Page 2 of Good Intentions, Vol. 2

Chapter One

Nick

Three years later

“Sir, your wife is here.” The words Beth says are on the heels of the ones I never thought I would ever tell another woman in my life. The last time I told them to Claire, a week later I was thrown out of my bedroom.

But I don’t have time to reflect on what just happened, or how right it felt. I pull out of Heather, zipping up my pants and watch her shaking hands as she shimmies down her pencil skirt, then her hands franticly go to her hair, trying to smooth the mess I made. All the while she’s looking down at the floor, not even glancing my way and stepping away from me, muttering, “Fuck, where are they?”

I don’t know what she’s talking about, but I don’t have time find out now. As I come to stand in front of my desk, my finger ready to push the button to intercom, I don’t take my eyes from the woman I just told I love her.

Knowing her, she’ll probably put it all down to the heat of the moment, the intense orgasm we gave each other. But I won’t allow it. I won’t allow her brain to pull her away from me. I know what I let it slip out. It’s the truth that was swimming inside me for a while now, screaming at me to tell her every time I look at her.

It’s been maybe thirty seconds since Beth said Claire was here, still if feels like a year. I can see Heather pulling away with every step she takes away from me, looking at the floor. I can’t let that happen, so I call softly, “Pretty girl.” Her head shots up fast and she flinches a little, then her look turns to wonder as if she’s stunned that I would address her in this moment. That I’m still here with her.

Goddammit, she’s a vision.

Her breath still coming hard from the fucking I just gave her, her thick, blonde hair all over the place and falling down her back. Her blue eyes wide, that dazed look she gets every time I fuck her still present and her cheeks slightly pink. I don’t know if it’s still the afterglow or is it just that every time I look at her she looks more and more beautiful, but looking at her like this, her clothes still a disaster as I tried to rip them away from her body, her breath coming hard making her shirt strain at the buttons with every breath, her little waist that flares up at her hips, just right for my hands to squeeze them and pick her up and her legs that go forever, she takes my breath away.

“You ready?” I ask. Putting her through this encounter that looms in front of us is the last thing I want to do. I know she has questions about my marriage, doubts as why would I step over the line that’s drawn in the sand. But maybe seeing how Claire acts would give her a peace of mind. Maybe it would help the shadows that lurk in her eyes every time after we have sex, disappear.

She doesn’t say anything, just bunches something in her hand and takes the papers she used as pretense to come to my office from the coffee table while she smoothes down her hair and shirt. With a deep breath, I watch as she shuts down right in front of my eyes and gives me a stiff nod of her head.

“Send her in, Beth. Thank you.” I say after pushing the dreaded button, not taking my eyes from Heather who’s back at playing her game of ignoring me. “Hey,” I whisper trying to catch her eyes.

She’s standing too far away from me, all the way across the office, right by the door. I want to go to her, take her in my arms, and wipe out this detached look and stiff posture that she has. I want to promise her everything will be alright. We will get through this and be together after.

Just the two of us.

But, I can’t.

And I hate myself because of it.

I can’t take my eyes off her. There are million scenarios running through my head, each giving me a different vision of my future. And they all include her.

In a flash I’m lost in a fantasy.

A fantasy that comes crashing down as soon as the door opens and a cold, almost bored voice comes, “Hello, my darling husband, how are you today?”

I look at the woman that speaks these words. The words that are forcing my breath to catch in my lungs from sheer repulsion of hearing them.

I run my eyes up and down her picture perfect representation. Standing close to Heather, it’s obvious she’s her polar opposite. There’s not a single hair out of its place on her head that two years ago, she cut into something she calls a bob. I used to love bunching her hair in my hand. I used to admire the softness of it. But as with everything she did, she took that away from me. There’s not a wrinkle in her clothes. Her brown eyes glimmer with ice, and her lips are stretched in unnatural position for them. A smile.

I don’t even remember when she stopped smiling. I was sure if that ever happened, I would notice, as I would everything about her. But as she kept pushing me away, no matter my efforts to not let her, she finally got what she wanted, and I walked away. I stopped noticing things about her. I don’t know how I should feel about that fact anymore. I was heartbroken when it first happened, then over the months I became resentful. Now, in this very moment, faced with something I would miss in normal circumstances, I’m angry.

Because I know what this is.

She’s seen Heather standing in my office and like every time there’s someone in our proximity the show starts.

A show of a doting and loving wife.

She comes to me not even sparing Heather a single glance and tries to hug me.

With no other choice I bend a little giving her arms access to my shoulders, and her lips to my cheek.

“Hi Claire,” I quickly pull out of her reach. I can’t stand her hands on me, not right after I had Heather’s soft ones. Or the sharp sting of her perfume in my nostrils. Not after Heather’s flowery one, mixed with the scent of us. “What are you doing here?” This one I’m curious to know. She hasn’t come here since she gave birth to our son.

Our son.