Page 41 of Unmatched

“Ten years.” I gesture between us, trying to emphasize the length of our relationship as the reason we ought to try harder, but my voice comes out so small it seems to punctuate the opposite.

“Yeah.” Anton nods, his voice raw. “And I’m lonely as fuck.”

I open my mouth to protest. That’s ridiculous. We’re together all the time when we’re not both at work. It’s not like we live separate lives. We’re home every night, in the same bed, and we just attended the Wallace’s party—though, of course, we both know how that ended. But I close my mouth because deep inside, I know he isn’t talking about socializing.

I look down at my breasts, wrapped in lace and ribbon like matching gifts. “You’re talking about our sex life.”

He lets out a short breath that almost sounds like a laugh. But when he returns my gaze, his face is stern.

“Maybe it’s something we could work on.” I try to make it sound like I mean this, but my throat is so dry. “I...I’m just not sure something that lasted ten years should end in one night.”

He levels me with a look that says we both know it has not been just a night, and I have to swallow hard around the lump in my throat. “Lydia,” he says, his voice quieter, tired. “What do you think we could work on that hasn’t changed over the last decade?”

“I don’t know.” I bite my trembling lip. “Maybe...I can do better.”

I meant to say we, but that’s the way it comes out.

His eyes widen. “I’m the one who put myself on a fucking cheating app.”

“You sure did.” My voice breaks as I acknowledge this, but ever since I saw his stupid profile, I haven’t been able to keep from thinking I could’ve done things differently. Maybe if I hadn’t worked quite so much, or I’d gone with him to the hot springs.

My mind screams, but I’ve been busy.

While my heart whispers, I’ve been avoiding him.

A knot forms inside my chest.

“Look...” Anton wipes his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. This was an enormous mistake. I’ll do things however you want.” He raises his head to look at me. “But I can’t go on the way it’s been.”

His words ring through the air, vibrating into my body. He’s right, of course. Neither of us can. I just wish I had some kind of guide telling me what to do next. Is he a cheater, or isn’t he? Can you move forward with someone after they’ve broken your heart, or is this really the end?

I nod. “I . . . I need to do some thinking.”

“Me too.” He looks around with a slightly dazed expression, one I’m probably also wearing. Like we each had ideas about what would take place in this hotel room—only this? This definitely wasn’t one of them.

I sink to the bed, pulling the sheet across my lap.

And since neither of us seems to have anything else to say, he turns back to the door. “I’ll see you at home.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

It’s a miracle I don’t get a speeding ticket between Colorado Springs and Denver. My foot is like lead on the gas pedal, my mind flashing between all the ways I anticipated the night going and how it actually played out.

The worst part is, now that everything is said and done, I can’t decide who I’m angrier with—Lydia or myself.

What she did took guts, I’ll give her that. Finding me on the app, luring me in with messages, then pushing to hook up at a hotel. If I’d been at all suspicious, I might’ve figured it out. Shut the whole thing down, deleted the app, and laid low. But that profile picture she took? Fuck. That didn’t exactly help me think with my upstairs brain.

And if I’m totally honest, part of me is grateful she did it.

I can’t deny why I drove to Colorado Springs. I was ready for some action, and I’m pretty sure I would have gotten it if not for my wife. But now that it’s behind me, I’m so glad I didn’t. Because as awful as I feel barreling up the highway after being caught by my wife with my literal pants down, I’m not sure I could’ve driven home to face her at all after fucking another woman.

In some ways, it’s like she saved me from myself.

That, or she’s trying to kill me.

And holy fuck, no woman I met online could have compared with how Lydia looked tonight. It was all I could do to keep from ripping that bra off just to bury my face between her breasts. And once I knew it was her, that actually made it worse—I wasn’t a cheater having an affair anymore; I was a man with his own wife. I wanted nothing more than to bend her over the side of that bed, tear those backless panties down her legs, and fuck her guilt-free, nice and slow. In the ten years we’ve been together, she’s never worn anything like that lingerie, and I’ve tried to make it happen. Hell, I doubt we would’ve ended up here if she had.

Maybe that’s not fair.

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