Page 57 of Trashy Affair Duet


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“What about your wife? Are you going to miss her?”

“I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Don’t you think it’s time we did?”

“Probably, but please, Jules. Don’t ruin this moment.”

Five seconds pass, rife with her silence. “I’m going to miss you too.”

Holding her feels natural. It feels right. I gather her in the shelter of my arms, and she curls her hands around my forearms, the soft pads of her fingertips creating circles of fire on my skin. My heart is knocking against my ribcage, and I’m certain she feels every violent beat.

“I’ll text you, okay?”

She breaks free of my embrace, and we’re back to standing inches apart without touching. “What are we doing?” she asks, fiddling with the flowers again. “Nothing good is gonna come of this.”

I get what she’s saying, and as much as it hurts, I don’t blame her. Especially since she’s right. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Jules.”

“Maybe some time apart will be good for us. Give us both time to think about things…” Trailing off, she faces me with a gulp and wraps herself in the circle of her arms, as if to protect herself from me. “To think about where this is headed.”

As long as I’m still married, this is headed nowhere. It’s an ugly truth I don’t want to face. No matter what happens from here on out, someone is going to get hurt. “I know this isn’t fair to you,” I say.

Or to Monica.

That know-it-all-voice in my head is a bitch, because it’s telling me what I don’t want to hear; nothing can happen with Jules until I know where I stand in my marriage. Until I’ve given my all to salvaging what’s left of it. My father expects it. My conscience demands it. But my heart…well, that disloyal organ is already beating for the woman in front of me.

I’m fucking torn right down the middle.

“If life were fair, everyone would get what they want, right?” she says, tilting her head, blond hair sliding over her shoulder. “That would probably unbalance the cosmos or something.”

A smile twitches at the corners of my mouth. “I think the cosmos are already ten shades of unbalanced.” They have to be, to play such a cruel game. I pluck a bouquet from the display and give the attendant a twenty. “But you’re right about one thing,” I say, after we’ve wandered a few unhurried steps toward the exit of the market. “We do need to think about where this is headed.”

I hand her the flowers, and her lips part in surprise. I take advantage and kiss her on the cheek. “Don’t forget me while I’m gone, okay?”

Gazing into the bouquet, she tries to hide a smile but fails. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

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