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It feels so good, his arm wrapped around me, his fingers lightly brushing over my panties. Shivers run through me. Tingles dance through my pussy. I lean back against him, reaching up and running my hand over the scruff of his beard.
The ringing of his phone interrupts our sexy moment.
“No,” I groan, knowing that when the phone rings, he must answer.
“Sorry, beautiful,” he says, pulling his phone from his pocket. “It’s Savage.”
“Take it,” I say. “But you owe me. Big time.”
“I’m counting on it.” He gives my ass a slap as he leaves the laundry room, answering, “Hey, man. What’s going on?”
His voice sounds tight as he answers the phone. I wonder what his best friend wants. I close the dryer door, turning it on high. I tiptoe down the hall to the kitchen. He’s on the patio, his back turned toward me. The glass door is firmly closed. I can’t hear anything, but he seems tense.
A good meal will sort him out.
I go about my business, pulling fresh veggies out of the fridge. I wash them at the sink, watching him through the glass doors. He hangs up the phone, heaves a sigh, and slips it in his pocket.
Instead of coming back in to see me, he stares out over the yard. Then, he turns toward the street, walking that way. I guess he needs air. Often, when he struggles to process emotions, he’ll go for a walk.
I know, as always, he’ll be back in time for dinner.
Dolores and Dante are the first to arrive, taking their usual seats at the table. I pour them water and wine, chiming in to their conversation as I plate the meal. Piping hot brown rice scooped into the bottom of wide, shallow glass bowls. Chicken and veggies cooked with ginger and garlic ladled on top, the fragrant sauce pooling in the bottom of the bowl.
I serve Dolores and Dante, noting their chairs seem to be moving closer together each evening. I’m blushing at their praises while I’ve got one eye down the hall, peeking at the front door.
Finally, he arrives, taking his seat at the table.
Without greeting me with my hello kiss.
I chalk it up to work stress.
He’s quiet while we all eat. Distant. We carry our conversation on our own, the three of us. He chips in whenever his silence has gone on too long, bordering on impolite.
He wants a shower after dinner.
My mind races.
Was that really Savage on the phone? Where did he go after? Why no hello kiss and the immediate shower after? Aren’t those the first tells of a love affair? I’ve written this article so many times, announcing celebrity cheating scandals.
I’m being silly.
Dante and Dolores help me clear the table. After rinsing, I insist we leave the dishes in the sink. I’ll do them in the morning.
I need a distraction.
I initiate a game of Rummy with Dante in the living room. He thinks he can beat me one of these days but he won’t. I’ve had too much practice. It’s a game I played with my mom for many hours waiting backstage to perform at the pageants.
I sit on the plush gray carpet, legs crossed beneath me, my hand of cards resting on the black coffee table. Dante sits across from me on the sofa.
Dolores doesn’t play cards but she’s never far from where Dante is, even, sometimes, on her days off. She curls up in the oversized blue chair in the corner, reading her mystery novel under the light of the floor lamp I recently ordered for her.
Damian doesn’t join us.
We retire to our rooms, Dante giving Dolores a tight embrace before they part ways for the night. It’s sweet, how close they’ve grown. I feel highly unsettled as I climb the stairs to the third floor. The room is dark. He’s already sleeping.
Or pretending to sleep.
Another sign.
