Page 1 of The Spy Ring

ONE

Tiffany

“He’s flipping married?”

I whisper screamed as I fisted the thick, smooth band of gold.

It had weight. It’s funny how I noticed that little tidbit instantly but never realized the man I slept with last night was married.

At least, I think we had sex. My stomach began to churn as I tried to recall anything from the night before. Nothing but throbbing head pain and something about a whiskey sour sucker punched my brain.

Ugh, I couldn’t even remember the guy’s face.

Wow, Tiffany, you can’t even do your first one-night stand right.

I shook my head and glanced around the stranger’s hotel room. It was a much bigger version of my room. The same soothing lavender and gray color scheme but somehow knowing this guy had bank in order to afford this big suite in Las Vegas did nothing to appease my nausea. Or my guilt.

Was it my imagination or was the ring burning an O into my palm? O for odious because that’s how I felt and, lifting my arm to take a whiff under my pit, that’s definitely how I smelled. Flipping the ring over, the inscription made all thoughts of the big O disappear as my throat tightened. Honor always. Protect fully. Love forever.

“What a crock of gobbledygook,” I said giving the ring the stink eye.

The hot hands of remorse spread boney fingers around my neck and across my chest.

“I’m not the one that cheated,” I said to the ring.

The burning guilt had to end.

Stop blaming yourself, Tiffany. He’s the one that cheated, not you. You don’t have a husband anymore, remember?

I dropped the wedding band and it made a clanking sound, bouncing on the wood of the coffee table. The stabbing behind my right eye grew in strength from the joke he obviously believed his marriage to be. The pun where I played the fool to satisfy his needs.

A woman placed this beautiful ring on his finger believing him to be her savior, her true love, and the man who would never deceive her. And that meant nothing to him.

I’m done. Bile inched up my throat, making me desperate to find my clothes so I could get out of this den of sin before the guy got out of the shower. It was nice to feel some relief this morning knowing he was in the bathroom when I woke. I was thankful I never had to put a face to my shame.

All my friends, except for Evaleen, told me I needed to get laid. Since my husband was gone, I haven’t been able to find the time or the heart, to be with another man.

It had been too long. That’s why when I came to Las Vegas for the weekend with my friends, I thought it was the perfect time to have a no-strings-attached fling.

Wrong.

They were wrong. I was wrong.

The only thing the night left me with was nausea, terrible remorse, and breath so bad it could be used to bring down a small elephant.

As much as I needed a drink of water and a hot shower to clean off my regret, I had to find my clothes.

One of my red leather heels was under the coffee table and after further inspection, I found the other behind the lavender couch. After a few minutes of hunting, I had gathered all my clothes, even my green lace undies that were wrapped around the telephone.

I dressed quickly—if not clumsily—and thought maybe I should be glad I couldn’t remember anything.

As I closed the door to his room behind me and stumbled my way toward the elevator, I considered turning back to leave a note. But then I imagined what I would write in my current mental state.

Hey You,

Yeah, you know who you are so let’s not play that game where I impress you with my ability to recall your name. I’m the one you had sex with last night. I’d like to say it was great but since I was blackout drunk, I won’t comment on what I don’t know.

And that brings me to a very important point . . . Why did YOU take advantage of an obviously drunk woman? Were you blackout drunk yourself? I am hoping you were because if you ever see me again, like walking down the street, I wish upon all the wishes in the world that you don’t recognize me. That way last night can turn into a forgotten memory.

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