Slip of the Tongue (34 page)

Two hands land on either side of me, trapping me between the dryers. “You wanted to talk?” Finn asks in my ear.

My heart begins to hammer as violently as the dryer shakes. He smells of soap, and my mind goes blank. I can’t remember anything I’d planned to say. “Not here.”

“Here,” he says with finality.

I open my mouth and hesitate. I know the risk of being this close to him. If I don’t come out and say what needs to be said, I’ll lose this battle. “We’re finished,” I tell him.

“Finished?” he asks, both softly and gruffly. “Why?”

I shake my head. His warmth spreads through me, and a trickle of sweat drips down my stomach. I could have him. Quick. One last time. Would it make a difference after what we’ve done? His astute eyes, his generous lips, his big hands and cock. He’s so much man, and I love to take him all. I steel myself against the dryer. “I have to . . . I need to . . . make things work with Nathan. He’s my husband.”

“You don’t
need
to,” he says simply.

“I
want
to.”

He rakes back some strands of hair that’ve escaped from my bun. Pointless, because he then tugs the rubber band out. He grabs a handful of hair at the back of my head. “You don’t want me to fuck you anymore, Sadie?”

I should lie, but I can’t. My panties are already sticking between my lips, my body’s demands private but impatient. “I do, but we can’t keep doing this.” It’s obvious he needs convincing, so I continue, “If we end it now, they won’t have to know. Nobody gets hurt.”

“So that’s it then?” He guides my head back, so my eyes are forced to the ceiling. My scalp tingles. The skin at my throat tightens when I swallow. “We’re done?”

“Yes.” My body gives me away from raw voice to quivering thighs. Finn’s effect is immediate. Undeniable. There’s no use trying to hide it.

“If they’ll never know, then one more time won’t matter, will it?” he asks.

“I’ll know,” I say. “
We’ll
know.”

He runs his other hand down the front of my stomach and grasps me hard between the legs. He lifts me, moving me a few inches over like I’m his doll. He removes his hand and presses me up against the whirring dryer with his hips.

I groan loudly, surprised. The hot machine is aggressive with my already pulsing clit. My insides tighten into a ball. He’s harder than ever, like a tree branch against my crack. “Does it count if I’m not inside you?” he asks.

I gasp, desperate. I try to regain my sense. I try to remember why I’m down here in the first place. For Nathan. “It counts.”

He pulls me away from the dryer. Pleasure diffuses through me, lingering but less demanding. “Sorry, were you close?” he asks, low and mocking. “You can beg. I won’t think less of you.”

I grit my teeth. Disappointment in myself sears through my arousal. I’ve made mistakes, and so has Nathan, but every time I succumb to Finn, I make it harder to get back to Nathan. Isn’t that what I want? I can’t have them both, no matter that I can see a future with Finn. I push off the dryer and turn around.

Finn takes my jaw and kisses me hard. There’s ten years’ worth of passion in it, and it takes all my resolve to shove him away. He stares at me, panting.

“I can’t,” I say.

“You don’t mean that.”

The laundry room door clicks, and the woman from earlier walks in. She buries her head in a washing machine. She doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know Nathan.

Finn cocks his head at me like we’re about to duel.

“Are you done with one of those?” she asks. The dryer I almost just came against finishes. The linens twirl a few times, fall and go still.

“Yes,” I say. I finish clearing out both dryers. My clit feels like a cluster of exposed nerves against the hard crotch of my pants. I bite my lip firmly to detract from the sensation. I avoid her eyes as she puts her things in the machine next to me. She slams the dryer door shut, turns it on, and leaves.

“You don’t understand,” I say. “I’m sorry—”

“What don’t I understand? I’m married too.”

“But you don’t . . .”

“What?” he prompts.

“You don’t feel for her what I do for Nathan. You told me as much.”

He plunges a hand through his messy, damp hair and looks away. “No. This is all wrong. It’s not over.”

“It has to be.” Because I know I won’t be able to convince him of it, and because I have things to do, I pick up the laundry basket.

He steps into my path before I can leave. “This is too good to walk away from,” he implores. “You know it is.”

I don’t know anything anymore. I have to end things with him, even though I can’t say for sure if it’s the right choice. What if things don’t go as planned with Nathan tonight? What if my marriage only gets worse from here? The thought makes my shoulders droop. “I’m married,” I say lamely. “You’re married.”

“I contacted a lawyer,” he says evenly, holding my gaze. “This morning, I told Kendra not to come at the end of the month.”

My mouth falls open. I shake my head. “You did
what
?”

“She asked why.”

My entire body locks up. I slam the basket on the ground. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

He thins his lips. “I want a divorce. It’s not for you. It just had to be done.” He speaks without inflection, as if removing her is a surgical procedure. “Kendra and I are together for the wrong reasons. You made me realize I have options.”

I’m speechless. I didn’t expect Finn to fight back, fists flying, making good on his lofty promises. Men aren’t supposed to leave their wives for a fling. To Finn, this is more. He can’t let go of our first meeting in the coffee shop, and it’s equal parts romantic and manic. There
is
something sweet about us finding each other again, I admit, but is it enough to upend our lives for?

I glance at the door to the laundry room, waiting for the next person to walk through. “I need to get back upstairs,” I say.

“Don’t freak,” Finn says. “I’m not asking you to do the same, Sadie.”

“Good, because I won’t,” I say, hoisting the laundry back into my arms. “I want my marriage to work, and because of that, this has to end.”

I leave him standing there amongst the machines. My heart pounds. Protests, even, because he’s here now and Nathan isn’t. Finn’s conviction is attractive. Infectious. Dangerous. But at the end of the day, while I can’t think of many reasons to walk away from Finn, one truth remains the same—I could fall in love with Finn, but I don’t think I could ever truly fall out of love with Nathan.

TWENTY-NINE

It’s past six when I run out of things to do. I’d planned to wait for Nathan to arrive before making salad, but I toss all the ingredients in a bowl without dressing, set it aside, and check that the beer is nice and cold. For myself, red wine calms my nerves. I sip slowly to keep my wits about me, since I’m unsure of the direction our conversation will take.

At a quarter to seven, I switch off the oven but leave the food in to keep it warm. I light the half-burned candles and fix the calla lilies I’ve arranged in the center of the table. They’re lovely, but I’ll have to move them when we sit so we can see each other. I smile to myself. We can’t exactly mend our marriage through a bouquet.

Going through my lingerie earlier, I considered wearing only my sexiest things and an apron. It’s gone over well with Nathan in the past, but it isn’t the message I want to send tonight. As much fun as I had belonging to him again last night, now I want inside his mind. Since Nathan likes me in white, “
like a doll with indigo eyes
” he says, I picked a drop-shoulder silk blouse just sheer enough to hint at the black bra underneath. Its lace is so fine, it doesn’t hide when I’m cold or aroused. My message is serious, but I’m not above stoking his imagination.

Ginger gets hyper after I feed her and chases me through the apartment. I try to save my black pants from her slobber and red hairs, but she thinks we’re playing, so I give up and collapse on the couch to let her snuggle with me.

“I know you’re impatient,” I tell her. “He’ll be home soon.”

She smile-pants. I rub her snout. Nathan won’t mind my furry pants.

I cross my feet under my legs. They’re cold, and I need a pedicure. I could get my boots, but I don’t want to miss the expression on his face when he comes through the door. Plus, Nathan doesn’t like us wearing shoes inside. That’s just one of his pet peeves. How can he think I don’t know him, like he insinuated in the marketplace? He accused me of not knowing his character. Does he really believe that?

As wonderful as Nathan is, it can be hard to be his partner. The last few months aside, he’s so kind, he could make the Pope look bad. Not that I’m a bad person, but with him by my side, I sometimes feel inadequate. During our fourth date, on our way to dinner, we passed a mobile blood bus. Nate asked if we should stop and donate. I don’t like needles, and I wasn’t in the mood. I lied and said I hadn’t eaten all day. We kept walking. Concerned, he made me order twice as much food as usual.

Looking around the apartment, I think about how Nathan let me choose and decorate it. I’d coveted Gramercy Park since college. He’d had to ask for a raise from work so we could afford the rent, but it’d been over a year since he’d gotten one. Nathan should’ve already been making that much. It was a win-win situation.

I pick up
The Shining
from the coffee table, which Nathan reads every few years. I scan a page and swap it for Vogue, the same issue Finn picked up when he came over for dinner.

Finn
. Just his name makes me hot under my collar. My mind’s still spinning from the way he manhandled me earlier. The ache quickly returns between my legs, as if it were there all along, dormant. I close my eyes and remember. The laundry room—there’s a place Nathan and I have never fucked. Now, it belongs to Finn, him pressing me up against a machine as warm and insistent as a selfless lover. His hand, cupping me between my jean-clad thighs. I suck in a breath.

I want it again.

I pulse with need.

I tell myself I can’t have it anymore.

I have nothing left to distract myself with, so I finally let myself hear what Finn said. He’s leaving Kendra. He claimed it wasn’t for me, but if we’d simply remained nameless neighbors, I doubt he would’ve been prompted into action now.

I get up and pace the apartment, trying to dispel the fantasies—of him inside me, of what a life with him would look like. I pour myself another glass of wine and double-check my phone to make sure I didn’t miss something from Nathan. The only thing on the screen is the time, and it’s past seven now. I bite my thumbnail and call him. I wanted this to be a surprise, but it’s getting late, and he should be home by now. He’s good about letting me know when he leaves work after six.

It doesn’t ease my concerns when the call goes to voicemail. Nathan rarely shuts off his phone, but he does sometimes put it on silent.

Like when he’s visiting his dad in the hospital.

My heart squeezes as I find the number I’ve saved for the cancer center. Ralph’s been in and out of the hospital for months, but he was supposed to be released following his last treatment. Since I missed Nathan’s recent visit, it’s been too long since I’ve seen Ralph. I should’ve insisted to Nathan that we go again—together.

A nurse answers. I ask if Ralph Hunt is still there. “He is,” she says after a few moments on hold. “But he’s asleep right now.”

“So everything’s okay? There’s no emergency?”

“Emergency? No. Although, he doesn’t seem to be responding well to his latest rounds of radiation.”

I rub my eyebrow. “Yes, that I knew. I’m looking for my husband—his son, Nathan. I thought he might’ve stopped by after work. Do you know if he’s there?”

“Ralph hasn’t had any visitors today.”

I thank her and hang up. I can’t enjoy my relief, because it doesn’t give me any resolution. I try his office, but nobody’s there. Feeling helpless, I go into the bedroom and reluctantly put on chunky socks. Nathan sees me all the time in loungewear, but I wanted to catch him off guard in our own home. But then, after another fifteen minutes of watching the candles burn down, I remove my socks to sit on the bathroom counter and change my toenail polish. I’m not sure what else to do. It isn’t like Nathan to disappear, but then again, is it? Last night gave me hope, but it wasn’t the breakthrough we needed by any means. Considering the way things were going before that, it was only a matter of time before he stopped communicating altogether.

Was I right to worry when he turned away from me in bed? Did last night not mean to him what it did to me? After all, the night he called me a slut during sex, he went back to being a dick the next day. And after he came in my mouth in the doorway, he didn’t even wait until morning to blow me off.

So I offended him at some point in our marriage—does that give him the right to treat me like this? To leave me waiting at home without so much as a phone call? I hop down from the counter and stride through the apartment. When I stub my toe on a chair, I smudge my pedicure and curse.

With my third drink, wine sticks in my throat, turns my teeth blue. My lipstick has rubbed off onto the edge of the glass, but I don’t bother reapplying it. I call Nathan again. His phone is still off.

The food is getting cold. I eat a few bites of salad before shoving the rest down the garbage disposal. Would he really have stayed at work this late? Or did he stop by the downstairs bar again? Where else could he be? I’m staring down the black drain when it hits me—and I can’t
believe
I didn’t realize it earlier. It’s Wednesday night, and that’s when Nathan bowls. Instead of relief, though, rage blazes through me like wildfire through brush. After last night, and considering the state of our marriage, he should know it’s not okay to skip dinner to be with his friends. And not only did he not tell me, but he turned off his phone.

And I sat here like an idiot, worried about him.

Painting my face, my nails, thinking it would make a difference.

Wearing lingerie for him, going out of my way to get the flowers he likes, washing a blanket that was only dirty because he used it to sleep somewhere I wasn’t. I grip the counter until my knuckles are white. I’ve had enough of this. Enough walking on eggshells around him, enough pandering to his moods.