The Holiday Switch
Copyright© 2026 by THodge
Chapter 1: Breakfast at Tim and Deniece’s House
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1: Breakfast at Tim and Deniece’s House - THE HOLIDAY SWITCH After fifteen years of being invisible to her workaholic husband, Deniece Walker's life transforms when Emma Henderson offers friendship—and dangerous temptation. What begins as makeup and confidence-building evolves into something far more intoxicating: stolen kisses in hot tubs, her husband fantasizing about Emma, and Deniece craving Emma's husband Ted. With her $250,000 inheritance and newfound sexual awakening, Deniece no longer needs Tim for anything. But after one brutal
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Cuckold Sharing Wife Watching Group Sex Cream Pie Exhibitionism Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Squirting Big Breasts Nudism
Tim sat at the kitchen table scrolling through delivery routes on his phone, coffee cooling in the mug beside him. Fifteen years of marriage had worn comfortable grooves into their mornings—predictable, quiet, efficient.
Deniece moved through the kitchen in her faded blue robe, hair pulled back in a messy bun. She cracked eggs into a pan without asking if he wanted any. He always did. Toast popped up; she buttered it automatically.
“Henderson account wants Tuesday pickups now,” Tim said, not looking up.
“Mm-hmm.” She set his plate down. Scrambled eggs, two pieces of toast, exactly how he liked them. The same breakfast she’d made thousands of times.
They ate in companionable silence. Not uncomfortable, just ... there. The dishwasher hummed. Outside, a neighbor’s dog barked.
Deniece’s robe gaped slightly as she reached for the orange juice, revealing the curve of her breast. Tim noticed the way he noticed traffic lights—a fact registered, then forgotten.
“Working late tonight?” she asked.
“Probably. New driver needs training.”
“Okay.”
She cleared the plates. He checked his watch. Another morning, another day. Married, stable, secure.
Boring, something whispered in the back of his mind. But Tim pushed it away, grabbed his keys, and headed for the door.
BREAKFAST AT TED AND EMMA’S HOUSE
Emma straddled Ted’s lap at the kitchen table, her nightshirt riding up her thighs as she fed him a piece of bacon. He caught her wrist, licking grease from her fingers.
“Behave,” she laughed, but didn’t move away.
“You started it.” His hands slid up her bare legs.
Sixteen years, and they still touched like this—playful, familiar, hungry in small doses. Emma kissed his neck before sliding off to refill their coffee.
“Jenna texted,” she said casually, leaning against the counter. “Her and Mark might be free Saturday.”
Ted looked up from his eggs. “Yeah?”
“Just drinks. Maybe more if...” She shrugged, smiling. “If everyone’s interested.”
They didn’t do it often—maybe three or four times a year when the right couple came along. But when they did, it was electric. The anticipation, the negotiation, the afterward when they’d come home and fuck like teenagers.
“You want to?” Ted asked.
Emma bit her lip. “I don’t know them well enough yet. But I’m curious.”
“Me too.” He pulled her back down for a real kiss, tasting coffee and possibility.
She worked at the library this afternoon. He had closings all day. But Saturday...
Saturday might be interesting.
TIM’S OFFICE
The dispatch office smelled like coffee and diesel fuel. Tim checked off drivers on his clipboard—Martinez to the industrial park, Chen handling downtown, the new kid Rodriguez shadowing Baker on the residential route.
“Henderson Title needs a signature,” his assistant Carol said, handing him a folder. “They want to discuss changing their pickup schedule.”
Tim nodded. Ted Henderson had been a solid client for eight years. Title companies generated good steady business—documents that absolutely, positively had to get there same-day. No room for error.
“I’ll head over there myself,” Tim said. “What time?”
“He said any time before noon would work.”
Tim glanced at his watch. 9:47. He could wrap up here, drive across town, handle it personally. Good customer service kept accounts loyal.
He finished the morning dispatch, made sure Rodriguez understood the route protocols, then grabbed his keys. The Henderson Title office was maybe twenty minutes away.
Probably just wants earlier pickup times, Tim thought, pulling out of the lot. Or maybe later drop-offs. Easy enough to accommodate.
He’d known Ted casually for years—handshakes at business events, the occasional lunch meeting. Solid guy. Professional.
TED’S OFFICE
Ted was reviewing a closing statement when Emma walked in, and his pen stopped mid-signature.
“Forgot your lunch,” she said, holding up a paper bag. But they both knew that wasn’t why she’d come.
The black skirt barely covered the tops of her thighs. The white blouse was professional enough—if you didn’t notice it was one button too open, or how it pulled tight across her breasts when she moved.
“You’re trouble,” Ted said, grinning.
“I’m helpful.” Emma set the bag on his desk, then bent over to pick up a dropped pen that hadn’t actually fallen. The skirt rode up, and Ted got a perfect view of red lace thong against pale skin.
His office door was open. His secretary was right outside.
Emma straightened, completely innocent. “Have a good day, honey.”
“You too, baby.” His voice was rougher than he intended.
She kissed him—just a peck, but her hand brushed his cock through his slacks. Already half-hard.
“Library until three,” she whispered. “Then I’m all yours.”
She left, and Ted adjusted himself, trying to focus on title insurance while his wife’s ass replayed in his mind.
TED’S OFFICE BUILDING - LOBBY
Tim pushed through the glass door just as the woman bent over.
His brain registered everything in slow motion: black skirt riding up, long legs, red lace thong barely covering anything, the curve of her ass perfectly framed. She was retrieving something from the floor—lipstick, maybe—completely unaware she was giving whoever walked in a full view.
Tim’s cock stirred immediately. He hadn’t had that kind of instant reaction in years.
She straightened, turned, and their eyes met. She was beautiful—early thirties, dark hair, flushed cheeks like she knew exactly what she’d just flashed him.
“Sorry,” she said, smiling. Not embarrassed. Almost ... pleased?
“No problem,” Tim managed. His throat felt dry.
She walked past him, and he caught her scent—something floral and warm. The skirt swayed with each step. He watched her legs, the way her hips moved, until she disappeared out the door.
Jesus.
Tim stood in the empty lobby, adjusting himself. His heart pounded. When was the last time Deniece had made him feel like this? When was the last time she’d bent over in anything but sweatpants?
He couldn’t even remember the last time they’d fucked with the lights on.
“Can I help you?” The receptionist’s voice snapped him back.
“Yeah. Tim Holloway for Ted Henderson.”
“He’s expecting you. Second door on the right.”
Tim walked down the hall, trying to focus on delivery schedules and pickup times. But all he could see was red lace and that knowing smile.
He knocked on Ted’s door, completely unaware he’d just gotten hard looking at his client’s wife.
TED’S OFFICE
“Come in, come in.” Ted stood, extending his hand. “Thanks for coming by personally.”
Tim shook it, settling into the chair across from Ted’s desk. “Carol said you wanted to discuss the schedule.”
“More than that.” Ted leaned back, grinning. “I just picked up a new mortgage company—big one. They’re consolidating all their title work through us.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks. But it means I need serious capacity from you. Four drivers here all day, Tim. Not just pickups—constant rotation. We’re talking fifteen to thirty additional deliveries daily.”
Tim’s mind raced, calculating. Four dedicated drivers, fuel costs, scheduling ... but the revenue. Fuck. That was nearly double what Henderson Title currently generated.
“That’s a significant increase,” Tim said carefully.
“I know. And I’m willing to negotiate rates if you can guarantee the coverage. Same-day delivery, no exceptions. These mortgage docs are time-sensitive—closings get delayed, I lose credibility.”
“Understood.” Tim pulled out his phone, checking driver availability. “I can make it work. Might need to hire another driver or two, but yeah—I can commit to four dedicated to your account.”
“Excellent.” Ted extended his hand again. “Let’s talk numbers.”
“Twenty dollars per delivery,” Tim said. “Standard rate, 80/20 breakdown—your company pays eighty percent on invoice, twenty percent on monthly reconciliation.”
Ted shook his head. “I can do twenty per delivery, but net-30 payment in full. No split.”
Tim considered. Thirty deliveries a day at twenty bucks—six hundred daily, three thousand a week. That was over twelve grand monthly just from Henderson Title.
“Net-30 works if you guarantee minimum twenty deliveries daily.”
“Done.” Ted pulled out a contract. “I’ll have my lawyer draw this up properly, but let’s shake on it now.”
They stood, gripping hands firmly.
“Pleasure doing business,” Ted said.
“Likewise.”
Tim walked out of Ted’s office grinning like he’d won the lottery. Twelve grand a month, guaranteed. He could hire two more drivers, maybe upgrade the fleet, actually take a salary increase for the first time in three years.
The lobby was empty—no beautiful woman in a black skirt to distract him this time. But the image lingered. Red lace. That smile.
He shook it off and drove back to dispatch.
The Henderson account launched smoothly. Tim hired Rodriguez full-time and brought on another driver named Stevens. Four vehicles rotated through Ted’s office constantly—morning mortgage docs, afternoon closing packages, late-day signature runs.
Twenty-five deliveries the first day. Twenty-eight the second. Thirty-two by Friday.
Ted called personally to say thank you. “Flawless execution, Tim. Exactly what I needed.”
“Happy to help.”
At home, Deniece noticed he was busier. Longer hours, more phone calls. She made dinner, did laundry, asked occasional questions he answered while checking his phone.
They had sex on Saturday night—quick, mechanical, lights off. She came beneath him quietly. He finished, rolled over, and fell asleep thinking about delivery routes.
Not red lace.
TED AND EMMA’S HOUSE - SATURDAY AFTERNOON
Ted stood at the sliding glass door, beer in hand, watching his wife oil her tits.
Emma lay stretched out on the lounger in a white bikini that barely qualified as clothing. Three tiny triangles and some string. Her breasts threatened to spill out every time she breathed.
She knew he was watching. She always knew.
Her hands slid over her stomach, along her thighs, taking her time with the sunscreen. Teasing him.
“You planning to stand there all day?” she called without opening her eyes.
“Maybe.” Ted stepped outside. The afternoon sun was brutal, but Emma’s skin glistened.
“We’re meeting Jenna and Mark at seven,” she said. “Drinks at Murphy’s.”
“You sure about them?”
Emma sat up, and her tits bounced. She grinned. “Not yet. But Mark’s cute, and Jenna keeps looking at you like she wants to climb you.”
Ted’s cock twitched. “And you’re okay with that?”
“If she’s okay with me riding Mark while you watch.” Emma pulled the bikini top string. It fell away. “We’ll see how drinks go.”
She lay back down, completely topless now, smiling.
“Fuck, I love you,” Ted breathed.
“Well, if you love me, get over here and show me,” Emma said, spreading her legs slightly.
Ted set down his beer and dropped to his knees beside the lounger. His hands slid up her oiled thighs, pushing them wider.
“Right here?” he asked. “Neighbors might see.”
“Let them.” Emma’s fingers tangled in his hair, guiding his mouth down.
Ted pulled the bikini bottom aside—just enough—and pressed his tongue against her pussy. She was already wet, slick and warm against his mouth.
“Fuck,” Emma breathed. Her hips rolled, grinding against his face.
He licked her slowly, teasing her clit with the tip of his tongue, then sucking it between his lips. Emma’s thighs trembled. Her fingers tightened in his hair.
“Just like that,” she moaned. “Don’t stop.”
Ted worked her with his mouth, one hand squeezing her ass, the other sliding up to pinch her nipple. She tasted like sunscreen and sweat and desire. Sixteen years, and he still fucking loved making her come.
“Ted ... oh god, Ted...” Her breathing quickened. Her back arched.
He slipped two fingers inside her, curling them just right while his tongue flicked her clit faster. Emma’s whole body tensed.
“Yes, yes, yes—” She came hard, crying out loud enough the neighbors definitely heard. Her pussy clenched around his fingers, thighs shaking against his face.
Ted didn’t stop until she pushed him away, gasping.
“Jesus Christ,” she laughed, boneless on the lounger. “If Jenna and Mark cancel tonight, I’m going to be so disappointed.”
Ted wiped his mouth, grinning. His cock was rock-hard against his shorts. “We’ve still got three hours.”
“Good.” Emma sat up, reaching for his belt. “Because now it’s your turn.”
Emma pulled his belt free and yanked down his shorts. Ted’s cock sprang out, thick and hard, already leaking precum.
“Mm, somebody’s excited,” she purred, wrapping her hand around him.
Ted groaned. Emma’s grip was firm, her palm slick with sunscreen oil. She stroked him slowly, twisting her wrist on every upstroke, thumb rubbing the sensitive head.
“Sit,” she commanded.
Ted dropped onto the lounger. Emma knelt between his legs, completely naked except for the discarded bikini bottom pooled around one ankle. Her tits hung heavy, nipples still hard from his fingers.
She licked him base to tip, her tongue swirling around the head before she took him deep. Ted’s hand fisted in her hair.
“Fuck, baby...”
Emma sucked him hard, hollowing her cheeks, one hand working what her mouth couldn’t reach. The other cupped his balls, rolling them gently.
The wet sounds were obscene. Her head bobbed faster, spit and precum coating his cock. Ted watched her—those dark eyes looking up at him while she swallowed his dick, tits swaying with every movement.
“I’m close,” he warned.
Emma pulled off just enough to whisper, “Come in my mouth.”
Three more strokes and he exploded. She swallowed every drop, sucking him through the aftershocks until he was gasping.
Emma sat back, licking her lips. “Now we’re even.”
Ted laughed breathlessly. “Until tonight.”
“Until tonight,” she agreed, grinning wickedly.
DENIECE AND TIM’S HOUSE - SATURDAY AFTERNOON
Deniece poured coffee for Jean, the same ritual they’d shared every Saturday for three years. Jean lived next door—fifty-two, widow, retired teacher. Safe. Predictable.
“How’s the garden?” Deniece asked.
“Tomatoes are finally coming in. You want some when they’re ready?”
“That’d be lovely.”
They sat at the kitchen table, sunlight streaming through lace curtains. Jean talked about her daughter’s promotion. Deniece mentioned Tim’s new contract with Henderson Title—more drivers, busier schedule.
“That’s wonderful for business,” Jean said.
“Yes. He’s been working late.”
“Men and their work.” Jean sipped her coffee. “At least he’s successful.”
Deniece nodded. Successful. Stable. Fifteen years of successful and stable.
She’d ironed Tim’s shirts this morning. Made a grocery list. Dusted the living room. Later she’d make pot roast for dinner—his favorite.
This is nice, she told herself. This is good.
But something hollow echoed in her chest. Jean was talking about her book club now. Deniece smiled and nodded, adding sugar to coffee that didn’t need it.
Through the window, she could see other houses. Other lives.
She wondered, briefly, what they were like inside.
Then Jean asked about the church fundraiser, and Deniece pushed the thought away.
“The fundraiser’s next month,” Deniece said. “I volunteered to make desserts.”
“You always do such beautiful cakes.” Jean smiled warmly. “Remember that chocolate one last year?”
“Three layers. Took me all day.”
They fell into comfortable silence. The wall clock ticked. Outside, someone’s sprinkler hissed.
Jean adjusted her reading glasses. “Do you ever think about going back to work? You were a secretary before you married Tim, weren’t you?”
“Administrative assistant.” Deniece traced the rim of her cup. “I don’t know. Tim makes enough. He likes me here.”
Does he? The thought came unbidden. When was the last time Tim had said he appreciated her? Actually said it, not just grunted thanks for dinner?
“Well, you keep a beautiful home,” Jean said.
Beautiful and empty. Three bedrooms they’d never filled with children. A guest room no one visited. A living room furniture set that still looked new after eight years because no one really lived on it.
“More coffee?” Deniece asked.
“Please.”
She poured, and they talked about weather and neighborhood gossip and safe, simple things that required nothing from either of them.
Later, after Jean left, Deniece stood in her immaculate kitchen and felt utterly alone.
TIM’S OFFICE - WEEK LATER
Tim sat at his desk, radio crackling with driver check-ins. The whiteboard behind him showed eight routes now—double what he’d run before Henderson Title.
“Martinez, you clear from the industrial park?”
“Affirmative. Heading back now.”
“Good. I need you at Henderson’s by two. Mortgage packet going to Greenville.”
Fifty miles. The new mortgage company Ted had acquired generated deliveries that pushed way beyond their usual twenty-mile radius. Greenville, Spartanburg, even Anderson some days. Long hauls, but the pay justified the fuel costs.
Tim checked his spreadsheet. Rodriguez and Stevens were handling the constant Henderson rotation—picking up every two hours, dropping locally. But he needed drivers who could do the distance runs.
He’d posted ads yesterday. Two positions, CDL preferred but not required, willing to train. The phone had rung six times already this morning.
“Tim Holloway.”
“Yeah, calling about the driver position.”
“Experience?”
“Five years, mostly local. Clean record.”
Tim scribbled notes. “Can you do fifty-mile runs? Some same-day turnarounds?”
“No problem.”
“Come in tomorrow, ten AM. Bring your license and references.”
He hung up, marked the name—Williams—on his hiring list.
The Henderson account had transformed everything. More trucks, more drivers, more revenue. Tim worked twelve-hour days now, managing routes, handling logistics, making sure every mortgage document hit its deadline.
No meetings with Ted. Just constant deliveries, phone calls, coordination.
Professional. Efficient. Profitable.
TED’S OFFICE - ONE MONTH LATER
Ted opened the contract from his lawyer. Everything looked perfect—rates, delivery guarantees, payment terms. The Henderson-Holloway partnership formalized in black and white.
He picked up his phone and dialed Tim’s cell.
“Tim Holloway.”
“Tim, it’s Ted Henderson. Got a minute?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“Lawyer sent over the final contract. Looks good. I want to take you to dinner to celebrate—proper thank you for making this work so smoothly.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“I insist. But here’s the thing—bring your wife. Emma would love to meet her, and honestly, our wives should know each other if we’re going to be working this closely.”
Tim hesitated. “Yeah ... yeah, okay. When were you thinking?”
“Saturday night? There’s this great steakhouse downtown—Sullivan’s. Seven o’clock?”
“Let me check with Deniece, but that should work.”
“Perfect. Emma’s already excited. She loves meeting new people.” Ted grinned. “Fair warning—she’s a talker.”
Tim laughed. “My wife’s pretty quiet, so that might balance out.”
“Sounds ideal. I’ll text you the address. See you Saturday.”
Ted hung up, already planning.
TED AND EMMA’S HOUSE - THAT EVENING
“We’re going to dinner Saturday night,” Ted said, loosening his tie. “You’re going to meet Tim and his wife.”
Emma looked up from her book. “Tim Holloway? Your delivery guy?”
“Yeah. Celebrating the new contract. Sullivan’s Steakhouse, seven o’clock.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It’s business though, babe. Wear something casual—don’t show a lot of skin.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “You want me to look boring?”
“I want you to look professional. His wife’s coming, and I don’t know anything about them. Let’s make a good first impression.”
“Fine.” Emma smirked. “I’ll be a perfect little business wife.”
Ted kissed her forehead. “Thank you. This account’s important.”
What Ted didn’t know—couldn’t know—was that Tim had already seen plenty of Emma’s skin. Red lace thong. Black skirt hiked up. That moment in the lobby a month ago that neither of them had mentioned to their spouses.
TIM AND DENIECE’S HOUSE - THAT EVENING
Tim dropped his keys on the counter. “We’ve got dinner Saturday night. Seven o’clock at Sullivan’s.”
Deniece looked up from folding laundry. “We?”
“Yeah. Ted Henderson wants to celebrate the contract. He’s bringing his wife, asked me to bring you.”
She blinked. “You want me to come?”
Tim paused, actually hearing the surprise in her voice. When was the last time they’d gone out together? Really out, not just grocery shopping or the occasional chain restaurant?
“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I just ... I don’t have anything to wear to a place like Sullivan’s.”
Tim shrugged. “So buy something. Get a dress or whatever.”
“Tim, that’s expensive—”
“We just locked in twelve grand a month, Deniece. Buy a dress.” He softened slightly. “Something nice. You’ll look great.”
She stood there holding one of his work shirts, looking uncertain. Lost.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “I’ll ... I’ll go shopping tomorrow.”
“Good.” Tim grabbed a beer from the fridge. “It’s just dinner. No big deal.”
But to Deniece, standing in their kitchen in sweatpants she’d worn for two days, it felt like a very big deal.
TED AND EMMA’S HOUSE - SATURDAY EVENING
Emma stood in front of her dresser, the short black skirt already pulled up around her waist. The same one from that day at Ted’s office.
She opened her panties drawer and pulled out the blue thong—the really thin one, just a string up her ass and barely a triangle in front. She stepped into it, adjusting the fabric.
Business dinner, Ted had said. Don’t show a lot of skin.
Emma smirked at herself in the mirror. The skirt was short, sure, but not obscene. And she was pairing it with a cream-colored blouse—long sleeves, buttoned properly. Almost conservative.
What Ted couldn’t see wouldn’t hurt him.
“You almost ready?” Ted called from the bedroom.
“Five minutes!”
She didn’t know anything about Tim Holloway or his wife. Ted said Tim was quiet, professional, his wife even more so. Probably boring. Probably one of those couples who ordered the same thing at restaurants and finished each other’s sentences.
Still, Emma liked meeting new people. You never knew what might develop.
She slipped on heels—black, simple, three inches. The skirt rode up slightly when she bent to buckle the straps. Blue thong visible for just a second.
Emma grabbed her purse and checked her reflection one last time. Hair down, makeup subtle, outfit business-appropriate.
Mostly.
“Ready!” she called, heading downstairs.
Ted was waiting by the door in slacks and a button-down. He looked her over and nodded approvingly.
He had no idea what she was wearing underneath.
TIM AND DENIECE’S HOUSE - SATURDAY EVENING
Deniece stood in front of the bedroom mirror, smoothing the light blue dress over her hips. Full length, simple cut, modest neckline. The saleswoman had called it “elegant.”
Deniece thought it looked safe.
No makeup. She’d stopped wearing it years ago—what was the point? Tim never noticed anyway.
She turned sideways, checking her reflection. The dress hid everything. Her breasts, her waist, her legs. Even her arms were covered to the wrists.
You look like you’re going to church, she thought. Or a funeral.
“You ready?” Tim appeared in the doorway, keys jingling. He barely glanced at her. “Looks nice.”
“Thanks.”
He was already heading downstairs.
Deniece grabbed her purse—the black one she’d carried for six years—and followed him. Her sensible flats were quiet on the stairs.
In the car, Tim scrolled through his phone while she sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap.
Just dinner.
No big deal.
SULLIVAN’S STEAKHOUSE - SATURDAY EVENING
Ted and Emma sat at the corner table, menus untouched. Ted leaned forward, keeping his voice low.
“Listen, I need you to be on your best behavior tonight.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning don’t talk about sex or swapping. These are not that kind of people, okay? Tim’s all business. His wife sounds even more reserved.”
“You think I can’t be appropriate?” Emma smiled innocently.
“I think you like pushing boundaries.”
“Only when it’s fun.” She sipped her water. “Relax, baby. I know how to play the good little business wife. I’ll talk about the weather and ask her about hobbies and compliment her dress.”
“Thank you.”
“But if she brings up sex—”
“She won’t.”
“But if she does, I’m not going to lie and pretend we’re vanilla.”
Ted sighed. “Fine. But let’s get through appetizers first before you scandalize anyone.”
Emma laughed. “Deal.”
The hostess appeared. “Your guests are arriving.”
Ted stood, straightening his shirt. Emma smoothed her skirt and put on her friendliest smile.
Through the restaurant windows, she could see a couple approaching—tall man in a dark jacket, woman in a long blue dress.
Strangers.
Just a business dinner.
“This way, please.” The waiter gestured toward the corner table.
Tim followed, Deniece beside him. He spotted Ted immediately—standing, smiling, extending his hand.
“Tim! Good to see you.”
“You too, Ted.” They shook firmly.
“This is my wife, Emma.”
Tim turned to the woman rising from her seat—dark hair, bright smile, cream blouse, black skirt.
Nothing registered. Just another face, another introduction.
“Nice to meet you,” Tim said, shaking her hand.
“Likewise.” Emma’s voice was warm.
“And this is my wife, Deniece.”
Deniece stepped forward, offering a small smile. “Hello.”
“It’s so nice to meet you!” Emma embraced her lightly. “I love your dress—that blue is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Deniece said quietly, already looking overwhelmed.
They settled into their seats—Ted and Emma on one side, Tim and Deniece on the other.
Tim opened his menu, completely unaware he was sitting across from the woman whose red thong had made him hard a month ago.
Emma leaned forward slightly. “So Deniece, what do you do?”
“I’m a homemaker.” Deniece’s voice was soft. “I manage the house.”
“That’s wonderful. Ted says Tim’s business is doing really well.”
“Yes. He’s very busy.”
Deniece studied Emma across the table. She was pretty—confident in a way Deniece had never been. The blouse was professional, but something about her energy felt ... different.
Why are we even here? Deniece thought. This was business. Contracts and deliveries. What did wives have to do with any of it?
The men were already deep in conversation about routing schedules.
“Do you have hobbies?” Emma asked, smiling warmly.
“I ... bake sometimes. And I have coffee with my neighbor.”
Emma’s smile didn’t waver, but Deniece saw something flicker in her eyes.
Pity, maybe.
Or curiosity.
Deniece looked down at her menu, feeling suddenly very small.
Emma saw the look on Deniece’s face—small, uncertain, out of place.
“I don’t know why my husband always has to have the wives at these meetings,” Emma said, rolling her eyes conspiratorially. “Like we care about delivery schedules and contracts.”
Deniece looked up, surprised.
“Right?” Emma continued. “Ted insisted I come. Said it was important to meet you both. But honestly, they could’ve done this over lunch without us.”
A small smile touched Deniece’s lips. “Tim barely told me until last minute.”
“Men.” Emma laughed. “Well, since we’re stuck here, we might as well enjoy the food. Have you been here before?”
“No. Never.”
“The filet is amazing. And the lobster mac and cheese—oh my god.”
For the first time that evening, Deniece relaxed slightly.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible.