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Chase
I have asked myself at least a million times in the last week just how long the taste of lemon blueberry tea can stain my lips. I’ve been tortured with it since she kissed me in the lobby of that damn hotel.
I was overcome with emotions, shock, need, desperation, but the one that stuck out the most was guilt.
Emily was right there, a witness to the whole thing. I knew what she was going to do the second Madison lifted up on her toes. I was hit with shame for wanting it because of my wife, the very same woman who cheated on me with the guy I thought was my best friend.
I’ve been married for the better part of my adult life. I’ve turned down numerous women over the years because I may be a lot of things, but a cheater I am not.
I added my tongue into the mix out of spite. I have no reason to feel guilt or shame. Still, married or not, I don’t owe Emily a damn thing. But that simple swipe of my tongue happened in front of my kids. They witnessed my mouth on someone other than their mother, not that they ever saw any intimacy between Emily and me. That ship sailed long before they were able to form memories.
I got further with Sandy Wells at our freshman formal, yet I’ve had flashbacks of that simple, tea-sweetened kiss more times than I can count. So many that I’ve been tempted to call Mike’s and see if they can’t somehow manage to ship me a gallon of the stuff so I could relive it over and over.
I wouldn’t even call the damn thing a kiss. Our lips didn’t even lock together for fuck’s sake.
Emily was down for any suggestion when we got together.
Road head?Unzip, baby. I’ve got you.
Discreetly riding me while tucked away in a beach cabana?I’m already wet for you.
Adding another woman for the night?Did you have your eye on Courtney because she loves eating pussy?
She always told me she’d never tell me no, and God help me, I pressed the limits when I was younger. I was living the dream, being catered to sexually by a woman who wanted my every need met and then some. Her devotion was unparalleled. I thought I had it all, but then we got married, and I was blind to the manipulation. At the time, empty balls meant love and happiness, right?
The nagging started the next day. Hell, hindsight should’ve led me right to the courthouse for an annulment because we were too drunk on our wedding night to consummate our marriage.
I shove that thought down. I’d take years of personal torture for my boys, and if that means enduring years and years of bullshit from their mother, then so be it. I wouldn’t change being their father for anything in the world despite the manipulation Emily used to give me that role. I’ll always feel guilty for being pissed off initially when she told me she was pregnant. I’ve done my best to prove to my boys every day that I love them and have always valued them. I wish Emily felt the same way. I wouldn’t hate dealing with her so much if the boys actually cared about her existence, but they don’t. Kids are excellent at knowing when they’re wanted and when they aren’t. It didn’t take long for the boys to learn that they shouldn’t waste their energy where she’s concerned. It’s why I spoil them so much. They’re missing half of what they deserve.
I dart my eyes away the second I hear her footsteps on the marble floors. I’ve gotten good at realizing when she’s close despite her walking around the house barefoot.
The summer heat in Texas is unbearable most days, but the flooring is always cool.
“You’re going to get my feet dirty,” she says under her breath as she walks past me with her clipboard in her hands.
I look down at my shoes before using the toes of the opposite foot to kick them off.
I don’t know when she adopted the hard-and-fast rule that we weren’t allowed to wear shoes in the house, but the boys took to it like a fish to water. They’d prefer to run around butt-ass naked if they were given permission to do so.
I grumble my irritation as I carry my shoes to the closet she’s designated for such things, but in a moment of pettiness, I drop them by the front door. My smile slips away quickly when I turn back around and see her scowling at me.
I open my mouth to tell her I’m minutes away from heading back to work since lunch is over, but I quickly realize I’m a grown-ass man and this is my damn house.
She turns her attention away from me, her eyes darting over the walls once again before pulling a tape measure from her waistband.
I head into the kitchen, leaving her to work on decorating—interior designing—my house.
If I stay and watch, I’ll try to interject myself into her project. I can only take so many scowls and so much disappointment in my day.
I drain the coffee carafe into my cup, combining it with the coffee I still haven’t drank from this morning. I probably won’t drink this one either, but my pettiness knows no bounds these days, it seems.
Of course, my mind is right back on that kiss when I head to the front door to put my damn shoes back on, but I don’t risk a look in Madison’s direction.
“Chase.”
I freeze with my hand on the doorknob. The part of me that sometimes lives in an alternate universe makes my heart pound at the off chance that she’s stopping me so I can kiss her goodbye.
The boys are down for their afternoon nap, and I do my best to always make it back to the house to be involved in this part of their daily routine. My mind races with all the things that we could accomplish in the next hour and a half.
