Unauthorized Affair (Unauthorized #1)
By: Lisa Ladew
Chapter 1
Jen Mansko slipped through the waves on her surfboard, heading back to shore. She’d thought for sure that an hour of surfing before work would get rid of the tickle of unease she’d felt tumbling around the back of her mind, but now that her hour was over it was back. Did I forget something important? she wondered for the 50th time that morning. The cold water of Ocean Beach washed around her, chilling her more than usual. She barely noticed. Her thoughts seemed far away and hidden from her view by a piece of gauzy fabric in her mind. That’s silly, she thought. How can my own thoughts be hidden from me? But the feeling persisted.
Reaching shore, she climbed off the surfboard and out of the water, functioning almost fully on auto-pilot. She’d done this same routine enough mornings that she probably could have made it from this point on the beach to the cafe that she worked at with her eyes closed. So what did it matter that her mind couldn’t stop worrying about something she couldn’t remember? She didn’t need it right now.
In the parking lot, she slid her surfboard on top of her tiny, beat-up, hatchback and tied it down. She tugged off her wetsuit and grabbed a towel to dry her long hair, squeezing the water gently from her thick, pink ponytail. Looking at it made her smile, at least a little. She loved the pink dye in her normally blond hair.
The early-morning fog pressed in on her and made her shiver. She looked in the back seat for her clothes but it was empty. She’d forgotten her clothes. All she had was the shorts she drove over in. She’d have to go home and grab her work outfit. Instead of lessening, the tickle of unease grew into a lightning bolt of dread, making her feel suddenly hot all over.
Just go in to work and see if Carla has anything you can wear. She rejected the idea at once and climbed into the driver’s seat, a frown of dismay seated on her face. Jen grabbed her phone and dialed the cafe’s number.
“Cafe Au Lait, can I help you?” a familiar, sassy voice asked.
“Carla, I’ll be a few minutes late, I have to run home and get my clothes. I’m sorry,” Jen said into the phone, feeling like a robot.
“Where you, girl? The beach?”
“Yeah.”
“So you’ll be 30 minutes late.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
Jen heard Carla’s tone turn from flippant to concerned in an instant. “Jen, what’s wrong with you? You sound like someone ran over your best puppy.”
“Nothing Carla, I just feel bad I’m gonna be late, that’s all.”
“Aw girl, don’t worry about it. I got you covered.” The sass was back, but Jen couldn’t appreciate it. Her frenetic thoughts tumbled and hid from her behind the curtain.
“Thanks Carla. I’ll get there as soon as I can,” she whispered and pressed the END button.
She started her car and drove the 20 horrible minutes it took her to reach the apartment she shared with her boyfriend in San Francisco’s Tenderloin district. She pulled into her stall and killed the ignition. Dimly, she felt her jaw aching. She tried to relax the muscles there but couldn’t do it.
She climbed the steps to her floor, pushing herself mentally to take each step. Not daring to think about why it was so hard. She’d rather be doing anything than this right now, and she didn’t even know why. Or at least that’s what she tried to believe.
She walked the hall to her door like it was death row, her feet dragging, her muscles resisting. When she at last stood in front of her door she stared at it for several minutes, a heated debate persisting in her mind. Just go to work. Forget the clothes. No! Go in and get your clothes! Finally, she seated her key in the lock and pushed the door open, revealing the small living room beyond.
She took a step, and another, then one more, and turned left at the hallway, her ears straining to pick up noises from the bedroom beyond, where her clothes lay. Instead of putting the clothes by her keys, like she always did, she’d pushed them under the bed. The image of herself doing it played over and over in her mind, but she still couldn’t admit to herself why she’d done it. But now the image changed. She saw herself going through the kitchen garbage, looking for a ring that had slipped off her hand, and finding a used condom buried almost at the bottom. Which was suspect because she and Adam didn’t use condoms. That was 2 weeks ago. She saw herself hugging Adam when he came home from work and smelling the unmistakable scent of sex on his body. That was a week ago. And she saw herself watching him smile and laugh to himself at a text message he received. When she’d checked his phone later, hating herself passionately for doing so, there was no record of any text messages coming in that day. So he’d deleted it. That was last night. Each time, she’d squashed the thoughts that came fast and furious, not letting herself think them. Adam loved her. She loved Adam. He wouldn’t do that. And just because they hadn’t had sex for a month now, that didn’t mean anything. He was tired. He was working double shifts almost every day. And she was too when she could get them.
A noise interrupted the jumbled thoughts that were finally tumbling into her consciousness. A laugh. A female laugh. A throaty female laugh with a sensual moan at the end of it floated towards her through the small opening of the bedroom door. Physical pain wrapped itself around Jen’s chest and squeezed. Her head and neck suddenly flushed hot, even her eyes burned. Her breakfast of cheese and yogurt sat heavy in her stomach, while nausea rolled over her in a wave. The door to the bedroom she shared with Adam loomed in front of her. Through the two-inch crack she saw only the dresser against the wall. She couldn’t see any of the bed. She reached out her hand, which weighed 1000 pounds, and pushed weakly at the door.