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“That’s okay. I like it,” she said, wiping her mouth on his T-shirt. “Now it’s my turn.”
She pulled her pants down, and he was able to get at her and watch the parking lot at the same time. But it wasn’t enough, and after she finished, he wanted to be inside her.
“Take your pants off and get on,” he moaned, pushing his seat back.
After she finished, she cuddled up next to him, and they sat together for a few minutes, talking, while he itched to leave. All he wanted to do was go to the public bathroom and wash his hands.
“I wish you could stay,” she said.
“Yeah, I need to get back to work. I’ll try to see you soon.”
He got out of the car and headed right to the bathroom, and when he came out, she was gone.
Alan became adept at juggling his relationships with Lily and Shelly. He kept his meetings with Lily impromptu, attempting to see her just often enough so she’d leave him alone, for the wildest, sometimes most perverted sex he’d ever had.
Poor Shelly was left with the detritus of Alan’s rendezvous with Lily, either oral sex or perfunctory intercourse in which he faked an orgasm.
On every third weekend, when Shelly had to work two twelve-hour shifts, Alan took Lily away to a hotel for a few hours and included a meal or a movie, anything to keep her happy and in his control. And it was more than he’d done for Shelly. They hadn’t been on a date since Martha’s Vineyard.
As far as he knew, Shelly never suspected anything. He continued submitting to her initiations, never turning her down, thinking she was satisfied, and Shelly never complained. She was gentle and quiet, her body flat and uninteresting, and he didn’t really need sex with her. He could just be himself with Shelly, and being with her day to day helped balance the pressure of his job, giving him room to relax.
But now, the time he spent with Lily was becoming necessary for his well-being. Making the time and lying to Shelly wasn’t difficult because the mind-blowing sex with Lily was worth the risk. He fantasized about being married to her, having her fat ass in his bed every night. And the fantasy was on the cusp of reality when he considered breaking off his engagement to Shelly.
On a Saturday that she was scheduled to work, Shelly left Alan a voicemail.
“Hey, I’m home, Alan. I’m sick with this flu everyone’s got. Call me when you can.”
An hour later, his heart beating a staccato rhythm, Alan parked his car next to hers in the driveway.
The house was quiet when he entered. She’d gone to bed, but she would have noticed their breakfast dishes still in the sink, the bed unmade, a wet towel on the bathroom floor, and she’d wonder why he hadn’t cleaned up.
From the bedroom doorway, he saw her lying on her side in bed, her back to the door. He quietly closed the door and then sprang into action, first showering in the guest bathroom. He put a load of clothes in the washer and then cleaned up the kitchen. His story would be that he’d been called out and hadn’t had a chance to do his morning routine.
Next, he ordered several varieties of chicken soup from the local Chinese restaurant, and from the convenience store, ginger ale, vanilla ice cream, orange juice, and flu preparations, all things his mother had fed him when he’d gotten sick as a child.
At five o’clock, he was sitting in his recliner, watching a game, when she came out of the bedroom, looking worse than he had expected. He pushed the footrest on the chair down and went to hug her.
“Oh, man, you don’t look like you feel great.”
“You’re probably going to catch it from me. What time did you get home?”
“An hour after your message came through. I’m sorry you’re sick. I got you a few things.”
He took her hand and led her into the kitchen, pointing out her choices.
“I’m famished. That wonton soup looks good. I’ll have that and a ginger ale float.”
“My mother’s remedy for all that ails mankind.”
“Where were you?”
“Another body showed up on Gilgo Beach.” It was a lie; the body had been discovered days ago. “I needed to go in to check out new evidence.”
“Oh, no. How many does that make now?”
“That was the fourth and I hope the last.”
He turned the coffeemaker on, fussing with cups and coffee pods and anything to avoid having to make eye contact. Breath coming quicker, he felt sweat beads popping up on his forehead as heat washed over him.Pull it together, buddy.He wished he had the courage to confess, just to be done with it. She wouldn’t forgive him, and he’d be free to be with Lily. But Shelly was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He couldn’t trade a Shelly for a Lily.
