"God, I needed this," Liza says, sinking into the armchair across from me. She raises her margarita glass. "To escaping work early and leaving Greg to deal with all the shit."
I laugh. "He's kind of an asshole, but he's a good employee—hate to admit it,” I explain to Clara, who seems intrigued by our drama.
I clink my glass against Liza’s. "To Greg."
"Please. That man gets paid to stand around looking intimidating most nights anyway."
"So," Liza leans forward, her eyes full of mischief. "Are you going to tell me what's going on with Mr. Hot Stuff? You've been weird all weekend."
I take another gulp of my drink, debating whether to spill the tea or not. But it's Liza and Clara, so of course I will. I've been dying to tell someone, to free myself of the guilt. If anyone would understand, it would be them… well, maybe not Clara. "I…" I struggle to say. "I… I’m sorry, Clara. I didn’t call or text like I promised.”
Her eyes grow wide with concern. “What did you do?”
God, I wish I could crawl under a rock. I would live there forever before admitting what I did. “I… I let him touch me," I finally manage.
"You what?" Clara nearly spits out her margarita.
"Under my skirt. I let him... and I liked it." The confession rushes out of me.
They both stare at me, wide-eyed and completely speechless.
"See…" I rush to explain. "I'd just found out Reeves and Greg beat him up years ago and put him in the hospital."
"Holy shit." Liza's eyes are practically bulging out of their sockets. "That's... crazy."
"I know. It's terrible… anyway, I was pissed at Reeves, and I guess I used that as justification to let things get out of hand."
Liza smirks. "Out of hand, they certainly did. How did he touch you exactly? Like, did he just briefly touch you? Or did he make you come, girl?"
I close my eyes, remembering the way his fingers found their way under the hem of my skirt, the warmth of his touch searing into my skin. The memory sends a shiver down my spine, and I can't help but squirm a little in my seat, the sensation still vivid in my mind.
It was a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment fueled by anger and a desperate need for some form of release from the relentless pressures of my life. But oh, how those skilled hands made me feel alive, desired, and for a fleeting moment, free from the shackles of my reality.
I recall the intensity of his gaze, the way his breath hitched when he realized I wasn't going to stop him. It was as if we were the only two people in the world,caught in a whirlwind of the forbidden that neither of us could resist.
And despite the guilt that gnawed at me afterward, I couldn't deny the undeniable pleasure that coursed through my veins.
I open my eyes to find Liza and Clara still staring at me, their expressions a mix of shock and curiosity. "Jenna, girl, you've got it bad," Liza says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I know she's right, but admitting it out loud would make it all too real. Instead, I take another sip of my drink, the sharp taste of the margarita doing little to clear the fog of my thoughts.
Liza leans in closer, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "So, this little naughty rendezvous... was it just a one-time thing, or is there more to the story?"
I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. The truth is, I don't know where this leaves me, or what it means for my marriage, my family. All I know is that for a brief moment in that cramped, dusty room, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time—a stroke of intense passion that had long been extinguished in the daily grind of my life.
"I don't know, Liza," I finally say, my voice barely a whisper. "I just don't know."
"Did he do the job, though?" Liza is obviously very keen to know all the gory details.
I smile. "He did… he made me come so hard,” I finally admit in a whisper, ashamed of myself.
She throws her head back. "You lucky bitch."
Clara is still speechless, slack-jawed. I know she disapproves.
I bite my lip. "I'm a horrible person."
"You're human." Liza shrugs. "And he's ridiculously hot."
