Jacqueline

Sex on the table. That’s a new one. A sexy one. I can still feel the tickle of a sly smile on my mouth as I toss my paper plate into the trash. Vince’s personal pizza was a lost cause. He forgot to oil the pan and we decided it’d be easier if he threw the entire thing away and bought a new pan.

“I’ve done that more than once,” he told me. We shared my pizza, which was enough for both of us, and he sucked down a beer while I stuck with water. I’m not staying tonight. First off, I have things to do at my apartment, and second, I think he might need some space.

“I’m going to take off,” I announce.

Vince lowers his beer bottle and leans back in the kitchen chair. “Oh, yeah?”

He’s more curious than argumentative, but I wasn’t looking for him to argue. I picked up on that moment after the kitchen table where he was awkward but polite.

“Yes. Tomorrow is laundry day.”

“You have a laundry day?”

“Several.” I stand and put my glass in the sink. “Specifically, Saturday is sheet day. I change my bedding.”

“Every week?”

“Yes, Neanderthal. Every week.” I lean, palms flat on the counter. His smile turns sad, or maybe he’s tired. It’s hard to say because sex has muddied things between us where it counts. Used to be I’d never worry about why he made the faces he made.

He stands and swaggers over to me, and despite the muddiness and the uncertainty, part of me warms at the sight of him coming toward me with purpose. I like it way too much. Vince has always been sexy, but I’ve never seen all that sex appeal focused on me. It’s daunting in the best way.

“Thank you for sharing your pizza with me, since I ruined mine,” he murmurs, lowering his lips. He kisses me and I stand on my toes to reach more of his mouth. The kiss is deep yet soft, his stubble scraping pleasantly along my lips.

“Give me a call,” I say. “Or I’ll see you on Monday.” I pat his cheek, determined not to be needy. To be fair, I don’t feel needy, just a little confused.

“Butler,” he says after I slide out from between him and the counter.

“Yeah?”

“Drive safe.”

“You bet,” I promise. Then I walk myself to the door.

Vince

False alarm.

I thought I would freak out. I didn’t freak out. I ate my pizza, we hung out and chatted, and everything was fine. The sex was intense and I’m not used to having intense sex. With Leslie the sex wasn’t intense in the final decaying years of our marriage. It was fun and spontaneous when we first met, but “intense” wasn’t how I would describe our interactions. Including her, no one has ever looked me in the eyes during sex and made me imagine an exploding cosmos.

No wonder I had a momentary lapse in sanity.

I let Jackie have her laundry day, but I did send a few noncommittal texts about whether or not the Governator still looks the same age now as he did in Predator. You know, deep stuff. She responded in kind and didn’t ask what I was doing this weekend. I take that to mean that she’s as okay as I am.

Sunday rolls around and I wake feeling more clearheaded. As I shower and trim my face, it dawns on me that Friday smacks of my past. Not with Leslie specifically—we never made personal pan pizzas and made love on the kitchen table—but the entire incident was familiar. A woman in my house. The sound of clattering dishes and a beeping oven. Opening the fridge and asking “Beer or wine?” like it’s an everyday occurrence.

All of it reminded me of past me. The me that had no idea my wife was falling out of love with me and—worse—didn’t respect me or my choices.

This is the kind of shit that holds people back, but not me. I think of Davis. He’s on perpetual pause because of his past. I can’t allow that to happen to me. I’m not going to be a shell of who I was six years later because I couldn’t face facts.

By three o’clock I’m in my car, cellphone to my ear. Jackie’s voice answers, a sweet, slightly breathy “Hi.”

“Hi.” I smile. Big. “What are you up to today, Butler?”

“Cleaning.”

“Oh, yeah? Wearing one of those cute little maid outfits?”

She chuckles. I’m semihard imagining her amazing breasts testing the seams of a black lace corset. Damn.

“You know, I quit wearing those. They’re not comfortable for vacuuming.”

I groan, because that visual gets me all the way hard. “Thought I’d come get you for dinner later. You interested?”

“Oh.” A pause. Not a good pause, either. One of those pauses that means she’s trying to decide how to politely tell me no.

“No big deal if you’re busy,” I bumble out, trying to cram the words back into my mouth. “I was nearby—”

“My sister’s coming over tonight.”

My turn to pause.

“She’s in town for business and I told her to swing by and we’d watch Mean Girls and order out. I’d invite you but…”

“But I don’t have a vagina,” I finish.

“Bethany would love to see you, though.” I hear the smile in her voice, which soothes the wound from her rejection. “Why don’t you swing by and have a beer?”

“It’s fine, really.” The words “I miss you” cling to my tongue and I figure it’s better not to admit it. “I’ll call Davis. I know he’ll be up for a dude night. He always is.”

“Well, tell him I say hello.”

“Will do, Butler.”

We hang up and the disappointment at not seeing her settles in the bottom of my gut. I pull to a stop at a curb and try to decide what to do with myself now that I’m not en route to the flower shop to buy nonroses for Jackie.

Davis answers before the phone even rings.

“Carson, what’s up?”

“Beers at McGreevy’s?”

“No, I have a thing.”

“It’s not polite to call your girlfriends ‘things,’ ” I remind him.

“My thing is poker with a few guys from work.”

“On a Sunday?” He works from home. What guys from work is he playing poker with on the weekend?

“Commerce never sleeps, my friend. We had a preweek meeting at an on-site office today and I invited the guys to my place for cards. They’re a mixed bag. Come over so I have someone normal to talk to.”

“I don’t know…” I haven’t played cards for money since Leslie and I used to have separate girls’ and guys’ nights.

“For your own good, Carson. I can’t bear the idea of you spending the evening alone.” He’s smiling. The asshole. “Jackie-O too busy to polish your knob tonight?”

I breathe a heavy sigh. Spending the evening alone is a nonoption now that I’ve been shot down by Jackie, and Davis knows it. “Your place?” I ask.

“Yep. Six o’clock.”

“I’ll bring the cigars.”

Davis’s coworkers are dressed like normal human beings instead of corporate cyborgs. After years of witnessing Davis wear suits and ties almost exclusively, I’m surprised any of his friends wear casual attire. One guy is in flip-flops. And one guy isn’t a guy at all.

Her name’s Charmaine. She’s twenty-seven and cute as a button. Blond, petite, and curvy. Davis hasn’t looked twice at her, which tells me one of two things: She’s married or they already slept together.

She’s on my left, pursing her lips at her hand, which means she’s about to bluff. I’ve been watching her take everyone’s money, including mine, for the last hour. Simpson starts to call when she raises twenty bucks, but then chickens out. I folded a while back and so did Davis, as well as the two other guys who aren’t sitting at the table any longer. I can’t remember their names….

“Come on! Call her!” Davis chides.

“No way, man.” Simpson flashes a smile at Charmaine and she smiles back. Damn, she’s good. “I’m out.”

He throws his cards facedown on the table and tips his chin at her. “Show ’em.”

“Sorry, Simps. That would have cost you twenty bucks.” She lays her cards on top of his facedown and sweeps them into a pile before doing a quick shuffle and shoving them aside. Then she pockets the cash, and I’m grateful I only lost a five-spot in that stack.

“I need a beer,” Davis says, blowing out a breath. “Come on, Simps. I’ll buy you one.”

They amble into Davis’s kitchen, which is attached to the dining room. Davis lives in a fancy apartment building near downtown. He has the penthouse balcony suite with an impressive view of the skyline.

“How can you live with yourself, ripping off your coworkers like that?” I ask Charmaine with a smile.

“It’s easy.” She turns to face me, resting her elbow on the chair. “I work with a lot of men who get paid more than me, so technically I’m recouping some of my missing income.”

I chuckle. She has me there.

She covers her mouth as she yawns and pushes herself up. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah.” A long day of spending it without Jackie. Yesterday didn’t feel as long, but then I’d just seen her. How can I miss her already?

“Where are you headed, Vince?” Charmaine asks, her voice huskier than before.

“Home after this one.” I waggle my bottle to show her it’s nearly empty.

“Would you like some company?”

“Uh…” I stall because she’s caught me completely off guard.

She leans forward and reiterates, “I mean in your bed. You’re fun.”

A completely uncomfortable laugh leaves my throat and her smile fades. “I’m not laughing at you. I’ve just never been asked quite that way before. I’m going to have to politely decline. My—Jackie would kill me.”

“Ah. Girlfriend.” Charmaine blinks and her bedroom eyes are no more. I don’t feel an ounce of loss or curiosity about her or what she might be like in bed. There was a time I would’ve, though, which she deserves to know.

“Something like that.” I keep my voice low and add, “A few months ago, I couldn’t have said yes fast enough.”

“You’re sweet.” She kisses my cheek and I let her. “You’re a lucky guy to have found a woman worth putting adventure on hold.”

She swivels on one heel and gathers her purse. Once she’s in the kitchen saying goodbye to everyone, I notice Davis watching me, his mouth tight at the corners. Half an hour later, his buddies from work have finished their beers and one by one trickle out the door.

Then it’s Davis and me. I was going to leave after I finished this one, but I didn’t. There’s an inch of warm beer in the bottle and the label is missing. Once we’re clear of any of his compatriots, I speak up.

“It wasn’t what it looked like with Charmaine.”

“It wasn’t?” He sits across from me at his glass-topped kitchen table and folds his hands. “You didn’t turn down Char for sex?”

“Okay, I guess it was what it looked like. I didn’t want you to think I was flirting. What’s your story with her anyway?”

“No story.” He shakes his head with finality.

“Is she single?”

“Yes.”

“And she’s blond. Didn’t you date her?”

“No.” He looks at me like I’ve gone insane. Maybe I have and I’m having this conversation in an asylum with a fat guy named Tumbles, because in no way should my accusation come as a surprise.

“Davis. She’s blond. You date every blond you can get your hands on. My assumption isn’t that out of left field.”

“I don’t date women I work with.”

“Even when she asked you to bed, no strings? Still a no?”

Davis goes pale. “That’s what she offered you?”

“Yes, but in a tasteful way.” I point my bottle at him.

“Jackie-O,” he says as if it’s all the explanation needed.

The thing is, it is all the explanation needed. Or at least it’s the only one he’s going to get confirmation on.

“Jackie-O,” I agree.

Davis sits back in his high-backed black iron chair. I can’t be sure, but his smile appears to be one of approval.

Jacqueline

“I’m doing good, yeah?” I ask my sister, rather sloppily, I might add. We’re halfway into a second bottle of champagne and, like liquor, bubbly makes me feel way drunker than I really am. Or makes me way drunker than I should be.

“You’re doing great.” Bethany forgoes her slender flute and takes a swig directly from the bottle before wiping a hand across her mouth. Somehow she looks sophisticated doing it.

I flop back on the couch, to which I’ve dragged all the pillows from my bed and a light blanket. My sister has gotten comfortable. We bypassed Mean Girls for some old-school classics, per her request. We watched Pretty in Pink and then put on Sixteen Candles, but we didn’t really pay any attention to it. It’s in the background, infusing the room with Molly Ringwald, patron saint of the eighties—a decade I wish I’d been older than a toddler during. The clothes are a riot.

“I want to continue having sex with him and not worry about all the things I was starting to worry about with J.T., you know?”

Bethany nods. “Totally.”

“I don’t want to put unnecessary weight on it. Like when should I call, or if it’s a big deal that we work together. I’m not going to make out in the break room with him or anything, but I’m not going to hide.” I frown, because I’m making no sense. “Can I have some more of that?”

Bethany offers the bottle and I take a measured sip, carefully, because the last time I drank champagne from the bottle, I coughed and sputtered when the bubbles hit my throat. Lex was frustrated with me for not pouring it into a glass, and the memory stings more than it should.

“I never got to see what J.T. looks like.” Bethany wraps her arms around her knees. Then her eyes get big. “Hey! He lives here. Let’s go look at him!”

She’s smiling like a maniac.

“It’s eleven at night! He’s probably in bed.” With another woman, some snide, grouchy part of me adds. “Do you want some more popcorn?” We killed two bags, but I could go for a third.

“Sure.” She smiles sweetly and I test my ability to walk by pacing from my living room to the kitchen with fairly little wobbling. Impressive.

Popcorn popping in the microwave, I hum to myself and watch the numbers on the digital timer count down. Bethany says something, but it’s too quiet for me to hear. “Just a sec!” I call out. As I listen to the space grow between pops, I hear her clearly say, “Great. See you in a few.”

I snatch the bag and give it a shake as I head back into the living room. She’s placing her phone back on the coffee table facedown when I return.

“Who are you seeing in a few?” I tear the bag, careful to avoid the steam billowing out, and empty the contents into a big plastic bowl.

Before I can really get comfortable, she says, “J.T.”

Bag in midair, I gape at her. Then my eyes track slowly to the phone on the coffee table facedown. My phone. Not hers. That’s my sparkly red case.

“Bethany!”

I scrabble for it and unlock the screen, scrolling through the recent calls. Sure enough, an outgoing one for J.T. sits in the queue like a bad omen.

“I was going to text him,” she says as she munches a few pieces of popcorn, “but in case he had a lady present, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“So you called instead?” I gape at her.

She shrugs and eats another handful of popcorn.

“What did you tell him?” I all but screech.

“I said I was your sister and I wanted to get a look at the one that got away if he wasn’t too busy.”

“He didn’t get away,” I bite out.

“I know. But he wouldn’t come over if I told him I wanted to kick him in the balls for cheating on my sister.” She smiles sweetly. “Besides, he said he had something to return to you.”

My doorbell buzzes and I race to grab Bethany, but she’s faster than me. Or less drunk. I can’t tell. The door swings aside and I open my mouth to apologize to J.T. for the misunderstanding, but it’s too late. Bethany snatches a DVD from his hands, tosses it to me like a Frisbee, and kicks J.T. squarely in the nuts.

It happens so fast, I stand frozen, a DVD in hand, and my jaw on the ground. Bethany is a ninja. Who knew?

J.T. oofs and I gasp, and then the door is slammed closed, but not before Bethany shouts, “You’re a cheating sack of shit!”

Once he’s groaning behind the closed panel, my sister dusts her hands together and grins. “I always wanted to say that to Lex.”

I rush to the window and part the curtains to find J.T. looking miserable and furious at once. I don’t know if it’s the champagne or the divine retribution, but I start laughing and don’t stop until I tumble to the floor, Bethany collapsing at my side doing the same.

“He’s going to hate me now,” I say through tears.

“I know,” she barely manages between howling peals of laughter.

I join her, despite knowing things won’t end well. Just this once I allow myself to enjoy the moment. And in this moment, life is good.