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“You didn’t.”
“You don’t know that,” I say with a shrug.
“I’ll take my chances,” he says without another word as he climbs in and takes a seat in front of me.
“So, you think of me as your girlfriend, is that what you’re saying?”
“Yep.” He runs his hands up my legs and slowly massages my thighs. He pulls me gently into his lap, letting my pussy rest against his dick. “I don’t care what you want to call me as long as you know I’m yours.”
I hear my subconscious already clearing her throat and raising her index finger as if to say, well technically…but I ignore her. I can’t keep pointing out that he is married. We both know it, and he’s also been very clear of his intentions to rectify that. He’d asked for faith and time and I suppose I could give him longer than the week it’s been since I walked back into his life.
Right?
The idea that I’m being silly and naive flashes through me briefly, but right now in his lap, naked in a bathtub is not the time to have this argument with myself.
“I’m yours too,” I whisper, pushing myself further into his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck just before I press my lips to his.
“Oh my god!” I say grabbing his bicep and squeezing as we make our way out of the Beckham Securities box in the theater. “Oh my god!”
“You said that.” He smiles cockily.
“That. Was. So. GOOD!” There’s nothing like the high of great entertainment. A movie, play, musical, book, it felt otherworldly. Almost as if I was immersed in it and it’s taking a while to float back to reality. That’s how I feel right now, like I’m floating. “I am…amazed.” I stop in front of him and throw my arms around him. “Thank you! That was…” I let out a breath. “Wow. I knew it was going to be good, and somehow, I was still wholly unprepared for that.”
He holds me tight in his arms, like he doesn’t want to let me go, rubbing my back before finally pulling back. “You’re welcome, beautiful. I’m glad you liked it.” He cups my face and presses a kiss to my lips, sliding his tongue along mine like we aren’t in the main lobby of the theater with people moving all around us.
I’m about to pull apart to suggest going back to the room. We had dinner before the show and he is the only thing I want for the rest of the night, but the sound of a throat clearing pulls me away before my idea can fully form.I pull away from his mouth and turn toward the source of the sound to see a man who’s probably older than my dad with a woman next to him who might even be younger than me.
“I thought that was you, Christopher!” He has an unlit cigar between his fingers which is confusing to me because where does he think he’s lighting that? In his other hand, is a glass filled to the brim with a clear liquid that I’m convinced is not water. His salt and pepper hair is slicked back and he’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit that looks like it cost more than what I make in a month.
“Mr. Blackwell,” Christopher nods with a polite smile but I can sense his discomfort instantly.
“Hell of a show. Did you enjoy it, miss?” he asks me and I nod.
“It was amazing. I loved it.” I look at the girl on his arm, but she looks bored and has taken to scrolling through her phone, so I turn back to him. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Well, I’m sure Mr. Holt can bring you to all kinds of shows.” He points at Chris and I don’t miss how uncomfortable he seems. “Tell Beckham I’ll be in touch next week,” he says. “You two enjoy your evening.” He passes by Chris and I hear him whistle a low, “Nice.”
My heart sinks to my stomach and I’m instantly brought back to reality. The high of the show is completely eviscerated as I realize that this man probably knows Chris is married and it is not to me. I wonder if he’s even met his wife at a work function and is…praising him for…his obvious extra-marital behaviors? I notice a ring on his finger, making me feel like that guy probably cheats on his wife regularly because I’m pretty sure the woman on his arm is not the one he promised to love in sickness and in health.
I don’t say anything as we make our way outside where it’s dropped at least twenty degrees since we went in earlier. There’s a night in September when the weather changes, usually following a few days of rain where it struggles to get up to a certain degree and you know in that moment that summer is over. I’m wearing a sleeveless black dress and I wrap my arms around myself the second we step outside because of both the weather and the discomfort of the situation I know Chris and I have to talk about. Before I can even take a step, Chris is sliding his jacket off and it’s around me. “I’m so fucking sorry about that,” he says as he slides my arms through the sleeves. I’m grateful for the literal warmth plus the warmth in his words as he wraps me in a hug.
“Can we talk at the hotel?” I ask weakly. That interaction felt like a bucket of cold water on the whole evening and I’m suddenly very aware that my feet hurt, they’re freezing, and I am exhausted.
“Of course, there’s our car.” He guides me towards one of the many black cars lined up along the curb. We slide in, and he immediately grabs my hand, pulling me closer to him, like he can feel the wall I’m putting up between us. I’m not trying to; I’m just already struggling with how I feel about everything without realizing that there may be times I’ll have to interact with people who may also have their own feelings or comments.
I suddenly feel like I’m wearing a neon sign that says whore, and I do not like that at all.
We don’t say anything on our way back to the hotel, but Chris doesn’t let go of my hand the entire time, dragging his thumb over my knuckles every few moments almost as if to remind me of his presence.
We make it back to the room and just the faint sound of the door closing causes the dam to burst. “He knows you’re married.”
He sighs as he beelines for the bar and pours himself a drink. “Yes.” He holds up the bottle asking if I want a drink and I shake my head.
“So, that ‘nice’ is what? Good job on your new piece of ass?”
He takes a long sip of his drink and sighs. “He’s a prick, and I know you could sense that. That girl he was with was obviously not his wife, and to be honest, he has a new girl every time I see him.”
“That oddly does not make me feel better,” I respond sarcastically.
