Page 17 of Hotwife
“It’s hard,” I nodded in understanding. “I feel like I’m married to a ghost some days. But I don’t know, they have a lot on their plate. Lives, heavy illnesses they treat, death. I imagine it’s a lot.” It sounded weak coming from my lips. I was full of shit. I knew those things, but did I care? Not really. I wanted my husband around more often, too.
Cora took a heavy gulp of wine. “True, but they signed up for that shit and got married on top of it. We didn’t sign up to be on-call wives.”
“Damn, when you put it like that…” I reached for the bottle of wine, flinging my wrist with mock urgency. Cora giggled and topped off my glass.
“It helps to have someone to talk to,” she sighed.
Just then, my phone buzzed… and then Ruby’s phone buzzed.
Shit. I’d forgot to stash that one before Cora came in here. My cheeks flushed as I reached out, but it was too late. Cora grabbed the one closest to her. “Two phones, hm? Are you a drug dealer? Where I’m from, only drug dealers have two phones.” She tossed it onto the cushion next to me and I racked my brain for a lie, but for once, came up short.
“Where are you from again?” I asked, grabbing my other phone, too. Another text from my annoying sister.
“Why Tennessee, honey,” she said, caking on a very authentic accent. “Us southern girls need to stick together. Now, if you’re selling drugs, tell me what it does and how much because I probably want to try-”
“It’s for a guy. Well, guys, plural,” I interrupted. I didn’t know enough about drugs to even lie and pretend it was a phone for that purpose. I may have been talented at bullshitting, but living as a pastor’s kid in Savannah, Georgia, didn’t exactly lend itself to ample time to learn street-smarts.
Cora gasped. “You’re cheating on Cedric?”
“No! I’d never,” I inhaled a breath. I’d told my sister already, but this was different. I’d told no one besides her. “We have an… arrangement. You can’t tell anyone, okay? Especially not the girls in the club.”
Cora topped off my glass, her eyebrows shooting up. “Of course not. Your dirty little secrets are safe with me,” she promised, settling into a cross-legged position on the rug.
“Okay, so about a year ago we decided I could, you know, date around. Cedric’s gone a lot and when he’s here he’s not really here… you know?” I was rambling, and the words sounded silly, but Cora nodded thoughtfully.
“Wow, I can’t believe he went for that. My husband would fucking rage if I suggested something like that. He’d get so jealous.”
“It was his idea.”
“No!” She leaned back, shocked. “Holy shit. You really are the luckiest bitch in the world, huh?”
My heart constricted at her sentiment. Not because I felt judgement, but because of deep longing. I wished Cedric felt that. I wished I could squeeze some jealousy out of him. Part of me hoped he would hate the idea of me hotwifing too. But with his rules, he didn’t mind. And the fact remained that he wouldn’t touch me. Not anymore. And that was killing a small piece of me I tried to ignore. But that part of me was growing agitated.
Like a whale in an aquarium, she was bumping against the walls of my consciousness.
* * *
Several takeout boxes of orange chicken and rice, and another bottle of wine, later, Cora’s driver picked her up. Guilt swirled around my stomach as I pulled out my phone, slightly tipsy. I shot a text to my sister.
Me: Are you still up?
Nothing. It was past midnight my time, so she was probably asleep. Odette was my opposite in being an early-to-bed, early-to-rise freak of nature.
Abandoning my dinner mess in the living room, I made my fuzzy way back to my room, flopping on my duvet. I held both phones in my hand, peering at them through a hazy gaze. My mind waded through emotions I thought I should feel and emotions I actually felt.
I should have felt relief to have confided in a new friend. I should have felt thankful to have a husband so understanding and accommodating. My life lacked almost nothing.
Instead, I felt envy. Jealousy burrowed like a hermit crab in my chest. Cora’s husband would fucking rage at the thought of sharing her. Cedric and I had barely even attempted sex in over a year. A year.
And I had a path forward. I loved my husband and always would. Cedric Winslow was my rock, my stability, my love. I could sleep with whoever I wanted as long as I didn’t stray from his reasonable boundaries. No one we know. No kissing on the mouth. Check emotions at the door. Don’t tell him about any of it.
But none of these were bringing me any peace. Or even any sexual fulfillment. My beaus had been disappointing encounters more often than sexy trysts. And my mind was straying into places it shouldn’t.
Like the way a certain set of incisors felt scraped against my neck. About how my thighs felt as they ached slightly to wrap around him on his motorcycle. His long fingers brushing mine. His devilish glare when we promised to keep this a secret.
What else could we keep secret?
In my drunken stupor, I tossed Ruby’s phone to the side. Tonight would have been an acceptable night to drunk-text literally any man in my burner phone. But did I? No. Suddenly it wasn’t good enough.