.
CHAPTER 2
NATALIE
N elson pretended to sleep, and she feathered her fingertips over his eyelashes making him wince and shake with quiet laughter.
“I’ll see you after Christmas, Jenny, have fun,” she said and ended the call.
Nelson snored.
“Sorry, buddy, sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his forehead over and over. His fingers scratched at her back, pretending to wrestle underneath her like he couldn’t breathe, and she pulled herself on top of him.
He heaved her over so they lay side-by-side an
d he said, “You’re wrecking our Christmas …”
She kissed the point of his nose and said, “No, I’m not.”
He said, “Jenny is.”
“No, she isn’t … Come on now.”
“What did she want?—calling so late at night …”
“It’s only eleven. On a Friday night … Dad.”
He laughed, turning away and looking up at the ceiling scratching his own chest. “Dad?”
“She called to invite us to go out if you want to know. She was watching a band around the corner at Tripoli and now they want to go dancing.”
“Tripoli?”
“Yeah, Tripoli. You know, the place where we always used to go. The place in the neighborhood we moved into? … Because it was nearby …”
“We used to do that, didn’t we? But it’s our Christmas tonight …”
“I told her that. I don’t want to go out. I want to stay and watch Christmas shows with you. I really do.”
“Is it weird that’s where we’re at now?”
“Jenny called us lame.”
He smiled and his eyes darted toward hers. “Do you think we’re lame?”
She thought about it, wasn’t sure. She guessed they were kinda lame … but it felt right. She said, “I’m having fun.”
“I am too,” he said.
They stared at each other a long while without saying anything and Nelson slowly leaned to her and kissed her shoulder. He said, “You want some more eggnog?”
“Yes. I do.” She kissed him again, this time on the point of his chin. She said, “You’re making them strong.”
“I still know how to have a good time.”
“We are having a good time, aren’t we?”
“You don’t have to ask me. I know I am. I’m here with you.”
“You’re such a sweet talker.”
“I’m full of eggnog.”
“Okay, go get us some more,” she said, and she ran her hand up and down his side.
“Yeah,” he said, standing up and stretching. Now pausing to look at the TV, he said, “It’s been so long since the show was on I don’t think I’ll be able to follow.”
“Oh, you don’t? You can’t follow Frosty the Snowman?”
“It’s very complicated. Lots of subplots.”
She laughed and pulled a rum ball off the tray he bought at the bakery sitting on the pushed aside coffee table, popped it in her mouth.
There was a sudden knock on the door and she went into a coughing fit, trying not to choke. What a way to go, wearing a Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer shirt and a rum ball wedged in your gullet.
Nelson laughed, dropped to a knee next to her and rubbed her back while she coughed up her rum ball. His head was up, though, looking with concern into the hallway, both of them seeing the shape of a person standing at their front door. It was a warbling silhouette past their amber stained glass, standing shifting from side-to-side in the cold. Snowflakes drifted around him.
She coughed again and cleared her throat, said hoarsely, “Don’t answer it.”
“What, seriously?—don’t answer?”
“It’s eleven o’clock at night.”
“I thought you said that wasn’t late …”
“You’re right, I said that—it’s not … It’s the perfect time for a home invasion …”
“Well, should we just ignore him?”
“Please, don’t answer it,” she said and dug her nails into his arm. Nothing good could come of somebody knocking at your door when you weren’t expecting them and it was so late.
“Nat, our Christmas tree’s on, he probably can see that the TV is on, too.”
“So?” she said. “We fell asleep watching TV. We were cooking indoors, we died of carbon monoxide poisoning … just don’t answer the door …”
“All right,” he said, still on one knee, still rubbing his hand in a circle on her back even though she could breathe now. She could feel the tension in his touch.
The figure looked around, stepping back, looking up and around the front porch. Then he came to the window again and knocked louder.
She hissed to Nelson: “Who is it?”
He said, “Probably has the wrong house. Probably drunk … all those bars on Market Street.”
Yeah, they’d wandered aimlessly after last call themselves a few times, too. He would go away.
“Hey … Guys …” the shape at the door said through the glass, his voice quiet and muffled. He had his two hands around his face pressed to the glass, peering in though he wouldn’t see anything with the stained color. Then the guy said, “Nelson …” his voice sharp though still somehow a hoarse whisper. Like he didn’t want to wake them if they were really sleeping.
“Who is it?” she said, frowning.
“I don’t know,” he said, straightening up now, his neck craning forward, eyes narrowing on the figure framed in their window.
“Nelson …” The guy whispering again. He knocked once more, and they heard him stomping his feet out in the cold, saw his shape hugging himself now.
“It’s someone we know,” Nelson said.
And then he left her and she didn’t stop him this time, staying huddled on the floor in their little Christmas-time den. She watched him intently as he crossed through their family room on tiptoes, stepping up into the hallway and approaching the door in his bare feet and pajama pants.
Nelson studied the silhouette in the window, the silhouette not seeing him. Then she heard Nelson utter a name: “Renny?”
Renzo Bulgarelli. Their old friend. She sighed.
Nelson said it louder now, hailing the silhouette: “Renny?”
“Nelson?”
“Renny?”
“Nelson.” And then the guy outside laughed. “Come on, man. It’s fucking freezing out here.”
Nelson looked to her, incredulous. He said to her, “Renny …” his face puzzled, then he opened the door.
CHAPTER 3
NELSON
Sure enough, standing there on their doorstep was a guy he went to school and lived in the same house with for three years of his life. Renzo ‘Renny’ Bulgarelli. Mechanical engineer. Musician. And right now he was dressed not in the garb of an engineer, but of the old Renny—lead singer of local band Hayfever.
Soft footfalls came to his right, Natalie coming to join him.
“Renny?” she said.
“Holy shit, Natalie,” Renny said, “look at you.” He stepped up into their front hall, held his arms out for her, brushing past his old housemate.
She came and pressed herself to him but pushed away quickly, saying, “Oh fuck, shit, you’re cold!” She hopped in place and hugged her arms to herself, keeping her distance.
“I told you it’s fucking freezing out there. Thanks for letting me in.”
Nelson flicked the foyer light switch, and Renny blinked furiously, throwing up a hand to shield his eyes. He was dressed in band clothes. Leather jacket with a long Harry Potter scarf down to his knees, jean jacket underneath, V-neck T-shirt, leather necklaces with silver pendants. He had tight jeans on and Air Jordans caked with snow.
“You really dressed for the weather,” Natalie said.
“I’m just coming from the bar,” he said.
Then they both saw his face. He had a beard now—though he was always scruffy. He wore a toque bunched up on the top of his head, and under the brim of the hat they saw one of his eyes swollen almost shut.
“Jesus, what happened to you?” Natalie said, stepping to him to look closer at the injury.
“Long story,” he groaned. “That’s why I’m here. I was just looking for a place to get the hell out of the way.”
It had been maybe two years since they’d seen Renny. A guy he’d seen almost every day for three years somewhat disappearing from his life once they graduated. Though Renny wasn’t the only one to go AWOL after school had finished. He was a good friend, not quite good enough to make it into the bridal party, but definitely very welcome at
the wedding—and that might’ve been the last time they actually saw him.
Renny said, “It got crazy down at Tripoli.”
“You were at Tripoli? …” Natalie said.
“Yeah, we were playing there tonight.”
Natalie slapped her forehead, said, “Holy shit, we were going to go …”
What?—no, we weren’t.
“Shit, you guys should’ve come. I didn’t even think of it but you should totally have come. I could’ve got you in and everything.”
“What made you think of us now?”
“Well, I know where you guys live … at least the right street—”
Natalie said, “How’d you know which house?”
“Nelson’s dumb Volkswagen with those stupid wheels.”
“I like my wheels.”
“Anyway, I just walked along the street until I saw something I recognized. So, this is your house, huh, guys?” he said, looking around the front hall and into the family room. “I like it. Good for you two.”
Nelson said, “Bought and paid for. About twenty-five years from now.”
“Slave to the man,” Renny said and held out a fist to be bumped. Nelson bumped it and they laughed.
