Page 43 of Taking Turns

I just smile as I take off my coat and hang it in the coat closet. “Did you really think I wouldn’t?” Small chuckle from me. “Fool me once, Marcella. You locked me in that first night. I wasn’t expecting it. My research shows you almost never use the alarm. Which is stupid,” I add. “This neighborhood looks nice. It’s got streets lined with multimillion-dollar houses. But it’s fucking downtown Denver, Chella. I thought you were smart.”

I leave her standing there in the foyer as I make my way through the front room, past the coffer-paneled fireplace that separates the front room from the dining room, and then into the large kitchen that shares a space with a nicely appointed family room.

The small, slow clicking of high heels follows me as I reach into the fridge and take out a bottle of 1995 Clos d’Ambonnay. “We should celebrate,” I say, taking the champagne to the island where I have two tall-fluted glasses ready. “Why are you still wearing your coat?”

“What’s happening?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” I ask, popping the cork on the champagne. “You just signed a contract.”

“Yeah,” she says, her voice a little louder as she recovers from her shock. “But you didn’t know that. You got my key five days ago. So why the fuck—”

“Don’t,” I say in a loud, firm voice as I put up a hand. “You do not talk to me that way. Understand?”

She exhales, like she was holding her breath for a few seconds. “You didn’t know I was going to sign.”

“I knew. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“And if I didn’t sign? Then what? You’d still have my key? My alarm code? What if I wanted to—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, shut up, Marcella. You’re ruining my night.”

She blinks at me. Twice.

“OK, look,” I say. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll help you tonight. It’s an adjustment. I get it.” I step around the island and start unbuttoning her coat. But when I try to slip it off, it gets stuck because she’s still holding her little clutch purse. I take it from her hand, place it on the counter, and take the coat to the front closet by the door. When I come back to the kitchen, she’s sitting in a stool at the island, head in her hands.

“Why are you so moody?” I ask. I’m starting to get annoyed with her.

She lifts her head up and stares at me while I pour our drinks.

“What?” I ask.

“Answer my questions. If I didn’t sign, then what? You’d keep that key, wouldn’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter, Chella. You did sign. Do you want out already? Because you can tell me to fuck off and I’ll be happy to fuck off.”

We stare at each other for a few seconds. Maybe ten or more. She is silent.

I hand her a glass and she takes it.

“See,” I say. “It’s not so hard. What should we drink to?”

She looks at her champagne, just staring at the bubbles in the light amber liquid. She takes a deep breath and says, “I’m going to give it a week.”

“Why?” I ask.

“So I can see if this is something—”

“No.” I laugh. “Why not get out now? And be honest, for once, Chella. You’re such a bad liar.” I come around the island to her again. Place my hand flat on her knee. Slip it under her dress and press my fingers against her pussy.

Her gaze slowly lifts up to mine.

“Just say it,” I whisper. “Because I get it. You’re turned on, Chella.” I slide my fingers into her, making the wetness pool around my skin. “It’s erotic, right? The thought of the three of us sharing you?”

She swallows hard, but she nods her head. My eyes search her eyes. I watch her breasts lift and fall as her heart rate picks up.

“It’s OK. If we didn’t think you’d be into it, we’d never have asked you in the first place.”

“Whose idea was it?” she asks. “Yours? Or Bric’s?”