Little Secrets(41)
“You have a bit of time to think about it. If the money isn’t wired by tomorrow morning, nine a.m., I’ll assume your decision is no.”
“What if I can’t decide that fast?”
He studies her, a small smile on his face. “You’ve already decided, Marin, or you wouldn’t be here. It’s a matter of whether or not you can pull the trigger.” His smile widens. “Bad joke. That’s my job, not yours.”
Nothing more is said for the next few minutes. Around them, the diner noise picks up. The bars on University Avenue are closing and college kids are piling in looking for cheap, greasy eats to soak up the Bud Lights they’ve been drinking.
The check arrives and Julian slaps down a hundred-dollar bill. It’s way too much, and Marin would have paid, but Bets pockets the money with a coral-toothed smile and doesn’t offer change.
“Stay as long as you like,” the waitress tells them.
The college girls at the next table are shrieking with laughter, and there’s a new group at the booth next to them, making bawdy jokes about whatever video they’re all watching on someone’s phone. At the table next to theirs, a homeless man is telling another homeless man a story about a third homeless man, loudly. She can smell them, the stink of the streets on their clothes, their unwashed skin reeking of stale sweat.
None of it bothers her. If anything, the noise is a welcome cushion. Nobody can hear this conversation. Nobody can be horrified by the words she’s said, and the thing that she has yet to say. The only person who might judge her is seated across from her, and it’s safe to say that his lack of moral compass renders his opinion of her moot.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Marin,” Julian says, and just like that, the meeting is over. “Get home safe.”
His tone is so light and unassuming. Marin can’t help but think how normal he looks, how utterly sane, how attractive.
Clutching her purse, she slides out of the booth and throws her jacket on. “How do I get in touch with you?”
“You don’t.” He looks up, but doesn’t stand, nor does he offer his hand for a parting handshake. “Everything from here on can go through Sal.”
Their goodbye is as brief as their hello.
It’s raining when she exits the diner, and she looks up at the black sky and pauses for a moment, letting the drops wet her face, smear her makeup, wash away her sins.
She can’t believe it’s come to this.
She has lost her fucking mind.
Chapter 13
In the beginning, Kenzie found it exciting. Affairs always are at first. But now, lying in the hotel bed listening to Derek snore beside her, the bloom is off the rose.
Married men are exhausting. They have a way of sucking all the oxygen out of the room when you’re with them. You’re always on their schedule, on guard for changes in locations and times to meet. There are only specific places you can go, and only for so long before there’s somewhere else they have to be. Their families are their priorities. And you’re not family.
You’re the side piece. You’re the one who’s there to fill in the holes. Your voice is less than.
It was a waste of time to come here. She should have left more time in between dates. Derek’s starting to get comfortable, and when he stops yearning for her, the relationship is as good as over. Unlike with his wife, he isn’t obligated to be with Kenzie. He’s not committed. They’re not building a life together. When he tires of her, he’ll end it. And she’s not ready.
She reaches for her phone, tempted to text J.R., see what he’s up to later. He was the only lover she ever had who didn’t also have a wife, but in the end, he didn’t want her. They stayed friends, and occasionally they still have sex, and sometimes it makes her feel better. Sometimes, though, it makes her feel worse, and there’s no way to predict which way it will go. She puts her phone down, not willing to find out today. At least with married men, you always know where you stand.
When they got to the room last night, Derek said he had some work to do, so Kenzie was left to pay-per-view a movie by herself while he caught up on emails. When the movie finished, she fell asleep. At some point, Derek must have as well, and he didn’t bother to wake her.
Why did he even invite her here, if not to have sex?
She slides out of bed and pads over to the window, opens the curtains a touch. The sun is coming up, and the view of the grounds is pretty. She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the glass and is dismayed to see that her pink hair has dried flat. She’ll have to wash it again, and blow it dry this time. Mentally cursing, she heads to the bathroom to shower, stripping her clothes off as she goes.
She has no illusions about how she looks. She’s tall and thin and blessed with great muscle tone and fabulous legs. Her face, however, is just okay. She looks pretty when she puts makeup on, but other than mascara and a bit of gloss, she mostly can’t be bothered. At least now that she’s in her twenties, her skin has finally cleared up.
Her biggest asset is that she’s exotic. Hawaiian father, French Canadian mother … men have always liked her. She’s not so beautiful that she intimidates them, but she’s attractive enough that she’s worth pursuing. She understands what she has. She figured it out a long time ago, with J.R., when she was seventeen. And then with Sean, when she was nineteen. Then came Erik. And then Paul, the one whose wife threatened to kill her. And now Derek.