#TripleX (33 page)

Then his lips pressed against my smooth bare skin and—

My beer slid out of my hands and bounced against the wood top of the bar, jolting me back into reality. The noises of the bar and people talking around me became louder. “Are you okay?” Jake asked, concern written across his furrowed brow. “You’ve been staring at me like a zoned-out crack-head for over a minute.”

Holy crap
.

I yanked out my phone and pulled up the notepad and held up a finger to Jake’s face. “Shut up for one minute. I just had an incredible scene in my head, and I need to write it down.” I fumbled with my phone, trembling with how real and raw my fantasy was.

“Are you okay though?”

“Yes. Wonderful,” I squeaked out, even though the truth was
me
sitting at a bar clenching my burning, stinging hoo-ha, which probably resembled a pepperoni pizza as Jake Ryan was thoughtlessly offering me dating advice. And the whole time he was offering up this advice, he was also staring off, looking at some skinny blonde down at the other end of the bar. And son-of-a-bitch, was that author Kelli Maine? The chick that bitch-slapped me in the face? Screw it, he could have at her.

I didn’t care about anything at that moment, because I was typing into the writing app on my phone. I just got it back!

My imagination was back.

The words were back.

My desire was back.

My strength was back.

My confidence was back.

And thank God, my writing mojo was back—with a vengeance.

I was back.

Twitter: Can’t Help Falling in Love with Elvis and His Blue Suede Shoes. #ViralVomit #CheatWithOtherBooks #JudgesNeedLoveToo

I should have been suspicious that we had a meeting at one of the most romantic restaurants in Vegas. I should have been clued in that something was up the second that Chris made sure I was glammed up and styling, and she looked like her typical frumpy, but skinnier, bag of slop. I really should’ve been “in the know” when the elevator opened, and she fake-dropped her phone. It took her over two minutes to pick it back up.

I should’ve been.

But I wasn’t.

I was not prepared to walk into that restaurant and see Matt sitting at an edge table, wearing a suit, holding two yellow tulips. My tulips. Our flowers. Immediately, I turned around and glared at Christine, while she blew a sassy little kiss my way. I hadn’t seen Matt in months, hadn’t talked to him since our huge blow up. I could’ve used a few moments to gather my thoughts, regroup and refigure.

God, Matt looked good. So good. Was he always this good looking? I walked slowly toward him, feeling insecure and unsure. I couldn’t understand how I could feel so out-of-place walking toward the man I’d been married to for years, had three sons with, and took care of after an emergency appendectomy three years ago. The same man who helped clean my incision after my C-sections, who helped me in and out of the shower after each surgery. How did we get here? So far from where we’d come?

I stopped dead in my tracks—unable to take another step.

The tears fell.

The guilt rose to the surface. I felt in my throat… in my mouth.

I felt it…

I puked all over the floor in the middle of the restaurant as people took pictures and recorded the entire thing. I’d be viral vomit within minutes. The wait staff scurried to clean the mess. The maitre d’ ran to get a water glass and towel for me. And Matt, Matt did what he always did. He laughed. He laughed and scooped me up into his arms, and carried me (carried me!) into the women’s restroom. He sat down on the chaise lounge chair and held me in his arms. “God, you’re light as a feather,” he whispered. “Have you eaten at all these last three months? You’re skin and bones, Lou.”

I sobbed into his shoulder, trembling with fear and anguish. Matt continued to laugh and stroke my hair. When the tears finally stopped, and there was more snot on his shoulder than in my nose, he said, “We’re going to get through it. We’ll always get through it. There’s no other option, Ang. You and me, we’re a team—always are, always will be.”

“Matt, how can you say that? You don’t know what I did—.” He put his finger over my lips, and smiled.

“I’m going to let you tell me, because I know you
have
to confess whatever this is, Lou,” he grinned. Matt kissed my cheek and wiped a tear off my lash. “But do I need to remind you of the Taco Bell incident?”

A few years ago, Matt and I decided to have a weight loss contest. It was a percentage lost contest, because I had way more pounds to lose than he did. We swore that whoever lost the most at the end of the month would be deemed the “Stone Survivor.” However, there was one rule that couldn’t be broken. Neither contestant could cheat throughout the entire month; otherwise it was immediate disqualification. Basically, the rule was; you couldn’t eat like a horse all month, and then starve yourself the last week. When we had our final weigh in, I lost more percentage wise than he did—by far.

Matt was so proud of me. He made a banner out of construction paper that read, “Stone Survivor,” put a crown on my head, and made the boys all bow down to the reigning queen of weight loss. It took roughly fifteen minutes of guilt-ridden stardom, and I caved like the little piggy’s house that was made out of sticks. I’d been eating chalupas from Taco Bell every day for lunch and not eating my grilled chicken and broccoli that we’d agreed upon as our lunch for the month. I confessed to my cheating, disloyal ways.

But this was not a Taco Bell story. This wouldn’t end with us eating our weight in chalupas and having sex in the back of our minivan. This was different. So different.

“Matt, this isn’t a silly competition I cheated in,” I admitted, shifting off of his lap and sitting next to him on the chair. “I need to tell you what happened in New Mexico. I have to say it all now, before I lose my nerve.”

“I’m here. I’m listening.”

“I met this guy… Greg… at a sex club,” I said, watching as Matt’s jaw tightened. I knew he was chewing on the inside of his mouth. It was his telltale signs of nervousness and unease. “At first we were just talking at the club… and I was so mad at you for those… no… I’m not going to try to redirect the blame or justify my actions. Greg wanted to go someplace to talk.”

“So you talked, good. Now, let’s eat dinner and dance on the balcony,” Matt said, standing.

“Stop! Don’t do that. Don’t do what you always do! We always push things under the rug and never address them—never talk about them, never face them, never confront them. Not anymore Matt,” I begged, pulling him back down on the chair. “If we’re going to get through all of this, then we
both
need to know what we’re up against.”

Matt slumped down into the chair. The hope deflated from his eyes.

“We went to this cliff that overlooked the desert—at least—it seemed like a desert,” I shrugged. “Anyway, he started telling me about how he’d been divorced for eight years and how happy he was living the single life and experiencing all the things he dreamed of before he got married.” Matt sighed and leaned over, putting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. I went on. “He told me about all the fantasies he was exploring and how much he liked trying new things… and people. And Matt, he was so nice… so talkative. We talked for so long—like you and I
used
to do. Well then… then…”

“Just fucking say it,” Matt said, his voice barely a whisper.

“And I was becoming so turned on. This man, a beautiful, hot,
younger
man, wanted me. Me Matt! A middle-aged, overweight, mother—”

“I’m not going to sit here and listen to this,” Matt said, rubbing his forehead and standing abruptly.

Crying, I grabbed his hand. “You have to. You have to for me—for us, Matt. Don’t walk out now. You can’t. Please. Not now.”

Matt turned his back on me. At that moment, a woman walked in bathroom, and Matt gritted through his teeth, “Not now. We’re in the middle of something.” Her eyes widened, and she turned and left without another sound. “Go on.” His back was still toward me. I stood and walked around to face him.

“As Greg was talking, the whole time he was running a finger along the back of my hand and up my arm,” I explained. Matt shook his head, looking away from me. “Then, he turned my hand over and kissed the palm of my hand. When he did, he asked about my tattoo.” I quickly flipped my hand and flashed my wrist, so Matt could get a glimpse of my new tattoo. “I told Greg that I got the infinity sign on the inside of my wrist and that the names that outlined it were my kids’ names—ya know, because I’d love them forever.”

“So now you have tattoos?” Matt asked, staring at me like he didn’t even know me.

“One. One tattoo Matt,” I said, nodding.

“Classy,” he grumbled.

“Stop it. You have one. Don’t be like that,” I said, trying not to let this escalate into one of our blowouts over stuff that didn’t matter when things that did matter were on the line. “Anyway, Greg kept tracing the tattoo was his finger, telling me how beautiful and smart I was. Then, with his one hand still on my wrist, he pulled me closer to him and kissed my neck.”

Matt’s eyes closed. His head dropped.

“Matt, I liked it. I liked being wanted like that. Being seduced like that,” I admitted. “God, it had been so long since I felt like that.”

Matt didn’t look at me. Wouldn’t look at me.

I walked closer to him, put my hand on his, and said, “But something was off. His hand, his fingers were touching my infinity tattoo, my forever… and… and… then I understood in that moment what he was walking about. I knew exactly what he meant—about searching for things he didn’t have.”

Matt started for the door. I blocked him from leaving. “Greg needed to explore things with other people, have his dreams start to come true, because they hadn’t yet. Greg was still searching for someone to be his forever. And that’s when I realized that I had just one more thing to do.”

I took Matt by the hand and led him back to the lounge chair. I sat down and faced him. “I told Greg that we—he and I—weren’t happening. Then, I asked him to take me to a tattoo shop. He said, ‘No,’ and pretty much left me at some gas station in the middle of nowhere,” I explained, still holding Matt’s hand. “I tried to call Chris, but I didn’t have service. I talked to the seventy-year-old gas station attendant until he got off, and the morning shift showed up. The old man, Ruck, drove me to the hotel in his forty-year-old pickup truck. When I got back to the hotel, I couldn’t wait to tell Christine what happened and what I finally realized after all of this time, but she immediately thought I rode Thor to Whoreville and home.”

“So you didn’t—”

I raised my hand—not wanting Matt to interrupt the most important part of my story.

“Let me finish, Chris and I had this crazy-ass blow up, because quite frankly she thinks everyone is her cheating-fuck of a husband,” I grumbled. “Anyway, I found a tattoo shop on my own, and finally got the finishing touch on my tattoo.”

I flipped my wrist, so he could really see the tattoo this time. Evan, Kevin, and Bryce’s names were repeated over and over again in black script as they completed the entire infinity symbol, and through the center in red was one word, the center of my forever: Matthew.

“Matt, I have to be honest. No lies. No sugar-coating. I liked the way Greg made me feel. He made me feel desirable, worthy, so much more than just a wife and a mother. He made me feel like a woman, a sexy woman. I left that bar pretty much convinced that I was going to sleep with him. I really thought I wanted to sleep with him,” I admitted, grasping Matt’s face in my hands and forcing him to look at me.

Matt’s eyes welled with tears. My own matched his—just as they’ve always done. When he hurt, I hurt. When he’s happy, I’m happy. His feelings were mine; mine were his. It’d been that way since we fell in love.

“But I didn’t, Matt. He’s not you. He’s not the man that brings me icy waters to bed. He’s not the man that plays games with me in bed when I can’t sleep. He’s not the man that coaches my sons’ teams and shows them what a real husband and father is.

“Matt, you made every single one of my dreams come true and all of my fantasies a reality. Why would I bother with someone who is nothing compared to you?” I explained, crying harder. “I know you and I’ve gone through a ton of shit lately, but God, Matt, there is nobody else I’d rather go through it with than you. And honestly,” I said, pointing to my wrist, “there is no forever, if you’re not right in the middle of it.”

“Ang, I’m… I’m so sorry we got this far away from each other,” he sobbed.

“I’m not,” I admitted. “I think we both learned a lot these last few months. It makes it so much more important that we fought this hard to get back to each other.”

“God, I’m never letting you go again,” Matt promised, pulling me onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me, and I swear to God my toes curled.

“Jesus Matt, you made my toes curl. Holy Hell, things are twitching and nipples are hardening,” I squealed. “You did that. You got mad skills, my man!” I high-fived him. We’ve been high-fiving each other forever. Our forever. He’s my best friend, my husband, the father of my kids, and my favorite teammate.