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“Thanks, Nana,” Isaac says.
I only start to breathe again when she leaves. It takes us a good hour to get the puzzle done.
“Do the honors of putting in the last piece,” I tell Isaac, and he places it on the remaining space.
He smiles broadly as he looks at the completed puzzle.
“Good job!” I tell him, and we high five.
“You too, Mila,” Isaac says.
The front door makes a sound, and Brad’s booming voice follows.
“Anybody home?” Brad calls.
As usual, Isaac beats me to the door. He throws himself against his dad’s hard body. Our eyes meet above Isaac’s head. He beckons at me to get closer, and with his other hand, pulls me into a hug.
“It’s so good to be home with my favorite people,” Brad says.
Dinner is a pleasant affair. I never asked Brad what he said to his mom, but whatever it was, it has made her halfway decent to me. I don’t need more than that.
Later, when we’re getting ready for bed, Brad asks me my plans for the following day. I hesitate and then decide that I won’t worry him by telling him that I’m meeting Clay. The only reason I agreed to meet him is to get it into his thick skull that we’re truly done.
“I’m not sure,” I finally say while removing my top.
“Here, I’ll help,” Brad says and steps behind me to unhook my bra.
I giggle. “You really do love my boobs.”
“Them and everything else about you,” Brad says and helps me out of my bra.
Standing behind me, Brad cups my breasts, and a quiet moan slips from my lips. I lean against him and close my eyes. His hands expertly palm my hard nipples, eliciting more moans from me. He massages the swells of my breasts and then dips his hand inside my panties. My pussy responds immediately to his touch. I groan as his hand parts my folds and finds my clit.
Brad’s cock presses against my back, and I reach back to stroke the hardness through his trousers.
“Turn around,” he growls, and when I do, our lips lock together in a passionate kiss that ignites all my senses.
Our lovemaking that night is sweet and tender. We take more time to pleasure each other and to stare into each other’s eyes. I feel cherished as if I’m Brad’s real wife, not just to help him win the custody case.
Afterward, we fall asleep in each other’s arms.
***
I know exactly where to look for Clay when I enter the coffee shop. He’s at the furthest corner. He always chooses to sit where few people can see him, like someone running away from the law. It is hot in LA, but he seems not to feel it as he’s dressed in his usual black attire and a leather jacket. He stands up when he sees me and smooths back his hair. A nervous gesture of his that I’m familiar with. It should give me a thrill that Clay is nervous about meeting me. Except it doesn’t. All I want is to get this meeting over and done with.
He comes to me and touches my arms. I fight the urge to shove them off me. He brings his mouth to mine. At the last moment, I avert my face, and he kisses my cheek. His lips are cold. I shiver.
A hard look comes over his eyes. “Once upon a time, you begged for my touch.”
Sweeping anger comes over me. I inhale deeply and remind myself that after today I’ll never see him again.
When we settle down on opposite ends of the table, Clay sits there staring at me until I grow uncomfortable. He’s acting weird.
“Do you know I never realized how beautiful you are,” he says and reaches out to caress my cheek.
My instinct is to fling his hand off, but I remember his earlier reaction. I don’t want to antagonize him.
“What did you want to talk about, Clay? Surely you didn’t come all this way just to tell me how pretty I am.”
“I’ll get our coffees first,” he says and stands. “Milky and sweet for you, right?”
I nod. I feel exhausted, and I wonder whether it was a good idea to agree to meet him. He returns with our coffees.
“I like this place,” he says conversationally. “It reminds me of the first date we had together. You were so shy.”
I don’t know what game Clay is playing at. I’ve no interest in going down memory lane with him.
“We were so in love,” he says.
My patience is running out. “Clay. What did you want to talk about?”
He holds my gaze, his dark eyes unblinking. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I remind myself that this is Clay. The man I was once married to. He’s mean and a bully but physically harmless.
“Us,” he finally says. “I want to talk about us. I realize now that I hurt you, but I’ve changed, and it will never happen again.” He places a hand on his chest and grins confidently. “Scouts honor. Now, what do you say … when can we go home?”
