The Social Affair

by Britney King

  I feel him behind me. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

  My breaths have become short and raspy. My pulse is thrumming in my ears. His mouth is on my neck. I feel him bite softly. I try to turn to him. My head is swimming. He holds me in place and slides the boxers down. The g-string remains in place. He hits my ass. Hard. I jump. There isn’t much wiggle room.

  This isn’t funny. I feel dizzy.

  “Grab your ankles,” he orders, pushing my head toward my calves. I glance over my shoulder surprised to see that he isn’t joking. “Now.”

  I do as he says. All the blood rushes to my head. The upside is it helps with the dizziness. He grips my hips hard, his fingertips dig into my skin. He enters me from behind.

  “I’m going to get a workout in you one way or another.”

  He grunts several thrusts in. I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m afraid my head is going to hit the tree. I’m afraid I’m going to collapse. Last night wasn’t like this. Our first time as hurried as it was, wasn’t like this. But I shouldn’t complain. Chasing that high is what I said I wanted and it seems Grant Dunn knows how to do it.

  “Don’t worry,” he mumbles. “I’ll be quick.”

  It isn’t a lie. When he’s done, he turns me around to face him. I think he’s going to explain, to ask me if I liked it. I think he’s going to kiss me, take me in his arms. But he doesn’t. “You’ll be okay finding your way back then?”

  I swallow hard. “Of course.”

  I watch as he turns and runs in the opposite direction and then I pick his boxers up off the ground and shake the leaves and dirt from them. I slide them on and backtrack to the cabin.

  Grant is gone for a long while, so long that I begin to worry he’s gotten lost or hurt.

  When he finally returns, just before dusk, he’s quiet. He doesn’t say where he’s been. In fact, he really doesn’t speak at all.

  “I was worried,” I say sidling up to him. I’ve showered and fixed my hair and makeup. I managed to locate my suitcase. But not my phone.

  “You shouldn’t have been,” he tells me, stepping away. “I know these woods like the back of my hand.”

  “Is something wrong?” I ask after he’s showered and shaven. I’ve tidied the cabin, made the bed and put on a pot of tea. “Yes,” he answers. “I made a terrible mistake.”

  This is it. This is where it ends. Josie found out. That or she posted something on Instalook that made him second guess his decision. Probably a shot of her running. I should have given it more effort. This is why people end up alone. Laziness.

  “Here,” he says handing me a glass of water. He takes my hand in his and turns it over. “Take this.”

  I stare at the pill in the center of my palm.

  “It’s the morning after pill.”

  I scrunch my nose. “It’s fine,” I say. “I’m on birth control.” It’s a white lie. Still. It’s doubtful he has anything to worry about.

  “I want it to be extra fine,” he replies lifting my hand, sliding it toward my face.

  I mimic his shrug, pop the pill in my mouth and swallow. I don’t even need the water.

  “Thank you.” I study his face, the satisfaction written all over it. It’s so nice to see him happy again I’m not expecting what he says next. “I’m very worried, Isobel. About what happened in the woods.”

  “It’s fine,” I say again. I assume he’s talking about the way he fucked me. Like an animal.

  “It’s not fine. You pushed me into doing something I wasn’t ready to do.” He sighs and turns away. He walks over to the kitchen window. He places his hands on the counter and leans all of his weight against them. He lets his head hang. “I can’t resist you. And that,” he says, “really scares me.”

  I narrow my gaze.

  He continues. “We shouldn’t have had unprotected sex. I’ve taken a risk. A huge risk.”

  “I’m clean. I—”

  He turns then. “I’ve seen the kind of men who hang around you.”

  I do a double-take. “I—”

  “The risk to me is very small,” he interrupts. “It’s there. However the risk of transmission is much higher for you.” He widens his stance and folds his arms. I’m a child, and he stands over me. There are things he’s warned me about, his expression says, but sometimes you can’t learn until you suffer the consequences. He takes a deep breath in and lets it out. “You should be more careful with your body, Isobel. Offering it up so freely—well, I have to say—that concerns me.”

  My eyes grow wide. I feel sick. “I—”

  He places his finger to my lips effectively cutting me off. “No point in worrying now. What’s done is done.”

  Tears have welled up in my eyes. I blink them back. Hold them in. They run out the sides anyway. Grant shakes his head and leaves the cabin.

  This time he returns sooner. And with flowers. “No lilies this time,” he chuckles offering them to me. “It’s slim pickings way out here.” He leans down and kisses my cheek. He’s chipper. A different man than the one who left the cabin earlier. I want to leave. I hate to ask. It only proves my guilt.

  “I’m sorry to worry you,” he tells me, opening the fridge. I watch as he removes a bottle of champagne. “Like I said, you scare me.” He places it on the counter and glances in my direction. “The way I feel about you—” He pauses and shakes his head. He looks away. “You know what?”

  I don’t, but I want to. My eyes are on his. He’s on stage, and I’m captivated by the performance.

  He breaks out in full grin. “How about we save that conversation for later? Let’s eat. I bet you’re starving…”

  I nod. But I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.

  “How well do you know the Bible?” he asks as he readies dinner.

  I would have done it, but I wasn’t sure when he was coming back. I want to tell him this but nothing sounds right in my head so I don’t.

  He raises his brow, and I realize he’s waiting for an answer.

  “Probably not well enough.”

  “There’s one in the drawer there. Instead of that magazine,” he motions. “You might consider switching it up a bit.”

  I press my lips together.

  “Do you regret coming?” he asks. His face grows solemn. “I realize I’m intense Isobel. I know it can be too much for some people. Especially so soon…”

  I narrow my gaze. Suddenly, I hone in on the flowers and the bottle of champagne he’s holding.

  “I—”

  “Wait—” he says suspending one hand in the air. “I hope you like strawberries.”

  “Yes,” I tell him. I don’t regret coming. I don’t want him to feel bad. Not after all of this.

  He wipes the back of his hand across his forehead. “Whew,” he says laughing playfully. “So, you aren’t ready to head for the hills?”

  I shake my head. “I’m having a great time.”

  “Izzy,” Grant says waking me from sleep. I groan. I think he wants sex again. I’m sore. He’s a machine. “Izzy,” he calls shaking my shoulder. “Please explain this.”

  I open my eyes. He’s holding my phone. My heart races. I panic.

  He tosses the phone in my direction. “Maybe I was right,” he says pacing the length of the bedroom. “Maybe this is too much too soon…”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, wiping the sleep from my eyes, even though I’m so awake my hair stands on end.

  He sighs long and heavy. He isn’t angry. He’s sad. “I just don't think you're that serious about being with me…”

  “Of course, I'm serious,” I say. My throat constricts, and I ball my fists. Flex them a few times. I feel it building, that familiar feeling, and try to stuff it down. I don’t know what he’s seen. I force myself to remember what I deleted. It helps that I have a shit phone with zero memory. So I hope most of it.

  “Then why are you texting that guy? Just last week. And more importantly, why is he texting you asking if he can come over?”

/>   “He’s my friend.”

  “Bullshit.” His voice comes out harsh and sudden.

  Lie even if they catch you red-handed. Remain faithful to your lies even in the face of overwhelming evidence. I meet his gaze, letting a small smirk convey the simmering fury. Rage is important when you’re trying to conceal the truth. “You're the one who's married.”

  He slaps the wall hard. A painting falls to the floor. Losing your temper can be an expensive mistake. We both stare at it. Eventually, he shakes his head and leaves the room. He leaves things where they are. I try harder. I take a few deep breaths. Focus on blue, I hear the voice say. Don’t let them break you.

  “I knew it was a matter of time before you brought that up,” he calls from the other room. I ignore him and go into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I have to get myself in check. I don’t want Grant to see this side of me. He won’t understand.

  I run the water and I sit on the edge of the tub. I hold my breath and count to ten. I hear him speaking, but my head is spinning. I’m five again and on a merry-go-round and I want off. I don’t want to hear what he’s saying. I put my head between my knees. Blue. Blue is all I see.

  Eventually, I hear the front door open and close

  Grant doesn’t come back for the rest of the night. I know because I don’t sleep. I toss and I turn. And I wait.

  The next morning I find him in the kitchen humming, making pancakes. I dozed off sometime just after dawn.

  “Grant,” I say leaning against the counter. “I’m sorry about last night,” I tell him. I’ve had a lot of time to think. He’s right about Tyler. He isn’t good for me. “I shouldn’t have mentioned your wife—it's really none of my business.”

  He doesn’t respond, and he doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t even stop humming. He’s focused on the pancakes. “Timing is everything, Izzy. One second too long over the heat, and these babies will be useless to us.”

  I don’t know what he means but I don’t care. I need to make this right. I need to make peace. “I think you were right before.” He looks up. I laugh nervously. “I need to learn whose business is whose.”

  “You're right about that,” he agrees. He nods for me to come closer. I stand on my tippy-toes and kiss him full on the mouth.

  He pulls away. “Timing,” he smiles. I watch as he tosses the cooked pancakes onto a plate. “And now that we’re both clear where the other stands, it’s all good.”

  I exhale slowly. I hop up on the counter beside where he works. I study his capable hands. He moves like music. Like a symphony.

  “Plus,” he tells me, moving closer. “It’s our last day together, we might as well make the most of it.” He presses a bit of batter to the tip of my nose.

  I don't know what he means by last day together. I don’t know whether he means here at the cabin or in general. The scary part is, it could be either. Which is why I vow right then and there to make this the best day ever so that it won't be our last. I need him to want more. I'm not ready to go back to that lonely apartment, or that dead end job, or Tyler and his boyish sex. I’ll work on my issues. All of them. Even the ones he doesn’t know about.

  “You shouldn’t underestimate me, Grant Dunn,” I say playfully.

  He cocks his head, his fingers never stop working their magic. “I’d like to hear about your work,” I say. “About the way you make things beautiful.”

  He nods. But he doesn’t say anything further. So I don’t either. But that doesn’t stop me from thinking. I’m ready to be serious. Finally, someone wants that for me— he wants that for us.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Josie

  It’s true. Absence does make the heart grow fonder. Grant returns from his weekend at the cabin more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. That Monday, he surprises Avery by personally taking her to school. He has his attorney meet them there. They have no proof that she’s harassed anyone, and I don’t know exactly what was said, but I know a formal apology was issued.

  I post it on Instalook. People appreciate knowing what I’ve been dealing with. They’re appalled on my behalf, and it makes me realize I have been dealing with a lot. I wasn’t imaging it.

  Monday evening Grant comes home at a decent hour and announces he’s taking me to dinner. He doesn’t tell me what to wear, but seems pleased by my choice. He doesn’t request sex, and when I offer the usual blow job instead, he surprises me with a bracelet.

  “Do you like it?” he asks earnestly. “I wasn’t sure it was your style.”

  “I love it,” I tell him. It’s the truth.

  He watches me reapply my makeup. “Aren’t you going to show it off to your friends?”

  I shake my head. “I’m thinking of taking a break from the internet.” This is partly true, but also, I’ve received so many comments and messages about the Avery/bully situation and how everything is taken so far these days that it seems odd to brandish jewelry at a time like this.

  He looks concerned.

  “You look nice,” I say, adjusting his tie. I don’t know where he’s taking me, he hasn’t said, but dressed like this, I know it’s somewhere good.

  “What’s up with the break?” he asks with a nod and I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

  “I just want to focus more on what’s important.”

  His eyebrows raise. “Your happiness is important, is it not?”

  I feel an argument coming on. We haven’t argued in nearly a week. Maybe longer. “You make me happy,” I tell him. I want to continue the good streak.

  “Yes,” he smiles. “But so does your—what do you call them—your tribe?”

  “Oh,” I say, waving him off. I half snort. “You know that’s mostly for the church— the reason I share so much—but—” I pause. I’ve already said too much. I don’t want to talk about the church or any of that right now. That part, I’m saving for later.

  He cocks his head. “But what?”

  “I don’t know.” I search for my shoes. “It just sort of started to feel like a job.”

  “People depend on you, Josie. You lift them up. You give them hope. So, in that way it is sort of a job.”

  He’s stroking my ego, and I have to admit I kind of like it. I spot my heels. “You’re right,” I say, slipping them on. “Here,” I say pausing to hand him my phone. “Can you take it?”

  He smiles. It takes more effort than one realizes trying to get a decent shot with one hand. He does a good job. But then, he’s good with his hands. I filter it anyway. Night on the town with my man, I caption it. #bestsurpriseever

  “Josie,” he says grabbing my wrist. My eyes follow his grip. “You forgot the bracelet.”

  “Shit,” I say. My mouth forms a hard line. I glance toward the house. “I took it off when we made love.”

  “Yes.” He smiles. “I remember.”

  I take my phone from my clutch. I haven’t seen my husband this happy in ages. “I’ll have Avery run it out.”

  “Don’t.” He places his hand on the phone. “I’ll get it.”

  I watch as he jogs through the front door. I check Instalook. One thousand and thirty-four likes so far on my photo. My audience has grown significantly over the weekend. Maybe my husband is right. Maybe a break isn’t what I need. I snap a photo of my new nail color and post it for good measure. I specifically don’t mention the color so people will ask. Engagement is everything. Grant emerges from the house. He stops on the top step and holds the bracelet up triumphantly. I throw my head back and laugh. Maybe I won’t discuss my decision with him tonight after all. Maybe it can wait.

  “Ready?” he asks after he clasps the bracelet around my wrist. He brings it to his lips.

  I nod.

  He puts the car in reverse. I respond to the comments on my nails. It’s midnight blue.

  “People really shouldn’t park on the street,” he says, pouncing on the brake abruptly. “It’s against HOA rules.”

  I look up from my phone. “I think
they’re just waiting,” I tell him craning my neck. “See. There’s someone in the car.”

  “Well then,” he mumbles. I look over. He’s squinting, trying to get a better look. My husband hates to be wrong. “I wish they’d wait somewhere else.”

  “Where are we headed?” I inquire, changing the subject.

  “Downtown,” he says. He meets my eye. His jaw is set. “Call Avery and ask her to make sure I locked the front door, please.”

  I’m replying to a comment. I remember I’d forgotten to go back in and tag the photo with the nail polish brand. Sometimes they send me free stuff. This will help. “Do it now,” he says, sternly. It causes me to jump. I tap out of Instalook. He swings the car around and then looks over at me. He presses his lips to one another. “Never mind. I’ll just go back and check myself.”

  I’ve checked the cake and the caterer and the gift table. I’ve laid out napkins and inspected the wine glasses for smudges. “This is a big deal,” Grant says. He can see my concern. He wants everything to be perfect too. “How many times does your son turn sixteen?”

  “Just once,” I smile.

  “You look beautiful,” he says. He’s not looking at me, though.

  “I don’t like this top,” I say later, checking myself in the mirror. Everything is about presentation. “I think I’m going to change.”

  He looks up then. I know what he’s thinking. Any minute now, the first of our guests will begin arriving. “We’re expecting forty people any second now.” He glances at his wrist. “The top is fine.”

  I straighten it. I’ve lost weight, thanks to the added workouts and the stress with Avery. Nothing fits right.

  “Have you given any consideration to my suggestion?”

  “I don’t want surgery.”

  “Breast augmentations are very common for women your age.”

  I think of June.

  He reads my mind. “What happened with June was very rare, Jos.”

  I remove the top. He studies me carefully. I can see the wheels in his mind turning. He reaches out and cups my left breast. “Hmmm,” he mutters. Nothing more. It says enough. I don’t have to ask what he’s thinking. I know.