Chapter 7

Eventually he’s done. Not wanting to crush the life out of me against the hardness of the floor (Bryan is very solidly built), he rolls off and sits up against the side of the tub, eyeing me with more familiarity than I’d prefer.

It’s awkward moments like this that one wishes we hadn’t all thrown over tobacco. Lighting up a cigarette would give me something to do. Would make me seem blasé and sophisticated, or whatever.

When he speaks at last, there’s a sly grin audible in his voice. “Christ, Jess, you’re a fucking animal. There aren’t too many girls who are cool with bareback.” Yeah, I shouldn’t have been cool with that either. “Never guessed you had it in you, to be honest—you play it pretty damn coy. I’m only glad I ditched my fucking date when you called.”

Um, no. I really can’t engage with this sort of conversation right now. I prop myself up on my elbows. “It wasn’t ... I don’t...” My God, what can I say?

“Ohhhh, you don’t, huh...?” He’s mocking me, gently.

“No, I don’t! This isn’t usual. I’m just ... It’s a one-off, that’s all.”

“Doesn’t have to be. Are you and Mike on the outs? Or is this just a little extra-curricular?”

Fuck, it keeps on getting worse and worse. “It’s ... complicated.”

He flashes his dazzling white teeth. “I like complicated. Should we order up a shrimp cocktail or something? Before going for round two?”

“I can’t ... It’s been a hell of a day Bryan, and I just ... I need to process this now, okay? I need some space.”

He looks deflated. “Did I do something wrong, Jess? You’re a hell of a woman. I wouldn’t want to-”

My head is aching. This has positively got to end, and I cut him off. “It wasn’t you, Bryan. I’m glad we did it. You’re—honestly, you’re amazing. Truly. But I need you to back off now. I need to be alone.”

Reluctantly, he rises to his feet. I pull myself into a sitting position, leaning against the cabinets with legs sprawled out awkwardly, and watch as he gathers his clothes. He’s acting sheepish, which I guess he has every right to after being booted in such perfunctory fashion. “I just want to say: you’re amazing too, Jess. You know that, right? Can I text you?”

“No!” That came out more alarmed than I would have liked. “Look, I’ll call you Bryan. I promise. When I’m ready. But please, don’t contact me.”

Nodding, he shuffles out of the bathroom. I hear him dress quickly in the other room, followed by the snick of the outer door closing. I’m alone again.

For a while I just rest there, trying to make sense of things.

I’ve had sex with another man. What does it all mean?

One thing I know for sure is that I shouldn’t have cheated with someone I’m so closely connected to—or to be more precise, someone my husband is so closely connected to. It’s not like Bryan and Mike interact on a daily basis. But still, 3Rs is a pretty small pond. Suppose he were to tell Mike to his face? Playing some male dominance game, maybe, or whatever it is men do. ‘Ha, I porked your wife, she was begging for it!’ Okay, that doesn’t seem probable. But he might very well brag to his friends and spread around insinuations, until a twisted, magnified version of it got back to Mike. That’d be almost as bad.

What a fucking mess! I should have begged Bryan not to say anything before he left. It didn’t occur to me. My intellect has been lagging a step or two behind my impulses all evening.

Yet ... even as I’m thinking all this, a fresh cataclysm of rage is beginning to boil up in my gut. Why the hell am I even worrying about Mike’s feelings? Didn’t he do the exact same fucking thing to me with Peggy? He practically deserves to be taunted by Bryan.

And now that I think about it, Mike’s the goddamn reason that this liaison tonight wasn’t entirely glorious. Bryan is built like a deity. He’s charismatic, suave. Merely as it was, our tryst was nice. But it should have been more than that. It should have been momentous, euphoric, a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

And it would have been, if I hadn’t been so tripped up by guilt and self-doubt over my fucking cheat of a husband!

Spurred into motion by this nervous rush of agitation, I struggle to my feet and trace a weaving path into the bedroom. Runny drips of cum begin rolling down the inside of my thighs. I want to cry with frustration.

I’m fully able to recognize that I’ve been stupid. Leaving the question of Mike aside, it was grade-A foolish on my own account to become a notch on Bryan’s bedpost. How can I ever face the man again? What if he tells Harv? Everyone in the marketing department will think I’m easy. A slut. I’ve got other accounts in my client portfolio, but 3Rs has been a good source of billable hours and referrals. If I get a referral from them now, I’ll have to give serious thought as to the nature of the recommendation.

Oh, I grasp why it happened this way. Of all the men I interact with, Bryan is by far the most attractive, and the one I’ve most harbored a crush on. Needing to feel wanted, needing my hurt palliated, it’s no wonder my fingers sought him out in the contacts list. But even if I can rationalize sleeping with Bryan, I don’t know why the hell I didn’t make him put on a condom. I may be an adulteress, but at the moment, at least, I’m still a sensible married woman as well. I have no business letting a man I barely know spout off inside me, for a thousand different reasons.

Too far gone to bother mopping up my crotch, I conduct a grim-faced assessment of my situation, pacing the room and trying to decide what to do next. The wise and laudable thing would be to quit drinking and go to sleep. It’s only good common sense to recognize that things will look entirely different in the morning. And, at the moment, I’m clearly making questionable decisions.

However, I’m not in a wise and laudable frame of mind—nor even just chastened and chagrined. Here in the present, I’m feeling sorrier for myself than ever, and angrier than ever, and utterly thwarted. It’s far too much for me to simply choke down and suppress.