Page 54 of Temptation

Tenn laughed. “I didn't think I was hiding it; I have so much trouble keeping my hands off you. The question is, what are we going to do about it?”

“I don't know.” She sighed and reached for his hand. “On the one hand, it's clear both our marriages are over; it's just a matter of signing the paperwork. We know it's over, but they don't know it yet. On the other hand, they're the ones who are at fault. They decided their need to fuck each other was worth more than our marriages. And then there's the fact we only found out a week ago, and we're ready to jump into bed and go on a month-long vacation with each other. How do we know we aren’t trauma bonding or something?”

“Okay, yeah. I see what you're saying.” Tenn took her hand and squeezed it gently. “But let's put this into perspective. How long have you been checked out of the relationship?”

“Probably about nine months.” She ducked her head to hide the shame she felt. “Joel likes me between one twenty and one-thirty pounds. He loses sexual interest when I go over that.”

“Bastard.” Tenn spit out, looking outraged. “How does he know what you weigh?” His hand tightened. “Tell me he doesn’t force you to weigh yourself for him.”

“No.” She shook her head and smiled at his anger for her. “As part of my recovery process, I keep track of my weight weekly, journal my emotions about it, and when I see my therapist, we talk about it. I generally start panicking when I go over one-thirty-five, and she asked me to get to me to try to get to one-forty so we could work on my anxiety about being over a certain weight. Anyway, I think he reads what I write. I've never caught him, but he always seems to know when I go over one-thirty and stops initiating sex and begins turning me down.”

“Dr. Foster was the one who put together that Joel liked me between a certain weight range. I would tell her when he would start being disinterested and when sex would start again, so she had all the dates in her notes and noticed it was always within a few days of me being above or below those specific weights, so we tested him. I'd write that I was below one-thirty, and sex would start again. Over one-thirty, it would stop. She used it to point out that there was no visible difference in my body with a five to ten-pound weight gain or loss because he couldn't tell. I was nudging one forty but writing I was one twenty-eight, and he was having sex with me.”

“I really hate your husband.” Tenn reached out with his other hand and cupped her cheek, gently stroking it with his thumb.

“Me too.” Quinn leaned into his hand. The warmth was extremely comforting. “How long have you been checked out?”

“About a year. She was going to these yoga and spiritual retreats every weekend, specifically retreats run by this guy, David Grant. He was all she could talk about. “David says abstinence brings true enlightenment.” “David says green tea is better for you than coffee.” “David says video games rot your mind,” David says, David says, David says. It seemed like David had a lot to say about my lifestyle. I think she was having an affair with him, but I couldn't find proof. She changed the pin on her phone and all her passwords. When I had to move money over from my savings to pay the bills, I told her I was cutting her allowance from one thousand to five hundred a month, I wasn't paying for any more of her retreats, and she had to get a job.”

He let her face go and pointed out the windshield. The line was moving to get on the ship. Quinn quickly put the car in gear and drove forward. “That’s completely fair.”

“Well, she didn't like it.” He chuckled dryly. “And brought David into my home to tell me I was emotionally and spiritually stunting her, and I needed to keep paying because she was so close. I lost my shit. I told him to get out, or we would find out which was better for the body, yoga or weightlifting, and if he wanted her to continue to find her spiritual enlightenment, he could pay for it. He was sitting there grinning at me, this skinny little man with long, greasy, dirty blonde hair, and I grabbed him by the collar and his belt, carried him to the door, and tossed him onto the lawn. Viki was screaming at me and chased him out. I said she could stay with him, shut the door, and locked it.”

“I grabbed her purse, took all the cards connected to my accounts, took her keys because it was my car and my house, and since I paid for her phone, I took that too. Then I threw some clothes in an overnight bag for her, brought them to the door, and threw the purse and bag over her head into the yard. She freaked out but left when she noticed the neighbours were filming her. She came back the next day, full of apologies and asking what she needed to do to stay married. I told her to get a job and no more David Grant. She grudgingly agreed.”

“Wow. What a bitch,” she growled, incensed for him. “Both our spouses deserve what's coming to them.”

“I agree.” He chuckled and nodded. “So where does that leave us?”

“Quietly dating. At least for now.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Beach

They reached Martha's Vineyard, and Tenn noted that Quinn knew exactly where she was going. She made a couple of stops, one at a coffee shop and another at a bakery, before finally stopping at a parking area to a beach on the island's southwest end. “Clearly, you’ve spent a lot of time here.” Tenn was watching her curiously. In all the time he’d known Quill, he never mentioned spending any amount of time here, so he was wondering if this was a thing for her and Joel.

“Yeah, Quill and I used to stay here during holidays and breaks in Uni. She glanced up as she opened the trunk. “Our grandparents started education funds for us when we were born, so when Quill left to go to university and was no longer dependent on our parents, he stopped going home and stayed with me instead.”

Knowing she lived with her aunt after her first hospitalization, he figured that was who she meant when she said she knew someone and moved to help her with what she had in the trunk. “What made you decide on a beach day anyway?”

“I just really wanted a day where we could relax and have fun, and this is where some of my happiest memories happened.” She explained cheerfully as she pulled things toward them that had shifted while driving. “Are you okay with this?”

“I’m more than okay with this.” He grinned at her. She could have taken him to a fashion show, and he would have been happy to spend time with her. He grabbed a large cooler, and she picked up a big, blue plastic tub that held a blanket and towels and tucked a beach umbrella under one arm, then led him through the dunes down to the sandy beach. It was empty and secluded, and he looked around curiously. There was a house up on the hill overlooking the beach, which told him this was most likely private property. “Is this a private beach?” He asked nervously, hoping she was about to tell him it was her aunt's place. He didn't want to end their day in a lockup on Martha's Vineyard.

“Yeah, it's Bishops. Don't worry; I have permission to be here.” She smiled at him as she put down the tub and began setting up the blanket and umbrella. He almost tripped in surprise. Bishop was a very talented tattoo artist, and he knew he made really good money at his shop just because he had checked into the prices for a tattoo he wanted and realized he would have to save to get it done, but he didn’t think he was making “Summer Home on Martha’s Vineyard” money. If that was the case, he was about to quit his job and become an apprentice tattoo artist.

“Bishop can afford a house on Martha's Vineyard?”

Quinn chuckled as she reached out a hand and steadied him. “Have you heard of B.R. Deering?”

“Yeah, we have some of his paintings in one of the galleries.” Tenn looked at her in confusion, and she raised an eyebrow at him like she was waiting for him to make a connection. B.R. Deering was a very popular artist known for his landscape paintings of scenery from all over New England, but it wasn’t possible for Bishop to be moonlighting as him. He was famous before any of them were born. “No. B.R. Deering has been painting since the seventies; there’s no way.”

Quinn giggled, then immediately looked contrite. “Sorry, no, you’re right. Bishop’s full name is Bishop Ramone Deering, Jr.” Tenn just stared at her. Was she telling him he had met and become fast friends with the son of one of his favourite artists? She grinned at his expression and continued. “He didn’t want to capitalize on his dad’s fame, so he dropped the Deering and just goes by Bishop Ramone, which he also thinks is a much better name for a tattoo artist.”

He shook his head, still in shock. “I just assumed you were referring to your aunt you stayed with in New York.”

“Aunt Cathy?” Now it was her turn to look surprised, then she must have put together that Quill told him about what happened when they were in junior high. “No, she was firmly childfree and gave up four years of her life to finish raising me. She loves me and did an amazing job despite getting thrown into raising a very mentally and emotionally messed up teenager unexpectedly, but when I moved out for Uni, she went back to her life of working hard and playing harder. She still lives in New York City, and Quill and I go visit her once or twice a year for a weekend, or she’ll come to see us, but she basically lives out of a suitcase since she retired.”

“B.R. and his wife Linda kind of became our surrogate parents in university; we stayed with them on holidays. According to B.R., Bishop always brought home strays, but we were his favourites.” She grinned. “We’re welcome to come whenever we want, with or without Bishop, and both of us have resident passes and keys to the house. They bought a place in Killington, Vermont, a few years ago and split their time between there and here, winters in Vermont and summers here. Bishop said they aren’t back yet, so we have the beach to ourselves.

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