Page 30 of Unmatched

Roommates? Friends?

I guess she might be asexual—but what does that mean for our marriage if I most definitely am not?

I get up, pacing out a circuit of the room. If we go the next twenty years without any sex, I’m not sure I’ll still want to be friends. Let alone share a home. Or a bed. But what if Unmatched presents an outlet? A solution to make it tolerable? Without her having to submit herself to unwanted sex just for my sake and without me having to feel bitter or finish myself off in the shower. What if I had someone to turn to for the one thing Lydia can’t give me? Someone with a similar need. Who doesn’t want to change their whole life either, but just sort of...add to it? On the side.

When I think of the possibility, the future seems a little less bleak. Maybe without all the sexual tension, Lydia and I might even have fun like we used to. Not in bed, but other places, doing other things. We could go to Rockies games, out on dates. Maybe she’d even be willing to go camping if there was no expectation of sex with me. It seems unconventional, but maybe not really. People have had lovers outside of marriages for centuries. And I’m not looking for love—I love Lydia—I really just need sex.

I hold my breath for the entire time it takes to type my message and hit send.

MountainMan3

I’ve been dreaming of your tits. If you’re still interested, I’d love to meet.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The glass slips through my fingers. But for some reason, I see rather than hear it explode when it hits the floor.

“Oh.” My hands drop to my sides. One empty now, the other still clutching my phone. “Oh, I’m...so sorry. How clumsy of me.”

The woman who’s been chatting to me in equal time about both dogs and my “cutie husband” places a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right? You just went really pale.”

“I’m—yes. I’m sorry.” I can’t seem to find any other words.

Eva Wallace comes over, followed by a caterer with a dustpan. “No apologies necessary. It was an accident. You didn’t cut yourself, did you, Lydia? Has anyone seen Anton?”

“No, but—” I close my eyes, unable to chase away the message burned into my memory. Nausea rises in my throat, and I bring my hand to my mouth. “Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.”

There are whispers behind me, but I don’t hear what any of them say. I’m too focused on getting out.

Once I duck inside a plush powder room near the kitchen, I turn the lock and look at my phone with a shaking hand.

MountainMan3

I’ve been dreaming of your tits. If you’re still interested, I’d love to meet.

Exactly the words I thought I’d read. I had to see them again to be sure.

I close the lid of the toilet and sit, pressing my head into my hands. My heart still pounds dully, despite the fact that my chest feels like it’s been ripped open. He’d said he couldn’t cheat. And I was so sure he wouldn’t. That he’d considered it, but decided our love was stronger than his lust.

Apparently it wasn’t.

I worked so hard to charm his boss, clients, and coworkers tonight. But when he pulled me into that room and started practically undressing me—suggesting we get a hotel, like some hookup on that app—I couldn’t help it; the brakes just came on.

I shut my eyes, his urgent voice replaying in my head: I can’t keep doing this, Lydia. I need you. Then he’d placed my hand on him. Like he expected me to smile and lay down right there on the floor, spread my legs, and invite him on top of me. At a work party.

A single hot tear rolls down my cheek as it occurs to me that my mother might’ve been right—maybe we are like her and Dad. My stomach roils at the thought. No. I just needed space to regroup. To get in the right headspace, somewhere private. We could’ve gone home, like Anton suggested. Maybe talked it through. Probably still had sex.

But he couldn’t wait.

And now I just want to keep hiding in here rather than face all the people telling me what a cute couple we are. Because it’s either come out breathing fire in front of them or smile and continue pretending we’re totally meant to be.

Something Caprice said echoes faintly through my mind: You’re not going to just ignore this and look the other way.

I ball my fists, because she’s right. What if this isn’t even the first time? He might have already cheated—been cheating on me. For months? Years? My stomach twists. Maybe Unmatched is just the latest tool he’s trying out to get laid. He might be playing coy with LonelyGirl8, acting innocent, but it could just be a strategy. Maybe he’s adept at getting women to come to him.

I wipe the tear away, rise to my feet, and stare into the mirror over the sink. This isn’t how I imagined the evening going. Though it’s not how I imagined my marriage playing out either. I can’t decide if I’m stupid or naive. Maybe a little of both. Either way, I only see one choice ahead of me.

Time to return to Plan A.

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