Wicked Game

by Michelle Betham

Is Joe still here? I can’t feel him next to me anymore. Is he watching my husband take back what’s his? Is he watching us? I hope so. I want him to see that this matters. This isn’t a game, this is real.

  The fantasy’s over now. We played it out, we lived it. But it’s over, now …

  Eight

  I’m woken by the sound of voices outside in the hallway, and I open my eyes. I remember where we are, but I don’t move. I keep my head on Noah’s shoulder, keep my hand on his chest and I watch as it rises and falls slowly in time with his breathing. I don’t want to let him go. I’m scared, to let him go.

  Memories of last night suddenly flood my brain. In the cold light of day it all feels just a little sordid now. Dirty. Do I regret what happened? I don’t know. I still don’t know how I feel about what we did, I just know that I love my husband more than I ever thought I could, and I don’t want last night to have changed that. We never really had a chance to talk about it, before we fell asleep. I had sex, with two men – a stranger, and my husband. I did that, I lived it, and at the time it was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It was beautiful and exciting, it took me to a place I never knew could exist. Do I want to go there again? No. I don’t think I do.

  Once it was over I’d gone into the bathroom to take a shower, and when I came back into the bedroom Joe had gone. But Noah and me, we didn’t talk. I think we were both too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to talk. Sleep was the only thing we’d wanted, but now it’s morning, and my body feels battered and used and I need my husband to wake up now. I need him to tell me everything really is going to be okay, I need to hear him tell me that.

  “Hey, you,” he whispers, and I look at him. I kiss him. And when he smiles at me I feel relief flood through me.

  “Hey back.”

  He sits up and I straddle him, hooking my arms around his neck. “You okay?” he asks, and I nod. I think I am, okay. As long as he is. As long as we are. “You were beautiful, last night. You’re beautiful now.”

  I drop my gaze, but he tucks a finger under my chin and lifts my head back up, he makes me look at him.

  “Kari, it’s okay. I’m okay, but I need to know that you are, too.”

  “I cheated on you, Noah. Right in front of your eyes, how can you be okay with that?”

  I was only thinking that question, I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but maybe it needed asking. Maybe we really do need to pull this all apart and work out what we’re really feeling here. What really happened last night.

  “It was a fantasy, baby. That’s all it was.”

  “But we made it real.”

  “And it was beautiful to watch. You were beautiful to watch.” His palm cups my cheek and I lean into it. I hold his hand and I let everything I have ever felt for this man fill me, from the way he made my stomach flip like a love-struck teenager the very second he first smiled at me, to the way he kissed me just now, when my stomach did that same flip all over again. Six years of love and laughter and a life I could never have had with anyone but him. Noah Ostberg. The other half of me. “What we did, last night, that was beautiful. And I have never loved you more than I do right now, do you hear me?”

  I nod, grip his hand tighter as he kisses me again and I raise my hips slightly to let him in. I need to feel him inside me, to calm me. To reassure me.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my mouth resting against his as we start to make love.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. Okay?”

  I’m going to try and believe him, I think I need to do that. And I’m glad that we’re going home today, we need to leave all this behind now, it stays here. It doesn’t come home with us, it can’t do that.

  “I love you, Kari.”

  I take his face in my hands and I smile at him. I kiss him. I push myself against him and I take him deep, I need to feel him now. I need to feel us, together, as one.

  “I love you, too.” I breathe into him; let every thrust, every grind of my hips against his push last night further and further away, it was a fantasy, that’s all. Just a fantasy.

  We climax almost simultaneously, coming together in slow, languid movements; quiet moans, his fingers sliding between mine as I drop my head to his shoulder. I want to hide away with him, surround ourselves in peace, let nothing in, nobody else, just us. But I think this is nothing more than a knee-jerk reaction to what we did last night, and part of that – when I remember it, what I let Joe do to me, what Noah let him do to me – when I remember it all it still excites me. It still makes my skin tingle and my stomach contract, even now, as Noah kisses me. As Noah holds me. We did it. We lived out that fantasy, but now it’s time to go home. Time to leave this place, and everything that happened here, behind.

  “I need to pee.” I smile at Noah, and he winks at me and my stomach fizzes with love for this man. “Then we need to think about leaving here. I’m kind of done with this place, and we have a plane to catch, remember?”

  “You’re ready to go home, huh?”

  I climb off him and reach for my T-shirt. “Are you?”

  He sits forward, clasps his hands together between his legs and he looks at me, his head tilted to one side, his mouth inching up just a little at the corner, it’s a quirk of his. I love it when he looks at me this way. I love him. “Yeah. I am.” He jerks his head back towards him. “Come here.”

  I lean over, and he kisses me one more time, and with every movement of his lips against mine I’m pushing last night further and further away, consigning it to that vault of memories I’ll choose not to think about too often.

  “I won’t be long.”

  I run into the bathroom, take another quick shower and brush my damp hair back off my face as I stare in the mirror. I don’t look any different, but why should I? Noah’s right. There’s no reason why last night should change anything. Why it should change us. Everything that happened was between three consenting adults, we did nothing wrong.

  Reaching for the toothpaste, I notice something sticking out from underneath a pot of face cream on the shelf underneath the mirror. It looks like the corner of a business card, and I slowly pull it out. I look at it – a plain black card with nothing but a phone number and a name in small, silver letters printed on it.

  Joe Millar.

  I stare down at the card. Did he leave that there on purpose? Tuck it underneath that pot of cream because he knew I’d find it there? Or am I just flattering myself? I mean, why would he do that?

  I flip open the small bin by the sink and throw the card into it, watching as the lid falls shut. I brush my teeth, dry my hair, and then I crouch down and retrieve the card from the bin. I tuck it inside my make-up bag and I zip it shut. And then I go back out into the bedroom, I need to get dressed.

  Noah’s by the window, standing with his back to me, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, that’s all he’s wearing. I watch him for a second, and I glance back behind me, into the bathroom, and I contemplate throwing that card away again. But I don’t. I leave it where it is, and I don’t know why. I should throw it away. What happened here last night, we’re leaving all that behind now, aren’t we? We aren’t taking it home, so I should throw that card away …

  Noah drops his head, I don’t think he knows I’m back in the room, and that one small movement causes my stomach to dip nervously. He’s staring at the floor, his shoulders slumped, and I keep watching. I wait, until he raises his head again, looks back out of the window. That’s when I go over to him, sliding my arms around him from behind, lightly kissing his shoulder, and he reaches back, slides his fingers between mine.

  “You okay?” I ask, and he turns his head slightly, he smiles at me.

  “Yeah. I’m good.”

  I squeeze his hand, pressing myself against him. Something feels different all of a sudden, and that scares me. But I don’t push it, I just stay there, holding his hand. Listening to his breathing. I wonder what he’s thinking about, but I don’t ask any questions. Because I’m scared
of what the answers might be? Maybe.

  Last night was just a fantasy.

  But we made it real …

  Nine

  “You’re quiet.”

  Jenna’s voice yanks me back to the here and now, and I look at her. “Am I?”

  “Something up?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m fine, Jenna. Everything’s fine.”

  She sits down on the edge of her desk and looks at me over the rim of her glasses. “I didn’t ask if everything was fine, I asked if you were?”

  “I am.”

  “Okay.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. But that defensive tone you’re adopting now…” She shrugs and stands up, going back behind her desk. She doesn’t finish that sentence, and that aggravates the hell out of me. But I know what she’s doing, and I’m not biting. “So, we’re all set for Noah’s party tonight. Food should be arriving at the venue at seven-thirty, Caron, Gerry and Fran are over there as we speak making sure the tables are laid out.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  Jenna raises an eyebrow and casts me a wary glance.

  “What?” I sigh.

  “You. What’s wrong? Everything okay with you and Noah? Only, it’s not like you two …”

  “Me and Noah are fine, I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  She slides a handful of files into her bag and comes back out front of her desk. “All of this work you’ve taken on lately, you don’t need to tackle it all on your own, you know that. That’s why we have staff, to help out. We delegate …”

  “I want to get my teeth into something, Jenna, okay?”

  She throws me another look, and I lean back against my desk, gripping the edge tight, and I have no idea what she’s expecting me to say to her. There’s nothing to tell. Both Noah and I have been incredibly busy since we got back from Norway, and we’re both exhausted. That’s all it is, nothing more.

  And I’m kidding myself …

  “Okay.” She holds her hands up in surrender, fishes her car keys from her pocket and heads towards the door. “We’ll see you tonight.”

  I sigh again, quietly this time. “Jenna?”

  She turns around and fixes me with a look that tells me she knew I wasn’t going to let her walk out without saying something else.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just … Noah’s been at the restaurant for what feels like days without me seeing him for more than five minutes at a time, and I feel like …” I drop my gaze, drag a hand back through my hair. And then I raise my head and look straight at her. “I just want some time with him. We haven’t had much of that since we got back from Norway.”

  “Not in the party mood, huh?”

  I smile, and she returns it. “No, we’re both looking forward to tonight, I just …” I shake my head, I don’t want to say any more. I don’t want to invite a conversation I’m not ready to have, even with someone who knows me inside out.

  “Kari, if you and Noah are having problems …”

  “No! Jesus, no, we’re not having problems.”

  Aren’t we? He’s rarely home, I’m looking for work that’ll keep me busy for weeks on end, why are we both suddenly trying to find reasons not to spend time together? Why are we doing that? And why am I still holding onto that card?

  Joe Millar …

  I brought it home, I didn’t throw it away. It’s tucked inside the protective wallet that holds my mobile phone. I still have it. I just don’t know why.

  “It’s nothing, Jen. I’m just being stupid, that’s all.”

  “Listen, Kari, I know you, okay? I know you let those insecurities of yours take over sometimes, and I know that once you do that you find it hard to let go …”

  “That isn’t it, Jenna.”

  “Then, what is it? Because something’s wrong, and don’t spiel me any more shit about it being otherwise. What happened in Norway?”

  “Nothing happened in Norway. Really, Jenna, everything’s fine.”

  She throws back her head and lets out the biggest sigh of frustration. “Jesus! You’d try the patience of a bloody saint.” She looks at me, and I can tell from her expression that she’s irritated by this conversation; by my refusal to share anything with her, because she’s right – something is wrong. I know it. Noah knows it. We’re just both refusing to acknowledge it. “When you’re ready, Kari. All right? When you’re ready.”

  I throw her a small smile, and she turns to leave.

  Would she understand, what Noah and I did? Would anyone understand?

  Do we …?

  *

  “Hey.” Noah throws his jacket down over the arm of the couch and comes over to me. He smells of citrus and berries and I smile at him.

  “Dill and lemon salmon with loganberries one of the specials today, huh?”

  He slips an arm around my waist and pulls me against him, kissing the tip of my nose before dropping his mouth to mine, and I close my eyes and fall into his kiss.

  “I brought some home,” he murmurs, his fingers fanning out on the small of my back. “I’ve put it in the fridge. Thought you might like it for lunch tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.” At this very second, this very moment in time, everything feels so normal, and I wonder if I really am just imagining the chasm between us I seem so intent on believing is opening up. “You’re too good to me, Noah Ostberg.”

  “You deserve it. Besides, there was quite a bit left over and you know I hate waste.”

  “You are such a romantic,” I laugh, tugging lightly on the collar of his shirt, pulling him against me for another kiss. “And I love you, so much,” I whisper, because I do. I think I love him more, if that’s even possible, since we got back from Norway. There are days when I’ve never felt closer to him, and yet, there are days when we’ve never felt so far apart.

  “Love you back, a million times more. In fact, I’ve been thinking about you all day …” He leans in to me, nuzzles my neck and I throw back my head and enjoy his touch. I bury my fingers in his hair, wriggle out of my underwear as he pushes me back against the wall. He lifts me up, and as he pushes inside me I wrap my legs around him, close my eyes and take him. Sex is everything to us, it keeps us close, we stop doing this and I know we’re dead. We’re not there yet. We may have had days when we barely spent any time under the same roof, but every time our paths cross this happens – we exchange a few words, and then we fuck. It’s what we do. What we’ve always done. Nothing’s changed, not really, Noah’s right. What happened, it didn’t change anything. It didn’t change us. Except, I think it did. I think it changed me, I just don’t want to believe it. “Thinking about you, and this …” Noah murmurs, his hands holding tightly onto my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he thrusts into me, gently. Slowly.

  I pull at his hair, laugh quietly again as his thrusts pick up pace, become faster, his fingers pressing harder against my skin, but that only heightens the feeling as the inevitable rush begins, flooding my body with a beautiful pain that sweeps over me, causing me to cry out as I come; as he comes, too.

  “Jesus!” He breathes as we both cling onto each other, our breath struggling to recover. And then he laughs, and I smile as he pulls out of me; lowers me down. He kisses me, and I silently scold myself for being stupid. For making Jenna think something’s wrong when there isn’t.

  He slides a hand around the back of my neck, drops his forehead so it touches mine, and he smiles the widest, most beautiful smile and I feel my insides melt. I feel like I did the very first time he told me he loved me, like there were rainbows filling the sky and music playing, so fucking clichéd. But that’s how he made me feel. I love this man, I’ll always love him.

  “We should go get changed, huh? Haven’t I got some party to get ready for?”

  I return his smile, and we both laugh as he kisses me again. Everything’s fine. Everything’s fucking perfect.

  Nothing’s wrong.

>   Nothing …

  *

  The party was good for us. We needed it. It was the kind of normality we had to live again, it was necessary. We danced, we sang, we laughed with people we see every day and those we don’t see enough. We stayed out until the early hours, like we used to do when we first met, walking home with our arms wrapped around each other, talking about everything from Jenna’s out-of-tune rendition of Abba’s ‘Dancing Queen’, to how he could’ve made way better chicken and mushroom pies than the ones the caterers provided. We had fun. We were Noah and Kari, the couple who refuse to be ordinary. Refuse to conform. We were everything I love about us.

  Kicking the front door shut behind us, I dissolve into a fit of giggles because it’s almost two-thirty in the morning and that noise was loud enough to wake the neighbours.

  “Ssh!” I laugh as Noah picks me up and swings me around, pushing me back against the door. “You’ll get us into trouble.”

  He grins, and I burst out laughing again. We’ve had a bit to drink and I think we’re both a little over the edge of drunk, a touch beyond that fuzzy feeling, I know my head is definitely starting to spin.

  “Would you do it again, Kari?”

  I look at him, tilting my head to one side, frowning slightly. “Do what?”

  He lets a beat or two pass before he answers. “What we did, in Norway? Would you do it again?”

  I reach out, running my fingertips lightly over his stubbled jaw line, his mouth, my eyes following their every move, I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes focused on my fingers.

  “I think that would be a mistake,” I whisper, and this time I raise my gaze to meet his.

  “Do you think what we did was a mistake?”

  “Do you?”

  He shakes his head, winds his fingers in my hair, pulls my head back slightly as he kisses me. And I hold onto him, my head really is starting to spin a little. “Would you do it again?” he repeats, his mouth resting against mine as he speaks, his fingers still wound in my hair.