Ten days, fifteen hours until Halloween
Jude
Last night, I texted the waitress a picture of my dick like a fucking slimeball.
That’s the plain truth of it.
Now I’m standing at the door of Vilma’s, watching that very girl wait on tables, and trying to decide how to handle this situation.
I’m not going to shirk away from it. God, no. I come here every day, and this is my place. She’s new, and it was simply an error in judgment. I’d had too much scotch, and fuck it. I’m not going to make excuses. I’m married. I love my wife. I made a dumb mistake, and that’s that.
I stride inside.
Vilma is hunched over the hostess desk, her gnarled fingers adding up tickets. I smile at her when she looks up.
“Can I have the window table?”
“Of course.” She nods. “Follow me.”
Zoe is in the kitchen, and so I’m relaxed as I decide upon coffee and toast, and when I look up, she’s bustling back through the kitchen doors.
Fucking-A.
I’d forgotten how blatantly sexy she is. She’s like a bright neon sign, blinking on and off that she’s got young, firm tits and that my dick should stand up and take notice. Her uniform is tight, her legs are long. She’s curvy, and I can tell that in ten years, she’ll be plump. But right now, her curves are like a ripe peach, just perfect for biting into.
I swallow hard as she bends over at a table and her ass strains against her short skirt. I can see the outline of her butt cheeks, and she’s not wearing panties. She’s a bit on the trashy side, but in a young and immature way, like she’s wild and unrestrained. When I think of it that way, it doesn’t repel me like it did the other day. In fact, it gives me a strange rush.
I gulp hard, right as she glances up and meets my gaze.
She stops in her tracks, her temples damp from rushing around, and for a minute, it’s just her and me in the middle of the busy café, frozen as we stare at each other.
An invisible tether connects the two of us, her eyes to mine, and she seems real now, instead of the vague abstract that she was last night on my phone screen. Her face is flushed in an attractive way, the glow of youth radiating from her. Her lips are full, her eyes are bright. There is something there, an unreadable something, but she masks it and smiles. The world unfreezes, the sounds and smells coming back to life around me.
I smile politely back, and she walks straight to my table, holding my credit card in her hands. She offers it to me.
“I’m sure you’re wanting this. If you see strange shoe purchases, don’t blame me.” She giggles and I roll my eyes.
“Thank you for holding it for me.”
“Not a problem. This isn’t my section,” she tells me. “But I’m gonna take care of you anyway.”
She grins again and her tone is a bit suggestive, and I’m wondering if that was on purpose. She’s gonna take care of me.
“About last night...” I don’t know what to say.
She grins again, waving her hand. “Forget about it,” she tells me lightly. “I already have. You clearly were texting your wife while drunk and accidentally sent it to me. It happens.”
Except that’s not what happened, and I think she knows that.
But I play along because she’s giving me a generous out, and neither of us mentions that she sent me a picture, too. I’m the married one here. It’s my job to be good.
“Exactly,” I tell her. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.”
She dips her head until her lips practically brush my cheek. “On the contrary,” she whispers, and her breath smells like spearmint. “Your wife is one lucky woman.”
I feel a pang in my gut and I flush, and when she straightens, Michel is standing behind her with a glib look on his face.
“Hey, bro,” I greet him, pretending that my dick isn’t stiff with Zoe’s implications. “Have a seat.”
“I’ll go get your coffee,” Zoe tells us before she sways away, and Michel looks at me knowingly as he sits.
“Someone looks nice this morning.” He watches her go, and he laughs and I laugh, because that’s what brothers do, even when one is a priest. “I think maybe Jezebel had a hand in designing that one.”
I watch Zoe pour coffee into mugs, and she leans over so that I can see her tits better, and I decide Michel is right. Zoe is a modern-day Jezebel. She’s showing me her goods on purpose and trying to make it seem innocent, and this all has the very real possibility of crossing a line.
That makes me uncomfortable. Having a fantasy was fine, but reality... Well, reality isn’t.
I try to ignore her eyes when she comes back and sets our cups down in front of us. I bury my face in my mug and don’t look up.
I catch her watching me a few times, but I don’t stare at her.
In fact, I make sure I don’t look at her.
I’m good.
I’m good.
There’s a strange feeling in the air, a very tangible knowledge that if I wanted to, I could cross a line with this woman. It’s in the way she stares at me pointedly, in the way she moves around me.
It makes me feel awkward at the same time as it’s a bit exhilarating and flattering. It’s a strange feeling, half unpleasant and half amazing. I could have those curves in the palm of my hand, and I... God. I push the thoughts away.
I’m good.
“How’s Co?” Michel asks, drumming his long fingers on the table. His fingers are identical to mine, and I find myself spacing off as I watch them. “Jude?”
I look at his face. “Yeah. She’s okay.”
“Sister Esther was in Mercy ER the other day. She fell and broke her arm after hours. Corinne set it. Esther said the place was a madhouse, but that Co was very kind.”
“She is kind,” I agree. “And the place is a madhouse. I swear it’s sucking her lifeblood out.”
“Maybe it is her lifeblood,” Michel suggests. “Maybe you should remind her that there’s more to life than work. Take her on a trip or something.”
I think about that for a split second, but then Zoe comes back, and she stands very close to me. Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles.
“What can I get you to eat?”
We give her our orders, toast for me, an omelet for Michel, and then she’s gone.
“I remember when we were that age,” Michel muses as she walks away. “We were just snot-nosed kids. We didn’t know a thing.”
“Nope.”
“You still don’t,” he adds with a grin.
“Bite me.”
“I’m a priest. I would never,” he announces.
I roll my eyes.
“I’m starting to wonder, you freak.”
He laughs.
The food comes, and he eats his eggs, and I bite my toast.
“How about this... I’ll come over for dinner this weekend,” Michel suggests. “We’ll cook out and drink some brews. Just you, me and Corinne. It’ll give her a reason to be a hostess. You’ve got to do some normal stuff, man.”
I nod. “Okay. She’ll love that. Consider yourself invited.”
“Good. I’ll bring the wine.”
I shake my head. “Uh-uh. I don’t want shitty communion wine. You can bring dessert.”
Michel rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” But he’s busted. I can see it on his face. That was totally his plan. I chuckle and pick up the check. I make sure not to leave my card this time, and I feel Zoe staring at me when we walk out. Her gaze impales a spot between my shoulder blades, burning a hole, daring me to turn around.
I don’t.
For some reason, it makes me feel like a saint.
When I get in my car, I text Corinne, just to pound home the thought that I’m good. I’m fucking good. It doesn’t matter if Corinne can’t see the text right now. She’ll see it after her shift.
Hey, babe. I hope you’re having a good day! I love you.
She doesn’t answer, and I drive to work.
I’m just a normal man, doing normal things. It doesn’t matter that the waitress hit on me and I’ve fantasized about her a couple of times.
I’m normal.
It’s all okay.
My day is long. Boring.
My drive home is uneventful, and the house is dark, as I expected.
Artie meets me at the door. She practically head butts me, so I know she desperately has to go out. I open the patio door, and she bounds to the backyard, faster than I’ve seen her move in a long time.
“Girl, we’ve got to get you moving. If you don’t use your muscles, you’re just going to get stiffer. I think I’ll try taking you jogging with me again. Would you like that?”
She stares at me from the shadows, moving slowly as she squats.
I’m not sure she can actually jog, but we can try.
“Tomorrow,” I tell her. She’s unfazed as she slowly walks back inside. I dump some dog food into her bowl. She doesn’t lunge at it like she used to. In fact, she sniffs it and lies down next to it. It’s almost like she’s saying, “I don’t want it, but God help anyone who tries to take it. I’ll just sleep right here and guard it.”
I smile and scratch her ears, then check the clock.
Six o’clock.
I wonder what Corinne is doing. Is she coming home soon?
I call to find out. A nurse answers.
“Hello, this is Jude Cabot. Is Dr. Cabot available?”
The nurse is kind and pleasant, and her voice is very familiar. I think her name is Lucy. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cabot. She’s out on the floor. Can I have her call you back?”
“Nah,” I answer. “Just tell her I called.”
“Will do, Mr. Cabot.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She hangs up, and I hang up, and I’m alone again, staring at the wall.