Page 4 of Breathless With Her

He pushed in and out of her, his butt flexing as he grunted, and then lowered his head so he could sniff the white powder off Becca’s exposed breasts.

My husband, the love and light of my life, was snorting coke off the boobs of the head cheerleader from our high school while pounding his cock inside of her.

What fresh hell was this?

I must have made a sound. I didn’t know what it was, probably a gasp, maybe I had said all of that out loud. Regardless, the two of them turned to me at once. Nicky’s eyes went wide, and Becca grinned like a cat that got the cream. Or the canary. Or maybe some other metaphor that actually had to do with sex that I really didn’t want to think about or try to remember.

Because my husband was cheating on me,andhe was doing drugs.

And I had no idea what to say to any of that.

Were there words for this? Was there a fucking Hallmark card? There had to be.We’re so sorry your husband is doing coke and playing with his cock in the cheerleader. Maybe if I put enoughC’s in the card, it’d be all alliterated and shit.

“Fuck, Erin. What are you doing here?”

He was still inside of her, his hips still thrusting slightly. Apparently, he didn’t even realize he was doing it. He wiped the powder off his nose, and I just blinked.

“That’s the question you’re going to ask me? What am I doing here?” Dear God.

“You’re supposed to be at the party,” he stuttered.

“Yes, darling, you were supposed to be at the party,” Becca sing-songed.

“I cannot believe I’ve become a cliché,” I said, looking at the two of them as I shook my head. “A goddamn cliché.” My heart should have hurt, it should have felt like it was splitting in two. Instead, all I could do was try to catch my breath. Try to fight through the numbness. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even cry, scream, or throw anything. There wasnothing.

Iwas nothing.

I turned on my heel and walked out of the bathroom, the tapping of my shoes against the tile of the hallway echoing in the emptiness.

There weren’t shouts, no screams from me. I didn’t hear the sound of footsteps behind me. I didn’t hear anyone following me. Because there wasn’t. He wasn’t going to come after me.

He would probably finish inside her, make sure he got every last line of coke.

I needed a fucking drink.

I pushed past people, and I was pretty sure they weren’t even aware I was there. They were too busy paying attention to their own lives, which might not be perfect but had to be better than mine and what I had just witnessed.

My hands were shaking, and I knew I probably looked ill, maybe even a little angry, but I didn’t care.

I walked out of the school, got into my car, started the engine, and found the nearest bar.

The fact that it was only five minutes away might have worried me for the school itself, but I didn’t care. I just needed a goddamned drink.

It didn’t occur to me until I opened the door that I was still in a sequined dress from the eighties, my hair likely in disarray. I probably looked like I was just on this side of a psychotic break.

But I didn’t care. I ignored the looks, the whispers. I stomped my way to an empty barstool and took a seat next to a man with broad shoulders wearing a tight Henley.

He looked at me and frowned. I ignored him. Instead, I raised my chin and waited for the bartender to see me.

“Erin?”

I froze, knowing that voice. Remembering that voice.

I turned and saw Devin Carr. A friend from school—or at least he had been my sister, Jennifer’s, friend. They had dated for a bit, not that I remembered too much about it or knew any of the details.

I just shook my head.Of course.

“Hi, Devin.”