by R. C. Martin
“Don’t,” I grind out, unable to keep the scowl from pulling at my brow. “Don’t put this on me.”
“Why not? Why do I have to carry all the blame?”
“Veronica, I didn’t say that. I’m not blaming you for anything—I just want to talk.”
She draws in a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she composes herself. I watch as her shoulders relax on her slow exhale. When she looks at me again, she offers me a small, apologetic smile, and I can see it in her eyes. I see that the door on this subject has been closed. Again.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Look, it’s been a long day for me. I really need to finish this laundry and then start on dinner. I don’t want to fight. Can we—can we table this for now? Just for now?”
I don’t bother answering her. Instead, I stand and pick up my shoes before heading toward the closet.
The truth of the matter is, it doesn’t have to be a fight. I didn’t bring it up to fight. Yet, here we are—her grasping hold of the key, refusing to unlock that door; refusing to walk through it with me. Here we are again, not communicating. As I toss my shoes into the bottom of the closet, I think about all the years that have been lost in this limbo. Unbuttoning my shirt, I question how it is that we got here? How it is that neither of us noticed? Or when it was that we got complacent?
Fifteen years, we’ve been married. Fifteen years, she has been the only woman in my heart. And yet, somewhere along the way, all that we don’t discuss, all that we don’t say to one another, all that we sweep under the rug, it created room. Now, there is a gap; there is an opening; there is a hole in our marriage—a hole I didn’t notice until one gorgeous woman with the smile of an angel sought entrance.
Discarding my shirt into the laundry, I reach into my pant’s pocket for my phone. I check over my shoulder to ensure I’m alone and then open up my most recent thread of messages. Tapping on Blaine’s picture to enlarge it, I admire her hazel eyes—still puffy from sleep—and the war in my inner most being rages on.
How can I possibly stay?
How can I possibly go?
Michael
MY PHONE VIBRATED at least twenty times during dinner. With every new alert, I wanted to pull it out and check to see if it was Blaine. I don’t like being this far away from her. It’s nonsensical, I know. Two days in our nation’s Capital is nothing compared to the four days that came before it—the four days that we were in the same city but still unable to see each other. Perhaps it’s Veronica’s constant presence that has me feeling anxious. I haven’t had a single moment alone since we landed in D.C. to return any of Blaine’s messages.
This weekend, duty calls.
“Politics and opinions on their character set aside, you can’t deny that the First Lady knows how to host a Governor’s Dinner,” Veronica says, pulling me from my thoughts.
Her hand is resting on my thigh, but even as she speaks, her gaze is trained out the window. She doesn’t always get the chance to accompany me on my trips to Washington. After last year’s event, she insisted she didn’t want to miss this one. While I know that a part of her is here because she wants my peers to see that she and I are a united front, there’s another part of her that enjoys the lavishness of gatherings such as these. Not because she’s materialistic in any way, but because she’s always looking for inspiration for her own galas and charity events.
“Yes,” I agree, admiring her profile, lit by the moonlight pouring in through the window. “It was nice.”
Humming a laugh, she turns to look at me as she mutters, “You’re such a man.”
I wink at her in reply and she squeezes my leg before shifting her attention back out onto the city. We ride in a comfortable silence for the duration of our trip back to the hotel. It’s been a long day, and an even longer evening, and I know she’s as tired as I am.
Upon reaching our destination, I help her out of the backseat, holding her hand all the way to our room. We say goodnight to Noah and Clay, and then we’re alone in our suite.
“Oh, my goodness, stop,” she begs, planting a hand on my shoulder.
I look back at her, the both of us just a couple steps into the room, and watch as she slips one high heel and then the other from her feet.
“Much better. Thanks, sweetie.”
She reaches up and kisses my cheek before continuing into the room. I shed my tuxedo jacket as she pulls her phone from her little purse to check for notifications. When she presses the phone to her ear and I know she’s distracted, I turn my back to do some checking of my own. I find three missed calls, fifteen emails, a text from my mother and a missed call with a voicemail from Blaine. I navigate my way to Blaine’s message, guiltily taking an extra step away from my wife as I bring my device to my ear.
“Hey, Michael. I know you’re busy being all governory, but I haven’t heard your voice in a few days. I don’t expect you to call me back. I know you’re not alone. Anyway, listening to your voicemail greeting was nice. That’s pathetic, right? Which means calling back to hear it again would also make me a pretty sad individual, right? Yeah, maybe I won’t do that…”
I stifle a laugh, my chest swelling with my own contentment from simply hearing the sound of her voice. I find her absolutely adorable—her candidness and vulnerability alluring and sexy. As I continue to listen to her message, all I can think about is how anxious I am to return home.
“I miss you. Do you realize that I haven’t been able to kiss you in almost two weeks? I’m all better now…so whenever you feel like being rude, I’m ready. Okay. You probably have to go. I miss you. Dammit, I said that. Oh, well, I mean it enough to say it twice. Anyway—bye, baby.”
I save the message, certain that I’ll listen to it again later, and ignore my other notifications. I then black out my screen, discard my phone on the dresser, and proceed to loosen my tie.
“My mom called,” says Veronica. I look up and find her walking toward me. She stops when she’s closed the distance between us, gathering her hair to one shoulder as she turns her back to me. Without instruction, I unzip her dress as she goes on to inform me, “Dad has pneumonia. She promised me it was nothing serious, but it’s just one more reason why I wish they hadn’t decided to retire in San Diego.” Holding the front of her dress in place, she turns back to look at me and states, “He’s seventy years old. I know he’s not in the grave, but how am I supposed to help them during times like this if they’re so far away?”
“Hey,” I murmur, sliding a hand over her bare shoulder. I graze my thumb back and forth across her skin, wishing only to calm her down. “First, don’t stress. You know your mother. She doesn’t sugar coat things. If she thinks your dad’s going to be okay, then I’m sure he’ll recover.”
“I know. I just want to be able to help.”
As I replay her words in my head, an idea comes to me. The second after I think it, my guilt from a moment ago returns. However, along with it comes an anticipation that overrules my moral compass. I justify my thoughts, arguing with myself, claiming that this is the perfect opportunity for us both to get what we want.
“Why don’t you go see them?” I suggest. “When we get home tomorrow, you can look into some flights. Maybe spend the weekend with them. What does your schedule look like for the rest of the week?”
“Um,” she hesitates, knitting her eyebrows together in concentration before shaking her head. “I don’t think I have anything that can’t be moved around.” Meeting my eyes again, she inquires, “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Babe, why would I mind? You haven’t seen your parents in a few months. If you want to go, then go.”
“I do want to go,” she insists with a nod, taking a step closer to me. “I know we talked about us going out there together in the fall—”
“We’ll play it by ear,” I tell her, sliding my hand down her back before wrapping my arm around her waist. “I think now’s a good time. I can’t go, but—”
“No, I understand. That’s okay. L
ike you said, we’ll figure it out.” Letting go of her dress, she presses her chest to mine as she circles her arms around my neck.
The top of the garment slips a little, and I can see the generous swell of her breasts as I look down at her. It’s been a while since we’ve had sex. At least four weeks. For obvious reasons, I haven’t been in the mood, and she hasn’t pushed. Even still, my body has been responding to hers for more than half my life—so it comes as no surprise when it begins to respond to her now.
“Thank you for suggesting this, sweetie. It means a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome.”
I lean down to kiss her out of habit. It’s almost like a period to the sentence that marks the end of our discussion. Except, we both linger a little longer than usual, and then I feel her tongue brush against my lips. I follow her lead, deepening our kiss, and it’s not long before we’re both naked, falling onto the bed.
It isn’t until I’m inside of her that I sense that this is wrong. I’m on my back, watching as my wife rides me slow and gentle, and I’m desperate for more. Only, it’s not a more that she’s capable of giving me. As she takes from me, as I let her take from me, I can’t stop my thoughts from wrapping around the reality that hers is not the taste that I crave. Her passion, her fire, it does not stoke mine. I now know another. More than that, I now thirst for another. Nevertheless, Veronica’s warm, soft, wet heat works my dick until I come. And when I do, I’m not satisfied. Not even close.
Blaine
I PICK UP my phone and the screen lights up, showing me what I already know—I haven’t missed any new notifications. I set the device back on the table and push the remains of my dinner around my plate. I haven’t heard from Michael since Thursday evening. He called right as I was getting ready to leave for my shift at the Lounge. Over the last several weeks, he’s made it a point to call me as often as he can. Even if we can only talk for two minutes, it’s always nice to hear his voice.
Now, I miss it more than ever.
Thinking about his trip to Washington, I wonder if I miss him more because I know how far away he is. There’s also the fact that he’s with Veronica. No, it’s not different than any other day—except it is. As his wife, she gets to go to things like the Governor’s Dinner, and I don’t. That’s not to say that I have any great desire to attend such a function, but that’s not the point. It simply begs the question—will I ever get to be on his arm in public? Or will we always be a secret?
“You seem awfully anxious about that phone,” dad grunts, yanking me from my thoughts.
“What?” I gasp, my head shooting up to look at him. He cocks an eyebrow at me, and I shrink a little in my chair. “Sorry, dad.”
“Is something going on that I need to know about?”
I shake my head and stand to my feet, sure that I’m not ready to tell my dad about Michael. “Are you done? Do you want anymore?” I ask, pointing at his empty plate.
“No, Lulu, I’m done. Thank you.”
“There’s plenty more,” I assure him. Taking his dish along with mine, I make my way to the kitchen sink as I instruct, “You can pack it for your lunches this week.”
“All right.”
As I rinse our plates and load them in the dishwasher, my thoughts wander back to Michael. He flies into town tomorrow morning, but he warned me that he might not be able to get away to join me for lunch.
“Baby girl, your phone just went off.”
“It did?” I abandon my task of wrapping up leftovers and race back to the table. The second I see Mateo lit up across my screen, my heart sinks. I hesitate to even open it, my disappointment so distracting, but then decide I should read it and get it over with. I’m a little taken aback by what I find.
I miss you.
I haven’t heard from him since he moved out. Not once. Now, I don’t know how to respond to that. I’m sure that whatever honest response I can give him will not be what he wants to hear. The truth is, I don’t miss him. Furthermore, being with Michael—even in the limited capacity that I can have him—I’ve learned that there’s so much more to love than what Mateo was willing to give.
I set my phone back down with a sigh and start for the kitchen again before dad calls out, “Lulu, sit your ass down.”
Startled, I glance at him with a confused frown. “Dad, I’m putting away—”
“Something’s going on with you, baby girl, and I intend to find out what.”
Now, I can’t help but fight a smile as I obediently return to my seat. Propping the heel of my left foot against the edge of the chair, I wrap my arms around my leg and wait patiently for him to speak again. Not that I need reminding, but it’s during moments like this one when I am reminded that my dad does more than all right. We’re all each other has left. He watches me just as closely as I watch him. We might not be able to offer one another exactly what mom did, but we do our best.
“You seein’ someone you neglected to mention?”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I stall, not sure how I’d like to answer his question.
He sees right through me and asks, “This that guy you told me about a while back? Right before you broke up with Mateo? You two an item, now?”
My cheeks warm in a blush, and I do the only thing I can do—I tell the truth. “Yeah. Well, kind of. I mean—it’s not official, I guess. I don’t know.”
“Jesus,” he sighs, scratching at his jaw. “Make it plain, Lulu.”
I cough out a laugh, slightly amused and slightly terrified as I admit, “That’s the thing. It’s not plain. It’s complicated. Really, really complicated.”
“Is that what’s got you all twisted up? Checkin’ your phone every two minutes?”
“Kind of,” I murmur.
“Who is this guy? Is he stringin’ you along, or what?”
“No, dad. It’s…” My voice trails off, my vocabulary suddenly insufficient for the topic at hand. Still sure that I’m not ready to see the look in dad’s eyes when he finds out I’m dating a married man, I drop my foot to the floor and scoot to the edge of my chair. Reaching over to pat his hand, I tell him, “I like him.” As soon as the words pass my lips, my heart tells me that’s a gross understatement. “A lot,” I tack on. “Anyway, we just—I don’t know—we met under unusual circumstances and so it’s taking longer than normal for us to, I guess, figure out what we are. Just know that when I’m ready, I’ll tell you all about him. Okay? Can you trust me?”
He studies me for a second before offering me a decisive nod, and I smile at him.
“Let me finish putting away the food. You’ll make me miss kickoff to the first Sunday night pre-season game,” I tease, raising an eyebrow.
“Shit, that starts in a minute, doesn’t it?” he grunts as he pushes himself out of his chair. “Bring some popcorn when you come, will ya?”
“Yeah, dad,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. I suppose popcorn isn’t the worst dessert he could ask for. “I’m right behind you.”
I FINALLY HEAR from Michael just before noon on Monday. Having kept my phone annoyingly close all weekend, I don’t have to go hunting for it when the text alert sounds. I pull it out of my pocket and open the message right away.
I didn’t know I was capable of missing someone this much.
A grin lights up my face as I read his words over and over again. I’m just beginning to type a response when another text comes through.
I have a surprise for you. Can you get Friday off?
My smile slips as I pull the nub on my cheek between my teeth. Last week, I was out of commission for three days. I only ended up missing two scheduled shifts, but pulling favors to get Friday off won’t be easy.
I can try…
Try hard. I’m ready to see you in that little black dress.
A squeal of excitement fills my apartment at the possibility of us going out—out on a real date. I make up my mind that I’ll find someone to cover my shift if it’s the last thing I do.
I’ll make it happen.
I’ll proposition myself if I have to.
Blaine…
Giggling, I start to construct my reply when there’s a knock at the door. My head still lost in my exchange with Michael, my feet move slowly across the loft to answer. I hit send and then don’t bother looking through the peephole before twisting the knob to see who’s in the hallway. When I find Michael standing before me, dressed in a light gray suit, my stomach clenches at the same time that my heartrate speeds up a few notches.
“Hi,” I greet him breathlessly.
He takes a step toward me, then another, causing me to retreat a bit. He slams the door shut at the same time that he hooks an arm around my waist. Bringing his lips a hair’s breadth away from mine, he grumbles, “You’ll proposition yourself to no one.”
I smile up at him, grabbing hold of the lapels of his jacket and pulling him even closer. My mouth grazing his, I whisper, “Yes, sir.”
He growls before taking me in a hard, deep, burning hot kiss. As our tongues dance, my entire body tingles with a desire that makes me want to come out of my skin. I moan, circling my arms around his shoulders, and he crushes me against him with both of his arms. I’m not sure how I could possibly forget how fucking fantastic his kisses are, but I get lost in his affection like it’s the first time I’ve ever experienced it.
“I want you,” I mumble, hiking my leg up around his thigh.
“I want you, too—but I can’t stay.”
“I know you said—god,” I groan as he kisses down the column of my neck. “I know you said you’d never fuck me and leave me, but can we? Just this once?”
