"I had a long flight," Jim went on, "and I'm jetlagged. The only thing I can think about right now is going to bed."
"I can help you fall asleep..."
"Please," he replied with irritation in his voice. "I just flew halfway around the world because you wanted me to come home. I'm here. That's going to have to be enough." He grabbed a bottled water out of the refrigerator, took a long gulp and headed toward the stairs.
Melissa watched him disappear around the corner. She battled tears as she looked down at her body, draped in lace, wondering when she became so unattractive to her husband. There was a time when he wouldn't have been able to keep his hands off of her, jetlag or not. Now he could barely get himself to look at her, and he seemed irritated by the prospect that she actually wanted to have sex with him. While she didn't know exactly what was going on, she did know this wasn't normal behavior in a marriage.
She pulled out the kitchen chair and sat down, losing her war on tears. She wiped her cheeks and sniffled, trying to refrain from breaking down into a full sob. Was her marriage over? Was her husband in love with someone else? Was she just too ugly to look at? She didn't know. She only knew she was sitting by herself in the kitchen, dressed to kill, while her husband went to bed without even giving her a goodnight peck on the cheek after having been out of the country for weeks.
She wanted to change out of her outfit into something that reflected her new mood, but she didn't want to go in her bedroom while Jim was awake. She didn't want to see him. She didn't want to have to talk to him. If she was going to be honest with herself, what she wanted to do was throw on a coat and drive to Dylan's. She could envision herself showing up there, exposing her negligee with an abrupt opening of her jacket, letting it fall to the floor at her feet. She was sure Dylan would have reacted quite differently than her husband had. She could picture the sexy smirk on his face as he approached her, and she could feel his hands wrap around her waist as he looked her up and down...
She sighed, realizing she wouldn't be able to go over there while Jim was home. This whole evening had been a waste. She's spent forever getting herself ready, only to change into sweatpants and go to bed unsatisfied.
This wasn't how marriage was supposed to feel.
She waited enough time for her husband to fall asleep, and then she crept into the bedroom. Changing into comfortable clothes, she grabbed her pillow and brought it out to the couch. She wasn't ready to sleep yet, but she knew she didn't want to be in bed next to Jim when the time came.
Grabbing a blanket out of the closet, she made herself a bed on the couch and turned on the television. Her thoughts quickly made their way to Dylan, where they had been almost constantly since she'd met him. She closed her eyes and pictured what he had looked like sprawled across his bed, waiting for his massage. She relived the passion she'd felt when they had sex the first time and the emotion she'd felt when they'd made love the last time. The image of his soft, brown eyes filled her mind, causing butterflies to flutter around her stomach. She knew there shouldn't have been butterflies—that could have only led to bad news—but they were there and she decided to enjoy them. It was one of the only reminders that she was, in fact, still alive.
She began to envision every inch of his body. She pictured his tattoos and the way his hair hung down, caressing his bare chest. She relived the first moment that he slid off his pants, revealing that glorious part of him that she was privileged to see. And feel.
And taste.
The image became too much for her. She moved her hand down her body, slipping it under her panties, lovingly caressing the spots that Dylan had touched with his magical fingers and tongue. She imagined her hand was his mouth, working herself into a frenzy like Dylan had done so easily in the days leading up to this. Closing her eyes, she whispered his name over and over, desperate for him to be there beside her. She quickly climaxed, overcome with passion for the beautiful young man who was sitting alone just a few miles away from her.
God, how she wanted to be with him with everything she had.
She woke up on the couch, hearing Jim milling about in the kitchen. She was unsure where she was at first, and then she remembered that had slept on the sofa because her husband had rejected her the night before.
Bitterness set in almost instantly.
"Hey," she muttered toward the kitchen as she sat up and wiped her eyes. Remembering that Jim said he was going to be home less than twenty-four hours, she added, "What time is your flight?" Her voice was raspy.
"I have to leave for the airport in four hours. It's a little bit ridiculous that I had to come home for this."
"No," Melissa clarified, "it's not."
She heard him sigh from the kitchen.
"What time do you want to change out the window?" she asked.
"I want to start soon," he told her. "Do you think he'll be awake?"
"He's got to go to work at ten, so he'd be up soon anyway."
"You know his work schedule?" Jim asked bitterly.
"I'm his ride, remember?" She pushed the blanket off of her and put her feet on the floor. "I don't know why you're so mad about this. We came up with this plan together, remember?"
He didn't reply. He only pulled a pan out of the cabinet, eventually asking, "Do you want some eggs?"
She wondered if she should have said yes or just fended for herself. In an effort to reach out an olive branch, she replied, "Sure. Eggs would be great. Thanks." She walked up next to him and added, "I'll handle the toast."
After silently making breakfast, they sat at the table to eat. Eventually, Melissa asked, "Is it stressful over there in England?"
"You have no idea."
He was right. She really did have no idea because he never talked to her about it.
"Any word on a time frame when you'll be home for good?" She tried to keep animosity out of her tone as she poked at her breakfast.
"Unfortunately, no. Every time we solve one problem, we seem to create two more." He took a drink of orange juice. "I feel like I'll be in England forever."
"More than a month?"
"Probably."
Her heart both sank and fluttered at the same time. While she mourned her pathetic marriage, Jim's absence gave her unfettered access to Dylan. Keeping her thoughts focused on the matter at hand, she added, "Chances are I'll want you to come home for a visit again."
"I know that," he muttered without looking up. "You do realize it's not that easy to just pop home from England."
She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry if I'm an inconvenience to you."
He raised his eyes briefly to meet hers, lowering them back down to his eggs. He took his final few bites and grabbed his plate, putting it in the dishwasher. "Are you almost done?" he asked. "I want to get this over with."
Melissa decided to accompany Jim to Dylan's house. She knew she wouldn't have been much help replacing the window, but she wanted to monitor the conversations that went on between Dylan and Jim. She was terrified that Dylan was going to say something to let their relationship out of the bag. One careless slip of the tongue could have ruined everything. Despite her outwardly calm appearance, deep down inside she was terrified.
They pulled into Dylan's driveway, where she went up to the door while Jim pulled the replacement window out of the car. She rang the doorbell, nauseous from nerves. She wanted this encounter to be fast and uneventful, resulting only in a window that would prove to be significantly less drafty.
Dylan opened the door, looking adorable in what appeared to be the outfit he'd slept in. He wore a threadbare black t-shirt with the name of a band that hadn't been in existence for years and a pair of checkered flannel pants. "Hey," he said, squinting from the brightness outside. "Come on in."
"I'm here with my husband," she announced. "We're here to replace the window."
Dylan looked past her to the car, where Jim was still pulling out his tools. "That's a shame," Dylan said softly. "I was kind of hoping you'd be here for something
else."
Stifling her inner smile, Melissa sternly said, "Behave yourself, would you please? There's a lot at stake here."
"I'll be good," he assured her.
She only hoped he'd keep that promise.
"Here," Dylan said, tensing up his arms from the cold. "Let me go help him." He tiptoed down the front walk in his bare feet.
She stood helplessly at the door as she saw Dylan reach out, engaging in a handshake with Jim. Her two worlds were colliding, and the consequences could have been devastating.
She had so much to lose.
The men worked together to carry the window into the house. She stepped out of the way, allowing them get past her. They set it down in the living room near the window that was about to be replaced. "Thanks for doing this," Dylan told Jim.
"No problem."
"It's my understanding that you came a long way for this."
"Yeah, this," Jim began, "and to keep the wife happy. I try to make it home once a month."
Nobody said anything to that comment.
Jim inspected the situation, announcing, "This shouldn't be all that hard. I just have to pop out this window and put in the new one. It's a standard size, so the frame can stay." He stuck a tool into the gap that caused the draft, quickly prying it out of its track.
"Do me a favor," Jim said to Dylan. "Go outside and stabilize it so it doesn't fall out there and break."
"Stabilize it?"
"Yeah. Just hold it like you're trying to open it. That should be enough."
Dylan once again went out into the cold in his t-shirt and bare feet. She watched his fingertips hold the glass in place, remembering where those fingertips had been. A quick glance to the television stand brought back even more memories, and she felt herself begin to flush.
Maybe Dylan wasn't the one she needed to worry about. Maybe she was going to give away her own secret with her inability to control her thoughts.
True to form, Jim wasn't paying attention to her anyway, so he wouldn't have noticed her flushed face. She probably could have stripped down naked and Jim wouldn't have taken his eyes off the window.
Eventually, Jim got the window free, twisting it through the opening and handing it to Dylan outside. "Just put that on the ground," he instructed. "We'll put it in the car later."
Dylan did what he was told, reappearing inside the house a moment later. "Whoo. It's cold out there," he announced.
"You could wear a jacket and shoes," Melissa told him with a smile.
"Nah." He waved that comment away with his hand. He was indeed very young.
Jim didn't say much as he put the new window in the track, gently tapping it into place with a hammer. After opening and closing it a few times, he declared it finished. Reaching into his bag, he got some cleaner and wiped the window down, making it sparkle.
"You don't have to do that," Dylan told him. "It's fine."
"I can't do an incomplete job," Jim replied, focused on the window. "If you have a vacuum cleaner, I can get up the dust, too."
"I'm really not worried about it," Dylan said. "I can do that later. You've already done enough to help me."
"It's not in my nature to leave a mess," Jim told him.
"Really, it's fine."
Melissa just wanted this whole thing to be over. "It's not that messy," she noted. "Besides, you have a plane to catch."
"That, I do," Jim replied.
Melissa stood there awkwardly as Jim put all of his tools back in his bag. Dylan didn't say anything, either. She wondered what he was thinking.
Jim gestured toward Dylan with his head. "Can you put that window back in my car."
"Yes, sir."
"You can get shoes first, if you want," Melissa told him.
It was not lost on her that Dylan had just called Jim 'sir' after having slept with his wife.
"No need," Dylan said, hopping back out the door again. She watched him through the glass as he picked up the window and loaded it into the back of the car.
"Thanks again," she whispered to Jim. "I know you had to go through a lot of trouble for this."
He flashed her a look that revealed he was unimpressed. "I just hope this whole thing works out the way you want it to. It would be a shame if it didn't."
"I thought it was the way that we wanted it," she told him.
Jim didn't respond. He just threw the strap of his bag over his shoulder and walked out the door.
An hour later, Dylan hopped into Melissa's car, dressed for work. "Is your husband still in town?"
"He's home," Melissa told him. "He has about another hour and a half before he has to head to the airport."
"I can't believe he came home just to change my window."
"Well," she told him, "it was also so he and I could see each other. He does try to come home from time to time. It just seems to be less and less often these days." She could hear the sadness in her own voice.
"Well, it's good that you've picked up a hobby to keep yourself busy while he's gone," he replied with a devilish grin.
She smacked him with the back of her hand. "Stop it."
"I can't resist," he told her.
"Yeah," she grunted, "apparently, neither can I."
Melissa arrived back home, aware that she and Jim had an hour before he needed to leave for England. He sat at his computer at the kitchen table, typing furiously, seemingly unaware that she had come in.
She studied him, looking at the back of his neck. She used to go crazy at the sight of him. He once brought out the same feelings in her that Dylan currently did. She wondered where that went, hoping that it wasn't so far gone that it was irretrievable.
Gathering her determination, she walked over to him and slid her hands on his shoulders, giving him a massage. He rolled his neck around, wordlessly letting her know he was enjoying it. Feeling optimistic, she bent down and planted a kiss on his neck. And then another.
"Honey, I'm sorry, but I've really got to get this done," he told her. "It's almost close of business in England."
Her shoulders dropped and her hands landed by her sides. Closing her eyes, she muttered, "I understand."
She felt like she's said those words a million times.
"I'm here," he told her, "that's the important thing."
"Yeah," she whispered, "the record will show that you were here."
Whether or not he actually paid any attention to her during her visit wouldn't be public knowledge. It was, after all, entirely about perception.
Chapter 18
Melissa and Dylan had just finished up their chicken cordon bleu. "I am eating like a king," he announced, wiping his face. "I'm serious when I say I've never been fed like this in my life."
"I'm glad you like it."
"I went from one extreme to the other. I went from prison food on a tray to, like, a gourmet meal every night."
"I told you, I like to cook. I actually enjoy having someone to make dinner for...for a change."
Dylan shook his head. "Your husband doesn't know what he's missing."
"Actually, he does. I used to cook like this for him every night."
"I don't know why he travels, then."
Somehow, Dylan always seemed to know exactly what to say.
After they cleaned up the dinner dishes, Melissa made an announcement. "I have something to show you."
"You do?"
"Yup."
"Am I going to like it?"
Unsure how to answer that, she said, "It's not like that. It's just something to see." She reached into the bag that had contained dinner, producing a jewelry box.
"What is this?" Dylan asked.
Opening the box, she began, "Do you remember when I told you that guy Mike had bought me a bunch of jewelry?"
"Yeah."
"I brought over the pieces that I didn't hock. Check them out."
"You're diabolical."
"Only when I choose to be." Lifting a diamond necklace out of the box, she held it up for Dylan.
> "Oh my God," he declared. "That's crazy."
"I told you," she said, handing it over. "Do you see now why I wasn't in a hurry to break up with him?"
He inspected the necklace with his eyebrows down. "How much is this thing worth?"
"Now, or then?"
"Both."
"I'm thinking a few thousand. Probably two or so when he bought it, and maybe five or six now."
"Oh. My. God."
"And that's only one piece." She reached back in the box, taking out earrings. "These things are at least a carat apiece."
Dylan had clearly never seen such expensive jewelry with his own two eyes. "I could eat for a year on the amount he spent on these earrings."
She nodded. "I know."
"What on earth did he do for a living?"
"It wasn't what he did," she confessed, "as much as it was the family he was born into. His father was the CEO of some company, and they were loaded." She gestured to the box. "He could have bought all of this with his pocket change."
Dylan shook his head rapidly, trying to grasp what she was saying. "And why didn't you marry this guy again?"
With a laugh, she replied, "He was pompous, as you might suspect. He was a really big fan of himself."
"And a really big fan of you, apparently. Didn't you say that you claimed to be religious and you didn't fool around with him?"
"Yup. He was so unattractive to me, I couldn't bring myself to get physical with him."
"And he still bought you all this stuff?"
"I think he bought me all this stuff because I wouldn't get physical with him. I was like a challenge to him, and I am pretty sure these gifts were his way of trying to get me to cave. Unfortunately for him, I'm not a prostitute."
"There's got to be a word for what you were, though. A gold-digger, maybe?"
She frowned and bobbed her head back and forth. "I'll own that. Although, I didn't ask for any of this. It wasn't like I made him take me shopping and I picked all this stuff out. He just showed up with it on his own."
"Maybe gold-digger doesn't fit, then," Dylan replied. "Manipulator?"
"Why are you trying to label me?" she asked playfully.
What She Needed Page 10
