by Diana W
“This is too damn busy,” I kept stirring. I did do cocktails every now and then, but wine was always my weapon of choice.
“Look, I’ll show you the way to appreciate this drink,” he scooted so close to me that our legs were touching. He grabbed my glass and held it in his hands.
“Close your eyes.”
My breathing hitched.
“Julian,” I started to object. A warning for him better yet myself. I hadn’t been this close to a man who wasn’t my husband since...well since him.
“Close your eyes, Cass. You know you’re good with me,” his tongue grazed his bottom lip.
Shit this felt wrong. So wrong.
“I can’t. I need to go.” I got up from the booth, snatching up my keys and purse, and walked as fast as my heels would allow me towards the hallway.
“Cass!” Julian was on my trail. Within seconds, he grabbed a hold of my hand forcing me to turn in his direction. “What’s the problem?”
I backed away from him in the almost non-existent lighting of the corridor. “This is the problem. Being here. With you. It’s just wrong,” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “And you need to back off.” I found myself angry at how uncomfortable he was making me. Acting like everything was all good. Like our history wasn’t a train wreck.
“So why did you come?” He stepped closer as I took one back, running into the wall. “Where’s your husband?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered barely above a whisper. “I don’t know,” I repeated as my eyes drifted to my feet.
He was probably with Victoria. Making up with her since I was fully out of the picture. Planning a baby shower or some shit now that he didn’t have to hide and lie about it anymore. Touching her the way he used to touch me. Rubbing her stomach or feet. The thought of it made me physically sick to the point that I felt my entire body shaking.
“Cass,” Julian guided my chin up, snapping me out of my daze. “There’s a reason you’re here. A reason you reached out to me,” he traced a vein down my neck with his finger sending a tingle to every part of my body.
I slapped his hand away, hating how good it made me feel. My mind distinctly remembered every single tear I shed over him, but my body seemed to be practicing forgiveness. Wanting him to trace that very same vein with his tongue instead.
“Julian, stop.”
He pulled me by my waist to him as I pushed my hands against his chest.
“I can’t,” I nearly moaned out as his finger traveled downward making a painfully slow circle around my nipple. “Please stop,” I pleaded in desperation.
“I’ll stop if you agree to finish dinner with me,” his lips hovered inches above mine. So close I could almost taste the Crown from his breath.
“Okay,” I closed my eyes. Whatever it took to end this torture. “Okay.”
“C’mon then,” he released me and interlaced our fingers, guiding us back to the booth.
I took my seat, unsure of how to proceed with the rest of dinner without the awkwardness I created because of rogue sexual hormones.
“Tell me what happened with him,” Julian resumed his position next to me, this time soothingly rubbing the knuckles of my hand. A gesture that was surprisingly relaxing.
“Honestly, I don’t feel like talking about it.” I sighed. The shit was exhausting living it, much less explaining it.
“So we’re just going to sit here and act like ain’t shit going on?”
I took a sip, well a large gulp of the wine that I didn’t realize had been placed next to my other drink.
“Or we can talk about your life. That’s what catching up involves you know? Maybe you’ll be inclined to tell me who you were buying lingerie for that day you came into Sultry,” I added.
“That was for a casual fling,” he looked amused. “And shit, what do you wanna know?” He removed his hand from mine. “Matter of fact. Let me help you out. First,” he started counting on his finger, “I don’t have any kids, hidden kids, step kids, or hidden baby mamas. Two, I’ve never been married and haven’t considered it with anybody...well,” he gave me a look. “Never mind,” he stopped. “Three, I love my job, it pays me well. And four, it may be weird that I’m in my thirties with no prospects, but these women are either after my pockets, after my dick, or can’t boil water,” he held his hands up. “It’s slim pickings out here and I don’t want just anybody.”
“Oh please,” I waved off taking another gulp. “You’re probably the problem. Can’t settle down because you got some baggage and shit happening.”
Even married, I had to realize that maybe men were all alike. They love options. Can’t be happy with just one woman who would love the hell out of them down to their funky ass, afraid to get a pedicure because it’s not manly, feet.
“Maybe, but it sounds like you’re the one with the baggage and shit,” he took a sip of his own drink.
“Fuck you,” I hissed, feeling more comfortable saying those words. He was such a know-it-all.
“Gladly and twice,” he smiled with the glass near his mouth. Same ole Julian.
Fuck it. I finished off my entire glass.
“I busted him with the same woman twice and she’s pregnant,” I tried to rush through that last part. “I want out.”
“Wow,” he let that sentiment linger. I’m sure he wasn’t expecting me to unload that much. “I’m sorry.”
If I wasn’t mistaken, that was remorse I heard in Julian’s voice. And I almost believed him. He either sincerely meant what he was saying or was just a damn good liar. He leaned back against the booth. “Damn, that’s fucked up.”
“Tell me about it,” I caressed my glass with my free hand.
The oysters being placed on the table prevented my thoughts from drifting too long on Elliott. My face morphed as I stared at the shells.
“Why are you lookin’ at them like that?” Julian chuckled.
“I don’t eat oysters.” I shrugged. “Probably should've mentioned that while you were ordering, huh?”
Julian sat up. “You don’t like how they taste?”
“Actually, I never tasted them. They just look... disgusting. Like globs of spit.” My nose wrinkled. “Thick ass spit globs.”
“You’re serious right now?” Julian held one of the shells near his mouth. “How can you not like something you’ve never had?”
“It’s easier than you think,” I admitted as he put his uneaten oyster back on the tray and put both of his hands on the table.
“Ok so check it,” he adjusted his posture. “Tonight. For the rest of this dinner. Cass with the fucked up marital problems who doesn’t like fruity cocktails and oysters gotta go sit her ass down somewhere. I need spunky, down for whatever Cass, that I remember, to make an appearance.”
“I am spunky,” I took offense. “I just don’t like freakin’ oysters.”
“Man, I know the legend of Cass Taylor who took three girls out in the dodgeball tournament with one curving ball,” he held up a finger for emphasis. “Used to talk shit and dared anybody to challenge her. And you’re telling me that this same Cass, runs from oysters?” His eyebrow shot to the ceiling making me laugh. “Nah man, get the waitress. Get the check. This dinner is done before it can even get started.”
“Hold up now,” I held up my hand. “I am a legend. I know what your freckled-face ass is trying to do.”
I couldn’t have anybody testing me. Old Cass still lurked around from time to time. I knew Julian was just trying to loosen me up and dammit it was working. I mean...on top of the glass of wine I drank like some blue Kool-Aid.
“Prove it,” he taunted with a seemingly genuine smile on his face.
“I’m sorry, was that a dare?” I held my hand to my ear.
“A double muhfuckin dare,” his head bobbed with a twinkle of playfulness in his eyes.
“Oh, we double daring?” I rubbed my hands together staring at the gross little globs covered in...was that cheese? God, I hope I don’t throw this up. “I got
you. Count me down from three.”
Julian closed in on my face. “Three.”
I picked up the shell.
“Two.”
I held it by my mouth.
“One.”
I slurped the shell clean only to be surprised by the taste of parmesan and something else. It was good. No wonder Denise always raves about them.
“Yeaaaaah,” Julian started howling and clapping. I could only imagine what the other patrons were thinking of our obnoxious behavior.
“You sir, are an enabler,” I laughed deciding to finally take a sip of my confused drink that tasted like something I should’ve been wearing a bikini by the beach to receive.
“And you are sexy as fuck when you’re being free,” he countered, smashing the playful atmosphere into a carnal one.
I licked my lips from what was surely rum as my eyes gravitated to him. “Yeah I’m sexy alright. So sexy I can’t keep my husband from having a wandering penis.”
Shit.
“My bad,” I held up my hands. “Spunky Cass is still here. A minor slipup.”
Julian didn’t respond but shifted over to me, making me swallow whatever I planned on saying next.
“Look I don’t know him and I’m not trying to.” The stubble of his chin grazed the only exposed skin of my shoulder but unlike earlier, I didn’t run this time. “But I know personally, that fucking up with you only leads to torment and shoulda couldas.”
“Julian.”
“I just want tonight,” he looked into my eyes, so I wouldn’t confuse his words.
“And then what?” I stared down at the empty oyster shell. “I’d wake up tomorrow still hurt. Still having to live my crappy reality. Still having to figure out my next moves.”
“Cass,” he guided my cheek towards him. “I can’t stop those things from happening to you, but maybe I can ease them.”
His lips were on mine before I could object. Tasting every bit as good as I could remember. Soft as silk but forceful enough to ignite something I hadn’t felt in God knows how long. I had every reason and intention in the world to say no to this man, but my body wouldn’t allow it.
I hadn’t had any intimate moments in over four months, way before things went south with Elliott. Yes, we had hello and goodbye pecks but that real connection. The kind you got lost in. That fuck being late for work because I needed to feel him in me for however long it took. That kind? No. That had died down in the rhythm of our day-to-days. We fell into a routine of not making it a priority. Our Thursday ritual was supposed to help with that, by giving us a guaranteed date night in our hectic schedules. I got the idea from an online article I stumbled across. People in the comments were swearing by it. But when his cancelling started, so did my interest in trying.
“Can I have you?” Julian’s voice still bold with his question as I fought to find my own. His hands had moved between my thighs I stopped trying to squeeze them shut. I was unraveling. Quickly.
“Yes.” I hummed into his lips. “Just for tonight.”
Denise may not have been able to cook boxed mashed potatoes, but she made up for it with other household chores. Gerald took Tyler to see some weird movie about a superhero ant and it gave her time to finally get to the laundry she'd been putting off for the past two days. It never ceased to amaze her how filthy a little boy could get eight hours away from home. It was like he intentionally participated in activities and ate food that stained his uniform shirts.
She gathered all his little clothes up, along with hers, and made her way to the laundry room. The thought of leaving Gerald's clothes to fend for themselves crossed her mind since he still wasn't shooting off, but she decided she could use that ammunition for a different day. Maybe get some nice apology jewelry or shoes if he felt bad enough.
With that motive, she went into their room, and started retrieving his stuff from the hamper. As she made it towards the bottom of the basket, her expression twisted at the sight of an assortment of single-sided socks, each slightly rolled up. One-by-one, she pulled them out, realizing how stiff they were. She stood there trying to figure out what the hell had spilled on them to cause that type of hardness. It wasn't until she sniffed one of them, that she realized exactly what was going on.
"That muthafucka!" She hissed throwing down what had to be number twelve of the bunch.
The harsh reality was that Gerald didn't have a physical problem cumming, nope not at all. The truth in all its glory was right there in front of her face, stacked up like a pile from a pubescent boy's room whose parents left him alone without the parental controls on the internet for the evening.
An overwhelming amount of emotions and questions came at her at once, but the why is what would make her crazy. What had she done so different to cause this? Their arguments may have been petty and outrageous compared to anyone else's relationship but for them, it was as normal as going to the bathroom.
So, what changed?
Gerald.
No, he would never cheat. Hell, he was in disbelief the first time Denise even looked in his direction but there was something she found so irresistibly adorable about him and his periodic table element shirt, that she approached him amongst his equally odd-looking friends to tell him that. She didn’t anticipate his slightly cocky response of “Thanks I know”, which made her extend the conversation further. That random conversation led to drinks and those drinks led to laughter. Laughter led to comfortableness and comfortableness led to Gerald’s jeans at his ankles while Denise rode him into oblivion on the sofa of her apartment. The rest was history. Yep, she loved Gerald Edward Townsend's dorky ass down to his tidy whities.
"Oooo he better pray I don't find shit," she said aloud to herself fumbling through the pockets of his shirts and pants.
Gone were the days of writing phone numbers down on random pieces of paper but that didn't mean a receipt couldn't narrow down some things. Gerald was a creature of habit and particular about the types of food he ate. There were only about two places in their immediate neighborhood he frequented often for food since he was usually stuck in place with his gaming. Anything outside of that or a high total amount would raise a red flag.
Nothing.
“Fuck!” She bit on a freshly manicured nail as her brain went on overdrive trying to think what else she could check. Her eyes landed on the desktop computer. A device she hadn’t touched since Gerald bought it over a year ago. Her laptop and tablet usually provided her with everything she needed to answer emails or surf the net. She scurried over to it, shaking the mouse to awake it.
Password?
The hell did he need a password for?
Tyler had his own laptop and rarely came in their room unless he was in his words “dying of hunger”.
“What could it be? What could it be?” Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
The street they lived on.
No.
His birthday.
No.
Denise blew out a sigh of frustration. Gerald wasn’t normal, so she couldn’t think normal but what could it be? What did he love enough to protect his secrets with? An involuntary snort escaped with the thought of his beloved game system.
“That’s it!” She perked up and quickly typed it in.
No.
“Shit.”
A sudden idea made Denise go grab her phone off the charger in the living room and search for the year the system debuted. She flew back into the desk chair typing their last name and that same year. When the screen started loading, her fists pumped in the air. Apparently, she did know her husband better than she thought. That celebration, however, was short lived as two faceless, naked animated breasts popped on the screen, followed by the rest of the voluptuous coke bottle shape of a body. The only thing covering -- what she was sure was a perfect Brazilian-waxed vagina -- was a tiny pair of panties.
Denise swallowed the lump in her throat as she clicked on another open window. Same body sitting backwards on a chair. Pink thong swallowed
by her precisely drawn ass cheeks. Denise’s hands shook as she quickly pressed CTRL+ALT+ DELETE.
She turned away and stared at the pile of socks. Almost on the brink of tears, her mind bounced between anger and hurt. Sex was when she felt closest to Gerald. It’s when they were both on the same playing field absent of the things they didn’t understand about each other. Well, mainly what she didn’t understand about him but this? Some sick anime-like porn addiction was nowhere near the conclusions she would’ve drawn.
Her eyes fell to her legs and the sweat shorts she wore. A reminder that her body wasn’t as stallion-toned as it was when she met Gerald, but she didn’t think it had gotten so out of shape that he would result to... this.
But hold up.
He had a nerve.
He didn’t push Tyler’s heavyweight frame from his damn body. Who was he to judge?
“Wait Denise,” she told herself. She was jumping to conclusions a mile a minute when what she needed to do was just confront Gerald about it. That’s something she should’ve done at the beginning but how? How do you approach your husband about something of this magnitude? It’s not like he was fantasizing about a real woman she could put her hands on. She needed help sorting this out and decided to call Cassie since she was the only person she confided in about the situation.
Denise knew she was actively on that stupid “date” that she shouldn’t even be on with Julian but despite her hanging up on her, she needed to talk.
She called three times to no avail. Even decided to leave a voicemail and still got nothing.
Denise knew Cassie’s head was probably so far up Julian’s ass that she couldn’t remove it just enough to recognize the out of character message she left. Denise stood up and paced, trying to actively figure out her next move. If she remained in this house with just her thoughts, she’d break all of Gerald’s gaming shit, along with this very desktop. She needed a drink. Just one. Just to relax.
“Yeah, to get cute and relax,” she nodded into the closet.
Twenty minutes later she was sliding inter her car headed to the upscale-ish bar about fifteen minutes away. Using the valet service, her long legs took some mean ass strides against the curve hugging material of her black dress as she walked through the entrance. She surveyed her surroundings, noting the different sets of people on dates. All of them smiling contently like they were having the time of their lives.
