Page 10 of The Kat Bunglar

“The purpose of this song is to dance with the beautiful woman in my living room,” Gabriel said, extending his hand. She placed her hand in his as he led her to the center of the floor. With one arm around her waist and the other holding her hand, he expertly twirled her into a position where they fit perfectly—hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, her bare feet brushing against his socks. Her breath caught in her throat, and for the first time in a long time, she had no idea what would come next.

“The song is called ‘Adoro’ by Armando Manzanero—a famous singer from the ’70s. May I translate the lyrics for you?”

She nodded, acutely aware of her breasts pressing into his chest and the heat of his hand on her lower back. All the blood rushed to her head, leaving her a bit unsteady as he looked at her—as if no one else in the world existed.

In his low, mesmerizing voice, Gabriel began to speak while holding her gaze with his liquid, honey-brown eyes:

“I adore the street where we saw each other, and the night we met. I adore the things you tell me and our happy moments. I adore them all, my love. I adore the way you smile—and the way you sometimes scold me. I adore the silkiness of your hands and the kisses we share. I’m dying to have you next to me. Close—really close—because you are my existence, my sensations. You’re my moon, you’re my sun.”

Laila forgot to breathe as her hands tangled in his hair. His arms enveloped her, his fingers lightly caressing her spine, drawing her even closer. She could feel his warmth through her thin cotton dress. They stopped dancing, and her breath hitched as her gaze met his—deep, dark eyes filled with a longing that made her legs wobble.

Wait—she was married. She struggled to remember this. She was married to a man named Jay. He didn’t deserve this.

And yet every fiber of her being longed to be nearer to Gabriel—to feel his skin against hers. She was an inch away from tasting his lips. But she knew that if she did, she would forget who she was. She would forget the Laila Malik she had spent a lifetime creating. If she tasted him, she would never recover.

Summoning an inner strength she didn’t know she possessed, she pushed down the tide of heat threatening to engulf her. Reluctantly, she uttered the words that would bring them back to reality, “I should go. My husband comes home in the morning.”

A flicker of disappointment and irritation flashed in his eyes before Gabriel nodded in understanding. “That would be wise.”

In Laila’s rush to leave, she left her shoes behind.

Present Day

July 8th

Los Angeles

Kat Kar

Kat kicked off her Converse and settled into the plush business class seat. Slipping on her noise-canceling headphones, she tuned out the pilot as he began to drone: “Welcome aboard Flight 171 non-stop from LAX to Chicago. The approximate flight time will be four hours and fifteen minutes. We invite you now to fasten your seat belt, relax, and enjoy the flight.”

Instead, she paused to analyze her reflection in the window once again. The chic new bob suited her face beautifully—and she felt a bit smug. Thanks to Christian’s impressive contouring and highlighting skills, her features now resembled Laila’s more closely than ever.

Christian and Kat had reached a truce of sorts, both tactfully ignoring the overdue rent notice, the looming court date, and the fundraiser that was now trending on Twitter.

“Are those hot towels? I cannot believe we sit in a section that gets hot towels. I’m dead. Quick, take this video for YouTube now!” Christian’s hyper, effervescent voice erupted beside her.

Cueing the latest trendy song. Christian shimmied and swayed while theatrically raising a hot towel over her head, declaring with a saucy wink in Kat’s direction, “Jesus washed feet. But I’ll take a hot towel.”

Kat’s stomach curdled a little. Did she really look like that when she created content? God, she hoped not!

Regardless of how Christian looked now, Kat begrudgingly admitted that she had proven to be a way better asset than Kat had ever expected. It was Christian who had combed through her wallet with a fine-tooth comb, separating compromised credit cards items from those that they could still use.

Kat knew she should also be snapping photos and reels for her feed. Instead, she felt reflective as her nails lightly scraped over a piece of paper in her jacket pocket. She wasn’t sure why she had taken it out of the wallet—everything else remained intact.

But these few words stayed with her:

“I am made and remade continually

Different people draw different words from me”

Virginia Woolf

1 Week Ago

June 28th

Chicago

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