The Affair (The Relationship Quo Series Book 5)

by Nicole Strycharz

  “I didn’t become a Christian to get Lydia,” I defended, reaching our lockers. I won’t look at him. I need him as far from me as possible.

  “Sure you did. Come on! You became so squeaky clean; you could race Jesus on water. Suddenly, you never did hits of drugs or drank alcohol. You never fucked Gina Herald and you could quote scripture like a pro.”

  “I may have started the walk to get close to her, but I walk it now to be a better person,” I shouldered my bag.

  “That’s true, you’re a model citizen, these days.”

  “You’re a shit friend.” I faced him, nose to nose again.

  “You rushed in with Lydia because her knees were glued together, waiting for matrimony. But you’ll never admit that to her or yourself. She was just pretty enough to make you want it. All the charm you had didn’t work to pry her open, so you put a ring on it.”

  Nine Months Ago

  “I said no bars!” I yelled.

  Lark laughed, opening the door to a bar called Dawn’s. It was down near a big law firm. “One drink won’t send you to hell, bud.”

  I groaned, following Lark into the place I knew better than to travel into.

  Sitting at the counter, I felt like a sore thumb, keeping my hands together, jiggling my leg and staring at whatever game was above the thousands of bottles of liquor.

  Lark ordered a round of shots.

  “Here,” he pushed two into my path.

  When my phone went off, I jumped up from the stool and started for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Lark whined.

  “It’s Lydia!” I shouted over the crowd.

  He threw his hands up in annoyance.

  Opening the door, I slammed into a woman. Her body collided with mine and she bounced off my chest, landing flat on her back against the pavement.

  “Oh, man!” I dropped my cell and bent to help her up. “I am so sorry.”

  Her blonde hair was fanned out against the ground until she sat straight up to tug down the hem of her skintight skirt. It was short, stopping way above her knees. “My fault,” she reached for her purse where it lay a few inches to the right of her hip. “I never look. I’m sorry.”

  “Nope, that one was on me,” I put my cell in my back pocket and put out my hand. “I’m so tall I never see anything south of my chin.”

  When she looked up into my eyes, something inside me clicked. It was so prominent that I could hear it. Her almond-shaped, blue eyes were as piercing as sabers, and as focused as microscopes, not blinking often. But what was hardest on me, was the fleeting pain I saw behind them. It was there and then gone in the same second, but it hit me like a Mac truck.

  “Are you alright?” She still hadn’t taken my hand, she seemed dazed and disconnected from the now, even after being abruptly knocked over. “You might have hit your head.”

  She reached back and felt her head, wincing.

  Without thinking, I did the same, checking the back of her skull, I found a bump. “Darn, I am so, so, sorry. Let’s go to the bar and put some ice on it.”

  “I’m okay.” She let me help her up. “Thank you,” she collected herself, now looking more professionally dressed. “I just came from work. My mind was miles away.”

  “That’s okay,” I saw a tube of lipstick rolling toward the street and went to snatch it, bringing it back to where she stood.

  “Thanks again,” she took it, laughing at herself as she tucked it into her purse.

  “Where do you work?”

  “The law firm,” she pointed across the street.

  “Oh,” I caught myself staring at her. “Bad day?”

  “Ugh,” she fixed the strap on her heels. “It’s always a bad day when you lose a case.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Yeah,” she scoffed. “Not enough substantial evidence…” she raked her fingers through her hair, sending springy blonde curls everywhere. “These are the times I hate my job.”

  “I can imagine.”

  She massaged her palm. “No, you can’t,” she said with that far off look. When she looked up at me again, she put on a fake smile. “Well, again, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “See ya,” she went around me, but I turned and opened the door for her. Watching her walk away, I fought a physical pull. I wanted to talk to her. I wasn’t done. But I should be.

  Remembering Lydia, I pulled my cell out. Just as I looked down, I saw the blonde woman check over her shoulder. As soon as she saw me, she looked toward the bar and pretended not to notice me again.

  “Hi, honey,” Lydia’s positive tone floated into my ear and I put my back to the bar.

  “Hey,” I smiled from the heart. “So, I miss you.”

  “You can’t miss me, we were together three hours ago, and shall be together again in like, five more,” she teased.

  “That’s a long time.”

  She giggled, lifting my spirit. “How is Lark?”

  “He’s Lark. You know how they say God looks after drunks and fools? Yeah, Lark is both.”

  She laughed again until a snort escaped her. I love it. I love even her flaws. “Stop!” she gasped. “He’s your friend.”

  “I don’t know why.”

  “He needs you,” she said sweetly. “I don’t think he has many people to lean on, and you need your guy nights. Go have fun, then come home to me.”

  “I would rather just come home to you.”

  “Good, because I want you.”

  “Say that again,” I can feel my face hurting from the grin on my face.

  She laughed again, but then composed herself, saying the words with more meaning. “I want you.”

  I shut my eyes and let her voice sink into my bones. “Are you ovulating? Please say yes, then I could leave and just—”

  “I’m not, but you don’t need an excuse to have me. However, you promised Lark a full day of goofing, so…”

  “Right,” I rolled my eyes at myself. “It might be later than I said. He took me to a bar. I’m pretty sure he’ll be drunk before we finish this call.”

  “Don’t leave him, okay? I don’t trust him to know better when it comes to driving.”

  “I know, I made him take a cab even though he promised no bars.”

  “Stay over if you have to.”

  “You mean, babysit.”

  “It’s good practice. See if you can get him to bed. They say drunks are the same as toddlers.”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” I mocked.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you,” I meant it. I always mean it. I always will. After we hung up, I met up with Lark. He was looming over the woman I knocked into, flirting grossly.

  “They say the Man Bun is out, but come on, it looks good,” Lark pointed to his hair.

  “Right,” the woman crossed her leg in the other direction and leaned on the bar, rubbing her neck. All signs she didn’t want to be bothered.

  “Vote, what do you think?” Lark pushed. “You look like you have good fashion sense. Tell me what you think.”

  “I think I want to drink and not talk,” she lifted her glass to him, as if to say cheers, then drank.

  “What are you having? I’ll buy you another,” Lark leaned on the bar beside her, deliberately brushing her shoulder.

  “I’m good,” she pulled her body away.

  “At what?” he asked suggestively.

  “Lark,” I gave him a chin lift before gently siding between them, my back to the woman. “Quit,” I warned.

  “I didn’t do anything,” he defended.

  “She’s not interested, flirt with the Olsen twins over there,” I turned his shoulders to where a pair of blondes sat. “Look, go.”

  Lark shifted his attention to the blondes. “Those aren’t twins.”

  “Just go.”

  “Okay, but I’m just saying, they aren’t twins.”

  “Go.”

  He slinked over and I watched him in his element.

  “Th
ey must have an IQ of four if they flirt back,” the woman said behind me.

  I turned around to face her but put a safe gap between us. “Believe it or not, he’ll probably score. He’s an irresponsible turd, but he’s got game and women seem to think he’s something to look at.”

  “Him?” she frowned and pointed at Lark.

  “Yeah,” I laughed. “In high school, he was like the second most popular kid in the building.”

  “Who was the first?”

  “Me.”

  We laughed.

  “I was,” I said with conviction. “I was on a winning basketball team and mom got me on proactive before my zits became outrageous.”

  She laughed harder, some of the ghosts behind her eyes retreating to corners. “Basketball, huh?”

  “I still play for fun.”

  “Is it the natural calling for tall guys, to play basketball?”

  “We come out of the womb, dribbling.”

  She drank but then brought her attention back to mine. She ordered another shot and did as Lark had, sliding it in front of me.

  I should have said, “No thanks,” but instead, I told myself that one sip wouldn’t offend God or my convictions. The issue is that if you are weak-natured, bending leads to a break.

  I searched for something to say, not wanting to leave her company yet, feeling obligated due to the liquor she just sent me. The song Weak by AJR came over the speakers and I listened, surprised by the accuracy of the lyrics in the opening.

  “So, what do you do?” I inwardly winced a little inside. That sounded like a come-on.

  “I’m a lawyer,” she slowly smiled, two dimples appearing in each her cheeks. “I told you that outside.”

  I let the alcohol burn the back of my throat as an excuse not to talk right away. “Yes, right, well, I may look like a man in his thirties, but I’m really in my nineties and have a touch of dementia, so be kind.”

  She nodded. “Got it. That explains the khaki pants and overall out-of-place demeanor.”

  I looked down at my pants. “I’ll have you know, these are all the rage, now.”

  “Uh huh…”

  “I’m Noah, by the way.”

  She offered her hand. “Ruby.”

  “Hi.”

  “Hi again.” Ruby’s eyes scanned me quickly, enough to come to her own conclusions, but not enough to read into what those were.

  An hour passed before I noticed.

  Lark was grinding on the women I sent him to, dancing to a beat that was thick with lust.

  “Do you like Pitbull?” Ruby asked me. She was closer than before. I’m not sure when our bar stools inched so near to one another’s.

  “I love dogs,” I answered after taking another swallow of beer. Her shot led to another, and that one made me miss beer. I’ve never overindulged as a habit, but the environment and the company lowered my inhibitions.

  Ruby’s laugh was hilarious. “Not Pitbull dogs… Pitbull the singer! This is his song, Messin’ Around.”

  “Oh,” I shook my head. “I don’t really listen to this stuff.”

  “No?”

  “No, I uh, I prefer cleaner music.”

  Her mind worked to get my meaning. “Oh, you must be some stuck-up, preppy guy from upstate.”

  I held up my wrist. “With a watch from Walmart? I don’t think so, lady.”

  “Clean music?” She repeated. “Then you shouldn’t be in here. Why clean?”

  “I’m…”

  She studied me in question, her eyes snagging on the discreet silver cross I wear around my neck. “Christian?” she guessed. When I nodded, she laughed almost bitterly?

  “I take it, that’s funny to you…”

  Her alluring blue eyes sharpened like icicles. “The idea of a God just hits me in the funny bone sometimes…”

  I knew then that I was dealing with someone my church would fall over themselves to know. A scorned soul, devoid of faith. They would expect me to evangelize. But I didn’t want to press for the sake of her soul, I wanted to know where the bleakness stemmed from.

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “Because,” she pointed her drink at the people around us but seemed unable to string words together. “If there is some all-powerful dude up there, then… he’s a piece of shit,” she held her stomach and I saw now that she was tipsy. “What, he just watches us struggle and go through pain for fun? He can do miracles but he’s picky as to when they should be performed.”

  I can’t say I don’t get her argument. “I think, he sometimes gives us the tools to rescue ourselves. To create our own miracles.”

  “What about justice?”

  “Like?”

  “Like a guy that films kiddy-porn getting off on a technicality…” She looked me square in the eyes. “I just couldn’t nail him. I feel it in every fiber, but fibers don’t win cases. So, where was God for all that?” She put her glass to her forehead for the coolness.

  “Everything happens for a reason,” I tried.

  She laughed again. “Little girls being violated can have a reason, huh?”

  I was sick at the thought. “I shouldn’t say anything,” I told her honestly. “You see it firsthand, that’s got to be hard.”

  She put her lips on the rim of her glass and coughed or laughed, maybe she choked. “Firsthand, yep.”

  The sarcasm wasn’t masking her meaning. She’d been through something and it bonded me to her right then. I knew all I needed to know.

  “Hey,” I moved closer, seeing her sway in her seat. “Are you okay?”

  She stood but her heels bent awkwardly, and she fell against me. “Shit,” she grabbed her purse. “I need…”

  “Your phone?”

  “My…” she held her chest. “I can’t breathe.”

  “You want me to call someone?”

  She shoved me off and staggered to the bathrooms.

  I looked back to see Lark with his tongue down a girl’s throat and left cash on the bar before going to the dim hall where the bathrooms were.

  “Excuse me,” I said to a woman coming out of the women’s bathroom. “Hi, my friend went in there, is she okay?”

  “If she’s the one sitting on the floor, then no,” she patted my shoulder and then went to rejoin her group.

  I debated the wisdom of going into the lady’s room. If it was Lydia, I wouldn’t hesitate. But I have no claim to the woman in there.

  I decided to risk it. Going in, I found her by the sinks, sitting with her knees to her chest, in the fetal position, heels sitting by her hip. I came to kneel in front of her. “Ruby?” I waited.

  “I need to call Lorenzo, but I don’t deserve Lorenzo.”

  Her words made no sense to me. “Who is Lorenzo?”

  “My husband,” she brought her face up, mascara staining her cheeks, but she was still stunning. “He’s the only one that knows how to… calm me down…”

  “Then call him.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” she rocked in place. “I’m a terrible person.”

  “If my wife needed me, I would want her to call me. Did you guys have a fight? Because I can tell you as a guy, it doesn’t matter.”

  She held her hands in prayer fashion against her lips, trying to pull herself under control. “I hurt him all the time. All the time. Sometimes I think it’s on purpose. He won’t just leave me; he keeps loving me. I want him to go, but then if he threatens to go, I beg him to stay. I’m a clusterfuck.”

  I took her hand and held it in mine. “Call your husband. I’ll stay right here, you can hold my hand, and let him talk you down.”

  Ruby looked at our hands. “Why do I work in a place that constantly triggers me?” She’s rambling again. “I know why, I have to help the others like me. It makes me feel stronger. But what about days like today when I fail?”

  “Ruby,” I squeezed her hand a little. “Call your husband.”

  She shook her head adamantly.


  Then she cried. It wasn’t just the sniffles or a tearing up. She wept openly, curling herself into my body and letting go. Holding her on the floor of the bathroom was intimate and it became the needle and thread of our being sewn together. A few times, women would filter in and ask if Ruby was alright, but no one bothered us. As though this was a common occurrence at a club.

  A few minutes after, I carried her out the door, her heels hooked over my fingers.

  “What the hell, man?” Lark came from nowhere. “Where did you go?” When he saw Ruby, his brows went up. “One too many?”

  “I don’t feel right leaving her on the club floor.”

  “Where are you taking her?”

  “I don’t know, she’s too drunk to tell me anything reliable about where she lives. I’m going to get a hotel room and—”

  He made a lewd gesture.

  “And leave her there,” I corrected with a glare.

  “You aren’t exactly sober either,” he guessed.

  “I know,” I shifted her in my arms. “Enough to know better about driving. I called an Uber.”

  He evaluated Ruby and I hated the blatant lust on his face. Knowing something personal about her, as I did, she wasn’t just meat, the way Lark would see her. There was damage at her roots.

  “If you do decide to have fun, don’t catch feelings. Guys catch feelings for strippers all the time, it never ends well. Same thing for married guys and random hot blondes in hotels.”

  “I gotta go,” I found an escape and took it, carrying Ruby out of the club. She kept her face in the crook of my neck, even when I set her down on her feet on the sidewalk. “Just hang in there,” I coached.

  “I’m cold.”

  I took off my jacket and put it on her before lifting her up again. I’d forgotten she was barefoot.

  The drive in the Uber was strange. Having a woman, I don’t know, lay with her head in my lap, clutching my thigh as though it were her lifeline. I rubbed her arm, stroked her hair back. I tried not looking at her much. She has a power over me that I can’t explain. She causes a tugging in my chest that hurts, that won’t go away unless I entertain thoughts I shouldn’t.