Page 16 of Hotwife

Even though I’d been several kinds of wet all day… the only thing I wanted when I got home was a shower.

After changing out of my horrendous sweats and scrubbing the fish water off, I changed into shorts and a baggy shirt. Standing outside my closet, I hesitated a moment, before grabbing my burner phone and my actual phone. My routine was usually the same. Snack on the couch to reality TV, text or swipe right on some potential hook-ups, read a smutty book, go to bed. Today, however, I was feeling off. Which makes sense because there was the whole falling into a shark tank thing.

But aside from that, something about Desmond made me feel off-kilter.

And something about Cedric not even stopping home to eat had me feeling uneasy.

I was always alone, but tonight, I felt lonely.

Desmond was probably only asking me to come along on his photo outings because he felt sorry for me. Pushing away my insecure thoughts, I padded into the kitchen to pop my customary, lonely bag of popcorn. The marble and tile sparkled and smelled like lemon and mint. Tori must have stopped by to do a cleaning today. I totally forgot she’d be coming by. I enjoyed talking to her. As kernels popped, replacing the fresh fragrance with butter and salt, I felt even more like a loser that I felt sad that I missed chatting with my cleaning lady.

A trail of steam following me into the living room. I avoided my dent on the sofa and slumped into the overstuffed love seat instead. These couches were made for appearances. For photos in magazines. Not for eating pizza and binge watching every episode of Gossip Girl. I had a sudden and strong desire to burn them and haul home lived-in thrift store furniture instead. Cedric would be horrified.

Flipping through the channels I landed on an ocean documentary for background noise. The ho-phone binged with a measly five messages. All from Kenneth. Hooked up with the guy once and he wouldn’t shut up. Clearly he wasn’t getting the picture, so I typed out a quick reply.

Me: Hey Kenneth, you seem like a nice guy, but I’m just not interested.

Hopefully that would shut him up.

My other phone buzzed next to me.

Cora: Hey, this is random, but I have wine and need some girl-talk. Can I stop by?

I’d totally forgotten that I’d given her my number before we left the meeting last week.

Me: Yeah! Come on by.

Sitting up straighter, my spirits lifted a bit. Girl talk and wine sounded nice, and I was beginning to like Cora a lot. I needed friends who came over when they wanted to. My self-absorbed ass rarely had the foresight to make actual plans with anyone.

My phone buzzed again, only this time it wasn’t Cora.

Odie: Call now?

Me: I’m about to have a friend over. Tomorrow morning?

Odie: Tell your booty-call to wait! I have news!

As I was typing out a response, my doorbell rang. My sister could wait. She’d swear she had the most important thing in the world to talk to me about and it would turn out to be about a sale on her favorite perfume. Odette had a penchant for dramatics. Leaving my phones on the coffee table, I greeted Cora in the foyer.

“Dolly, you shouldn’t have dressed up for me,” Cora teased, poking at a hole in my shirt.

I laughed. “Believe it or not, this is better than what I was wearing earlier. It’s been a day. Want to chill in the living room?”

“Yes, bitch! Wow, your house is huge and beautiful,” she remarked, following me into the kitchen.

I pulled out two wineglasses and a corkscrew. “Thanks. I mentioned I liked it one day, just driving by. The next day Cedric came and offered the owners cash on the spot to vacate.” Smiling at the memory, I motioned towards the living room.

“Goddamn, that’s quite a man you’ve got there. You’re lucky. Simon’s idea of romance is buying himself a new flatscreen television and saying it’s for me.” She rolled her eyes.

I chuckled, sitting on the couch and hugging knees. “Tell him to buy me one. I love watching TV.”

Cora uncorked her bottle of red and poured us both a glass. “I’ll give you his. He’s never even home to watch it. To my new Seattle bestie,” she smiled, and we clinked glasses.

Something about Cora reminded me of my sister. Her boisterous laugh, her irreverent humor, the dusting of freckles along her nose. The similarities caused my walls to drop faster than they usually would. Though my filter had been shaky ever since meeting him.

“What’s the deal with your husband?” I asked. “Workaholic or god complex? It’s always one or the other with these men. Trust me, I’ve been to enough doctor’s wives meetings to hear it all.” I took a long sip, letting the tannins roll over my tongue.

“You know,” she replied, opting to sit on the floor, her back against the couch opposite me. “I could probably handle either of those. But he doesn’t seem particularly interested in anything lately. He’s at the hospital all the time, yeah, but he at least used to be passionate about it. I’d hear about his cases on his dinner breaks, he’d text me good morning and good night. Now? Nothing.” She shrugged.

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