The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(20)

But I didn't object. I let his lips explore and his hands wander, wedding ring and all.

Because it's my job to not object.

Always the willing participant.

No matter how much it disgusted me. No matter how much it repulsed me.

That's why I always removed myself from the situation. I was never Jennifer Hunter at that moment. Kissing a stranger. Letting his hands explore my body. I was always Ashlyn.

Because Ashlyn never came home with me.

Ashlyn never changed into my white cotton pajamas that smelled like fabric softener from Marta's diligent laundering. Ashlyn never snuggled in-between my white satin sheets, with the stuffed elephant I'd slept with for years. And Ashlyn never woke up and saw her reflection in my bathroom mirror the next morning.

That was Jennifer. And so therefore it was important to keep them as separate as possible. Because as soon as those lines are blurred, that's when everything starts to fall apart. That's when it becomes personal.

And in this business, nothing can be personal. It's like drenching your emotions in lighter fluid and then standing dangerously close to an open flame. And as much as I wished my arms and legs and heart were made of steel, I was still human. I was no robot.

Ashlyn, however, was my shield.

"I've always wanted to sleep with a flight attendant." His voice was muffled as his lips buried into my neck.

"I guess it's your lucky day, then."

"It most certainly is," he cooed.

And that's when I brought Andrew Thompson's lifelong fantasy to a crashing halt.

Maybe he would never fully understand the words that came out of my mouth when I told him who I really was. And maybe he would never fully appreciate the light I shed on the current state of his marriage. But there was one thing I knew for sure: He would never look at a flight attendant the same way again.





5

The Origin of the Species (Part 1)


WHEN I stepped back inside my condo at the end of the night, the contrast with the dark hotel room I had just left was overwhelming. It felt like I had exited a whole different world and entered this one. The other world was dark, full of distrust and lies. This world was beautiful, spacious, sparkling, and white. Like a commercial for all-purpose cleaner.

It was a place I could be myself.

Not anybody else.

This week alone Ashlyn had been a lawyer, a grad student, a sorority girl, a research manager, and a flight attendant. It was nice to just be me again. Jennifer Hunter.

There was only one problem.

As I stared at myself in the mirror after stripping away all the mascara that covered my eyes and all the foundation that transformed my face, I couldn't help but feel like the girl staring back at me was becoming a stranger.

Less and less familiar every day.

And that was hard to ignore.

I exhaled loudly and shut off the light, extinguishing the unfamiliar face with the darkness.

I climbed into bed and snuggled under my white sheets. They felt soft on my skin. Like flower petals. I looked longingly at the pillow on the other side of the bed. Except for Marta's soft hands, it had remained untouched for more than two years. I reached under it and pulled out my tattered, stuffed purple elephant. The one I've slept with every night since I was twelve years old.

And I remembered that first night like it was yesterday.



SNUFFLES THE elephant had never been my favorite stuffed animal. He had been sitting on the window seat of my room since the day I was born, but I had never taken a particular liking to him.

I inadvertently named him Snuffles when I was two, because I would see him in my bedroom after watching Sesame Street and would shrewdly remark that he looked a lot like Mr. Snuffleupagus. Except I couldn't pronounce the entire name of Snuffleupagus, so I would simply point to the purple elephant and say, "Snuffle." Which later was changed to Snuffles.

But I had always favored other toys. Leo the Bear, Floppsy the Rabbit, Frank the Fish. Each night rotating them out, enjoying the variety and excitement of a new bed companion as I fell asleep.

Snuffles never really made it into the mix.

When my mom would tuck me in at night we would always go through the same selection routine, "the bedtime game," as we liked to call it.

I would happily climb into bed and nestle under the covers of my Rainbow Brite comforter or My Little Pony sheets (depending on the age), and she would walk to the windowsill and stand purposefully in front of each toy like a drill sergeant making a daily bunk inspection. Her hand would linger approximately six inches above the head of each animal, and she would wait patiently through my series of resolute head shakes until my eyes would finally light up and my head would fall into an eager nod as she approached the chosen one.

My mom would then pick up the toy privileged enough to be selected for cuddle duty and carefully deliver it into my outstretched arms.

"How come you never pick Snuffles?" she would ask me every once in a while, as I consistently, night after night, allowed her hand to graze past the purple elephant, as it never received my legendary nod of approval.

To which I would shrug and say, "I don't know. I just like the other ones better."

And then from time to time she would pick up the lonely, neglected purple elephant and hold it close to her face, breathing in the smell of his soft fur. "You're making him feel lonely, though."