Page 181 of Ewan

Ask my coworkers about their personal lives to garner insight into this?

Some are happily married. Some are struggling. And some have already filed for divorce.

“You, now,” I say, relieved that I have finished my story.

“I was married,” he says, his eyes connected with mine as I stifle my reaction but can’t fool him.

Slowly, my lips part.

Have I truly never thought about it?

The way he behaved, went after he wanted it, knew how to share his space with me beyond getting his way into my pants.

It’s funny how my mind works.

And how I liked to ignore the signs.

Somewhere at the edge of my awareness floated this idea, but I always stopped myself from going there and analyzing it to death.

I didn’t want to muddy my lust for him and question every step I made. I did it anyway but didn’t want to force myself into asking some uncomfortable questions.

Why didn’t I want to do it?

Because divorced men are a different breed.

Anyone who thinks Joachim is the best thing since sliced bread should contact me because I have a bridge to sell.

For sure, he’s already found someone who liked to believe I was too stupid to see what a nice guy he was.

I’m sure his story about our story was different than what I would’ve had to say about it.

In Ewan’s case, I’m sure his wife had a reason to leave him. Am I subjective? I totally am. I know it takes two to tango, and men are not always the only ones to blame.

“For how long?” I shoot my mouth, not knowing any better.

“For long enough,” he says, smiling, and for some reason, him being married scares me as much as it makes me even more drawn to him.

He must’ve felt the same about me.

“When did you two sign the divorce papers?” I continue, not giving much thought to my question.

“We didn’t.”

I stiffen in my seat.

Oh… Please don’t tell me he’s still married, doing one of those separation trials things, and he's having some fun with me before his wife takes him back.

Of course he didn’t want to sleep with me in the beginning.

He probably had second thoughts.

Perhaps he thought it would jeopardize his chances of reunifying with his wife.

My eyes inadvertently dip to his ring finger, looking for a sign that he wore a wedding band at some point.

“Are you still married?” I ask, my voice strangled.

The answer comes promptly.

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