by K T Morrison
His guts did a noisy rollover, he could hear a groaning squish from behind his belt buckle, and shifted uncomfortably. The palms of his hands had gone damp but freezing cold. His fingers tingled. It got him shifting in the booth, looking around as a panic Flee! message broadcast through his brainstem. Was there a back door? Maybe he could duck out before it was too late...
But Finn wasn’t here to punch his head in. If Finn wanted to do that, he knew where Ben lived and he wouldn’t have to get on his motorcycle to go and do it, he could just march one street over.
As he watched the rider dismount, he fidgeted. Pulling up on his belt, rotating his chin around and flexing his neck, tugging at the collar of his shirt. He’d dressed to impress, thinking he was going to have a coffee with Chelsea. Clean pressed shirt, sporty tie, cotton chinos, spiffy leather boots. Everything about him made him self-conscious right now. The clothes he wore, this intimate spot deep in the cafe he’d chosen. It was a sunny day, there was sidewalk seating, but he’d chosen this cozy booth near the back of the place, sitting in a padded leather booth with his tiny ten-dollar cup of espresso.
The rider used both hands to pull up on the half-helmet, and shook out his long black hair, shaved at the sides, cut ragged and uneven. It was Finn, there was no doubt about it. And no sign of Chelsea...
Finn held the helmet against his chest like a basketball he was looking to pass, dipped at the knees to read Ben’s license plate, confirming it was his wife’s friend’s truck, then tucked the helmet into the pickup’s bed.
Now Finn was coming into the café, nodding and smirking to a table of four well-dressed women that had been watching him closely. One of the bolder ones said something likely sassy to him, and he laughed and pointed at her. All the women turned their heads to watch him enter. Finn stepped into the dim, stopping at the door and scanning the tables. The place was at a quarter of its occupancy and Ben was easy to spot, everyone else with any sense taking up the sunshine spots on the sidewalk. Finn spotted him, and his gaunt face changed instantly to recognition and happiness. Finn mouthed, Hey, and waved. He sauntered through the empty tables, tromped the step to the raised platform where the booths were, threw himself into the booth opposite Ben. “Beauty day, eh?”
“It is,” Ben said quietly.
Finn bounced around while getting comfortable, stretching out in the leather banquette then tweaking a menu over to himself so he could read it. He asked Ben, “What did you get?”
“Espresso.”
“Ooh, sounds good, I’ll have that,” he said. Then he was raising an arm, waving to the busy carousel in the center of the big restaurant where the baristas resided. Ben watched Finn’s muscles move under all the tattoos on his skin. The guy had some good muscle on him, and now Ben wondered what he looked like with his shirt off. He shook the thought away, because it came abruptly and unwanted. Today Finn wore a plain black T-shirt with a V-neck that clung to his body. It showed the sharp ridges of his body. He was slim but muscular, with broad bulging shoulders.
As the waitress made her way to their table, Ben tried to be casual, looking out to the bright street at Finn’s bike, saying, “Malevolent Custom?—what is it, the Lucifer? Built on a Harley Night Train, right?”
Finn put an elbow on the back of the booth’s bench and looked out the window behind him. “You got it,” he said. Then turning back said, “You ride?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t. I just bought bikes before, I know two brothers in Libya who would kill for a bike like yours.”
“Literally kill?” Finn asked, eyebrows going up in a worried tent.
Ben shrugged. “Yeah, maybe,” he said then laughed. “They don’t have to, they got me. They say they want something and I deliver it.”
Finn let out an honest laugh and leaned forward, elbows onto the table, getting close to Ben and smiling. He said, “Kind of why we’re here, isn’t it?”
Ben’s mouth opened, but no response came, and then it was too late, the waitress standing at the side of their table. She had a flirty bounce she didn’t have when she took Ben’s order, liking the cut of bad boy Finn’s jib. Out of the context of his home at last weekend’s block party, Finn did seem different now. He was good-looking, but not drop-dead gorgeous. His face was narrow, nose largish, but he had a muscular neck and a pronounced jawline. That crazy shaggy-shaved hairdo took something to pull off, and Finn did. The clothes he wore were fashionable, hip, expensive, too. Then there was the motorcycle. Then there were the tattoos... And he did have an easy-going confidence, one that exuded all kinds of things at once: maybe menace, but it was cushioned in an immediate amiability, a strange allure that made you eager to have him like you.
Finn said to the waitress, “Can I get an espresso like my buddy’s,” pointing to Ben’s, “with lemon. Actually make it two, and bring Ben another one, please. And then put the whole thing on my bill...”
“Oh, hey, no, I got it,” Ben said and then felt stupid. What did that mean?—Oh, I fucked your wife on the long weekend, let me get the coffees, it’s the least I could do...
Finn said, “Yeah, all on my bill—awesome day out there, eh?”
“It was such a long winter,” the girl said smiling, lingering.
Now Finn was leaning closer to her, talking about the weather and how awful the winter was, how great it was to see the spring turn into a great summer, and he had the girl telling him what her plans were, where she was going to go camping, the girl getting comfortable and leaning a hip against the bench on the side where Finn sat, even draping her hand over the rest.
Now Ben could see it in a different way—see Finn in a different way. He could see the charm, could see the appeal. Maybe it made sense that Chelsea was with a guy like this. Didn’t she say all those high school jocks were duds? She found herself an official member of the Cool Guy Club. No bravado, not a poser, the guy worked with famous bands, had a good job, and had a way with people...
“...totally cool,” Finn was saying to the smitten girl now as she backed away from the table, practically beaming. She spun on her heel and trotted back to prepare their espressos.
And Finn was too cool to drop a lewd remark and comment on the blatant perkiness of the girl’s twenty-year-old ass. Instead just rubbing his own arms, elbows on the table, face close to Ben’s again. In a low voice, he said, “Hear you had a great Saturday.”
Ben’s lips went tight and he backed away. “What did she tell you?”
“Chelsea?... Said you came by for dinner, Neve was there. Said you guys had a blast.”
“We did,” he said stiffly.
Finn cocked his head and said, “I know you guys banged,” clapping his hands on the backs of his arms.
“Okay...”
“Yeah, she told you I was cool...?”
“She did.”
“It’s totally cool, Ben.” Finn lowered his gaze, trying to fix Ben in it. His eyes were dark, almost black, and maybe he even wore eyeliner, it was hard to tell, but looking in his eyes had a magnetic pull.
Ben murmured, “Okay,” again, looked sheepishly off to the barista carousel as the coffee grinder kicked up.
Finn said, “Hey, Ben, seriously.”
“Okay,” he said, “it’s just weird.”
Finn shrugged, said, “What do you think of Neve?”
“She was nice...”
“Nice? Yeah, Neve’s a sweetheart. Totally nice times ten. She makes awesome succotash, I was so sorry I missed it.”
“You were in Peterborough?”
“Yeah, big outdoor summer concert there. Cooter was playing, they had some small acts too, it was tight...”
Ben nodded, his eyes drifting off to the side again, watching the barista instead of meeting Finn’s gaze.
Finn said, “So Chelsea told me about Libby.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That you kinda want to bring her in...”
“Yeah, kind of....”
Finn nodded, and there was still
this uncomfortable brittle space between them, and Ben couldn’t get over that he was sitting here talking to another man about having sex with his wife.
Finn sensed that and chuckled, leaned back against the leather banquette. He drummed his fingers on the table, his legs gone out wide. He said, “Chelsea’s a wildcat.”
“She is.”
“There’s nobody like her.”
“No.”
Finn said, “You wanted to do that with her since high school?”
He nodded.
“That’s totally awesome. Man, look what happened, you wanted something and you got it...”
He slumped. “Yeah, but now I feel bad...”
“Chelsea told me you caught a bad case of the guilts.”
He arched his back, craned his neck to look up at the black-painted ceiling. He rested his chin in his palms, but still avoided Finn’s gaze. “She said she would meet me here today.”
Finn leaned forward again. “She said I should go, that I should make you feel good about this.”
“Good about what?”
“Look, Ben, Libby is awesome. I totally dig Lib.”
Ben’s stomach tightened hearing another man say nice things about his wife in contemplation that all four of them may get together to have some kind of group sex. His heart rate kicked up and he shook his head, pushed thumbs into his eyeballs and groaned.
“What’s up?”
Ben moaned, “There’s just no way this is going to work...”
“I think it’ll work,” Finn said, easing back now at the sound of incoming clinking espresso cups on saucers. The waitress was there, their three drinks on a tray held at her shoulder. She set them down, engaged in a little banter with Finn again then sashayed off. Finn sipped his espresso, and Ben followed suit.
Finn said, “It’s totally doable, Ben. If you’re into it.”
“Libby won’t be,” he said.
“That’s cool, too. She doesn’t want to, we won’t make her. It’s not like that.”
He groaned again.
“What is it?... The guilt?”
“I shouldn’t have done what I did.”
“I get it,” Finn said. “Yup, you probably shouldn’t have, not if you feel this bad after. You should’ve cleared it with her.”
“Libby?”
“I know, you’re gonna say she would kick you out of the house for even asking...”
“I can’t believe I cheated on her.”
“You did,” Finn said. “But if you think Libby might do this, Chelsea’s right, it could restore you guys...”
“I don’t think that. Chelsea thinks that.”
Finn laughed. “Chelsea’s full of crazy ideas. I think she’s right in this case though.”
“I feel like I’m wasting your time. There’s no way we’ll get Libby to do anything. You don’t know her. It’s ludicrous. The other night I fantasized about it, and I can see how it would work, but sitting here with you and talking about it I realize how stupid it sounds...”
“Well, whatever, then,” Finn said, putting his palms up for a second then sipping his espresso. “Maybe she’d go for it, maybe she wouldn’t. I’d like to make a suggestion.”
“What’s that?”
“Let me handle it.”
Ben looked up, blinking, got pulled into his eyes. “What are you gonna do?”
“I wasn’t joking about Libby being a sweetheart, Ben. I had so much fun with her at your place. Like teaching her to dance?... She’s so cute, she really is. Just a little mouse.”
“She is, I know she is. She’s so wonderful.”
“Lib had a good time with me, Ben. I could see it in her eyes.”
“Chelsea said you thought she has a crush on you.”
“I think she does,” he said, wincing in an ameliorative way.
“I don’t think she does.”
Finn shrugged it off. “I think that’s the way we do it.”
“Do what? Get her to...?”
“Get her to do the same thing you did.”
He clutched his stomach. “I don’t want that,” he said.
“Yes, you do. You’re going to have to face it. If you think that’s gonna make the guilt go away, you have to be honest with yourself.”
His lips pursed as the enormity of what was being proposed began to lap at his feet. “Not... not with two guys or anything...”
“Like you with two girls, Chelsea and Neve? No, she won’t want that at first. But I just mean you, Ben, you want your wife to cheat on you... You have to face it head on.”
There it was, the ugly truth jostling on a bed of rice like vomited octopus. “God,” he said, “I can’t do it. I don’t want to do that...”
“You could be honest with her, tell her what you did.”
“She’ll kill me, she’ll hate me... just the idea of seeing her upset, seeing the disappointment in her eyes...”
“It’s up to you, Ben. I’m telling you I think maybe you don’t know Libby as well as you do.”
“Oh, come on, of course I do. I’ve known her since we were like seven years old. I’m married to her, for fuck’s sake.”
“So you know ninety-nine percent of her... I’m not challenging you, Ben. I just mean there are probably things in her that she keeps from you.”
“I hope not,” he said.
“Every woman does. Look, Chelsea’s a wildcat, I just said it, you agreed. She does crazy things sometimes, make me scratch my head and wonder about her sanity. She’s free and she’s open... I don’t know her a hundred percent. We’ve done everything. We share everything. I guarantee you there’s still a part of her I don’t know.”
“That’s a scary thought,” he said.
Finn laughed. “Keeps me up at night.”
Ben sipped his espresso, met Finn’s gaze. “So you think you could bring Libby around?”
“Tell me you’re cool with it.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“Then I’m not gonna do it, Ben.”
He puffed out his cheeks, could feel the cold snakes of regret begin to slither through him, his chance at absolution putting on its coat and hat and preparing to leave. “Tell me what you would do.”
“Let me spend time with her. Let me get to know her. It’s not like we’re just going to invite you guys over and we’re all going to get naked and jump in the hot tub. Some people are like that, but I don’t think Libby is.”
“She’s not.”
“So let me get to know her. I’ll tell you if she’s going to go for it or not, and we can decide then.”
“You just want to get to know her?”
“Yeah. I’d love to spend time with her. She seems like a really awesome girl.”
“She is. She’s so awesome. She’s innocent...”
“Yeah, she is, she’s totally innocent.”
Ben eased back from the table, studied the bitter remnants of his drink. He rattled the coffee cup on the saucer a little, his brow lowering as he considered it. There was a traitorous arousal in his underwear. He wanted to reach down and adjust it but wouldn’t do that with Finn sitting here, didn’t want to give away that despite the horror of his treachery the idea of Finn seducing his wife produced the oddest arousal. He didn’t know what that was about. Why would he get aroused at the idea of another man going out with his wife? Why would he get aroused by the idea of his sweet Libby enjoying spending time with another man? How was he getting hard despite the sick twisting in his stomach? His chest had gone tight, his heart beat struggling against the constriction. The mere idea of surrendering the most precious thing in his life to another man was the worst thing imaginable...
He leaned forward again, slipped a hand under the table and tugged at his pant leg. He said to Finn, “Okay. I can still say no?”
“You can.”
“Okay, I want you to get close to her.”
Finn smiled. “It’s as good as done, Ben.”
Afterword
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