Page 1 of Homewrecker

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Blair

The quickest way to find out which woman in a room knows that you’ve fucked someone’s husband is to watch what they do with their own.

You’d see a hand slip into his. You’d notice her arm loop through his. You’d even see a body quickly appear between yours and his like you might snatch him by his collar and drag him into the nearest bathroom if they didn’t establish ownership quick.

It would’ve been funny if it weren’t my life. Actually, fuck that. It bothered me, but it’s still funny.

The men constantly being protected from me weren’t even my type. I wouldn’t even fuck him with his wife’s pussy, but telling his wife that probably wouldn’t help my reputation.

So, I just smiled, watching them both smile, and all three of us pretended that she hadn’t just moved closer to him as I approached the bar.

“Excuse me,” I said. She barely moved as I reached around her for a cocktail napkin.

You would think I was trying to slip my business card into his pocket and whisper call me when your wife goes to sleep. All I wanted was a damn napkin.

I held it up between two fingers. “Got it.”

She smiled uncomfortably, and her husband suddenly became fascinated with the ice in his glass. I walked away before my mouth ruined the two years of therapy I’d paid good money for.

“Blair.”

I stopped walking because it felt weird hearing your name after it became infamous and changed the way it sounded.

Before, Blair belonged to me. Now, whenever someone calls it across a crowded room, I have to wait a second to figure out which version of me they’re calling.

Blair, the interior designer?

Blair, the business owner?

Blair, the woman whose work had been featured in three design publications before thirty-five?

Or… THAT Blair!! The Blair who’d spent three years sleeping with another woman’s husband.

I turned around. “Hey, Diamond.” Her hug stopped quickly and turned into an air hug. We used to party together and take tequila shots out of each other’s cleavage in college, but now she hugged me like HR was watching.

“You look good,” she said.

“So do you.”

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

I smiled. “Yeah. I decided last minute to come out.”

I hadn’t been invited personally by anyone in this room. I was there because one of my projects had been nominated for a local design award, and apparently professional accomplishments did not exempt you from social execution. If anything, they gave people better lighting to watch you under.

Diamond shifted her clutch from one hand to the other.

“How’s business?”

“Good.”

“That’s good.”

“It is.”

“I’m glad.”