Unfaithful (17 page)

Seven months later…

He stands at the crowded bar, yelling his order, a black and tan, to be heard over the din of patrons. He’s at Blue Fin on Broadway and 47th Street, surrounded by an attractive after-work, pre-curtain crowd that’s snug in the all-glass corner bar with its view of Times Square. The music is trip–hip hop and loud. He’s alone, dressed smartly in a dark gray, four-button suit with an open-collared blue shirt. His shoes are polished and his cuff links shine in the twilight. He nods to the bartender, an anorexic Asian woman with jet black hair that descends straight to her ass like one of those Caribbean waterfalls. He takes a sip and moves off to find a place to sit.

Ryan is both tired and invigorated.

Tired because of an all-day meeting across town he’s just returned from. Invigorated because he’s finally done, it’s Friday, and he decided on the spur of the moment to extend his time here in New York—at least for another night. He has nothing to go home to, so why not?

He’d pulled off his tie, ran some water over his face, and came here. The night is young, and New York City always makes him tingle with that special something—as if all the energy from outside the pane is being infused into his veins this very instant.

Seven months.

God, how time has flown.

As Ryan scans the crowd, meeting the eyes of several attractive women, he takes a moment to recount what’s transpired.

Things with Carly have gone nowhere.

She stuck to her guns and made him leave their home. He found a one bedroom in Northeast that’s Metro-accessible and close to a bunch of eateries and nightlife. Not that he’s taken advantage of the nightlife, but it’s nice to know those things are close by.

They speak very infrequently—he and his wife. At first, he was calling her nonstop, but after several weeks of her not returning his calls, Ryan gave up.

Her pregnancy is going as expected.

Reese—he hasn’t seen or talked to her since that night he confronted her at The Rhyme. Moving on…both of them…

The job is going well. He’s managed to pour his energy back into work, much to the delight of the president and his staff. He and Olivia are cordial in front of the worker bees, but gone are the days when they were close buddies.

Miles?

Ryan hasn’t seen him in months. He knows he’s basically healed, but the two of them just don’t speak anymore.

Nothing to talk about, as far as Ryan is concerned.

So, here he is…Friday night, Manhattan, a delightful night full of possibilities laid out in front of him, if he would even consider them.

Ryan is thankful for the time alone. Time to get on with his life…time to think about Ryan and his own needs. His future. His happiness.

Towards the rear of the bar, a group of happy hour–goers stand to pay their bill and leave. As the bodies shift, Ryan spies a woman sitting where the bar curves ninety degrees. She is cocoa-colored, with dark hair that is pulled back with a single hair tie. Her top is tight-fitting and low-cut, parading lovely breasts for all to see. Their eyes meet and she displays a dazzling smile. Ryan is momentarily taken aback; is she smiling at him? She seems to nod imperceptibly to him, and Ryan finds himself making his way over to where she sits.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks.

“It is now,” she replies coolly, as her eyes give him the quick once-over.

Ryan sits. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you. The pleasure is all mine.” She smiles again.

Ryan sips his black and tan before setting his glass down and turning to face her.

“You are lovely. Can I tell you that?”

“You can tell me anything you want.”

“Alrighty then!” Ryan laughs, holding out his hand. “Ryan. And you are?”

“Jennifer. A pleasure to meet you.”

“I think you said that already.”

“See,” she says, lightly touching his shoulder, “you’ve got me repeating myself!”

“Damn, I’m good,” Ryan retorts.

“That remains to be seen,” Jennifer says with an eyebrow arched.

“Feisty with attitude to boot—I dig that. So, what do you do, Ms. Jennifer?”

“Me? I’m in consumer marketing.”

Ryan nods.

“Work in Manhattan?” he asks.

“Oh no, I’m an out-of-towner. Just here with my girl for the long weekend.”

“Oh, so where’s your girl?” Ryan glances around the packed bar.

“She’s around somewhere—enjoying herself. Probably talking to some man.”

“I see. And do you have big plans for the weekend while you’re here in the Big Apple?”

Jennifer eyes Ryan before answering.

“You really wanna know?”

“I asked the question, didn’t I?” he says.

“Now who’s being feisty?”

“Touché. Go on—yeah, I really wanna know.”

Jennifer nods a few times before locking her stare with Ryan’s.

“I’m here to fulfill a fantasy.” Her eyes don’t blink.

Ryan nods once, takes a sip of his drink. “Care to elaborate?”

“Sure.” Jennifer places her cosmopolitan to her lips before responding. “I hope you don’t think badly of me…but, I’ve always been intrigued by the idea of a threesome. It’s something I’ve thought a lot about. Recently, I got out of a three-year relationship.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. Shit happens. Anyway, now I’m free to explore my desires unencumbered, so to speak—no one holding me back. And my girl is like, let’s do a weekend getaway to NYC…you know, what happens in Manhattan stays in Manhattan…so here I am!”

“Damn. Who’s the lucky bastard?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t met him yet.”

“Excuse me? I’m not following.”

“I haven’t met him yet. I’m hoping—
we’re
hoping—to get things popping tonight or tomorrow night.”

Ryan stares at her for a moment.

“You’re serious?”

“I am.”

“Wow,” he says. “I mean, look at you—you’re fine, dressed to the nines, and—”

“What? A good-looking sistah can’t get her groove on?”

“Naw, I didn’t say that.”

She laughs.

“Look, I’ve labored over lost love for months. I’m so tired of that shit—of moping around at home, not going out, not meeting anyone. It’s my time, Ryan. I need this, you know?”

“Yeah, I do.” Ryan shakes his head.

“What?”

“Nothing—it’s just that I know exactly how you feel. I’ve recently gotten out of a relationship myself.”

“Awww, you’re just saying that to get in a girl’s pants!” Jennifer slaps him on the shoulder. Ryan grins.

“Not me!” Hands in the air.

“Oh, so you’re gay or something?” she asks mischievously.

Ryan pauses for a moment. His smile, for an instant, is erased. But then, it’s back, just like that.

“Not hardly.”

Jennifer leans in, one hand on his lap as she gets closer to his ear. “Can I tell you something?”

Ryan turns to her, but says nothing.

“My girlfriend and I have been here since yesterday afternoon. We partied until four o’clock this morning. Had a ball, met a ton of guys—but none who’ve passed the bar if I was administering the test. I’m not looking for a long-term relationship, Ryan. Not looking for companionship. I’m here because of a need—a desire. I want to feel like a woman should. I want to feel heightened sexuality. I want to feel alive again.”

Ryan is silent.

Hand goes to him. He is warm in her grasp.

“I’m turned on by you, Ryan. You’ve got the looks and this ‘command’ to you.”

“I’m turned on by you, too.”

“Then we should do this—you, me, and my girl. You’d like her.”

Jennifer rises, putting a hand on his shoulder. She leans in, the scent to her perfume intoxicating, the pull to her breasts hypnotic.

“Running to the ladies’ room, but do me a favor—don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“Not going anywhere, Jennifer.”

“And give consideration to what I just said. We could make beautiful music together, the three of us…I can tell.”

Jennifer leans in and Ryan assumes she’s going for a cheek peck, but he is surprised when he feels her lips on his. The kiss is soft, unassuming, and wonderful. Then she opens her mouth and Ryan enters, feeling the longing well inside him like a groundswell. He is focused on her feel—the softness of her breasts that press against his chest, the wetness to her mouth. He conjures up images of the two of them entangled with this faceless, nameless friend, and the thought dazzles him to the core. Desperately, he wants to lose himself in this stranger, this woman he does not know, but Jennifer pulls away.

He watches her go, marveling at her bouncing hips and succulent ass beneath her close-fitting skirt. Her spike-heel boots make him gasp.

Ryan gulps air before reaching for the black and tan.

Finishes it in several gulps, then signals for another.

Jesus.

What he’d give to lose himself in the flesh of total strangers tonight.

She picks up on the third ring.

“Hey, it’s me.”

With the noise level in Blue Fin being what it is, Ryan had no choice but to find quieter pastures in order to make his call. He left a bar napkin over his fresh black and tan and headed upstairs to the lobby of the W Hotel where he found a quiet alcove.

“Hi.” A lukewarm response. He feels this snowball that has become an avalanche, deep in his gut. It is an all-too-familiar feeling, one he’ll never get used to.

Ryan sighs heavily. “It’s been a while. Just wanted to check on you. How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Carly says. “I’m ready for this baby to come. I’m tired and irritable all the time, not to mention the fact that I hate being overweight.”

“You’re not overweight; you’re pregnant,” Ryan says.

“Whatever, same difference.”

A moment of awkward silence.

“How are you doing?” she asks.

“I’m surviving. Not much more than that.”

Another moment of awkward silence.

“Listen, Carly, I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I’d like to see you. This not knowing where we stand is driving me crazy.”

He pauses, hoping she’ll say something.

She does not.

“I miss you, baby,” he continues. “And it’s killing me that you’re not involving me in your pregnancy…
our
pregnancy.”

Slow exhale of her breath.

“Ryan, what do you want me to say? You cheated on me. You expect me to just forgive and forget? Well, I can’t do that.”

“Carly, I want us to be a family again. I want to come home. Do you understand that?”

Carly is crying now—softly, but Ryan can hear it distinctly through the phone.

“Baby, please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Guess you should have thought about that before you fucked our best friend and that whore.”

The words are like barbs; they cut deep. They are wounding, drawing blood. The avalanche has morphed into an out-of-control freight train, brakes screeching as sparks from its wheels fly. Ryan winces hard.

“Carly…baby…I can’t keep doing this, living in no-man’s land, not knowing if we are getting back together or what. I want to come home. I want for us to be a couple again. Please…” Ryan hangs his head low, his words barely above a whisper.

“Ryan,” Carly says, her voice strong and clear, “there is no
us
. You broke
us
. You killed
us
. Do yourself a favor and stop living in the past and move on. Move on, for God’s sake, Ryan…move on.”

With that, Carly ends the call, and Ryan knows with sudden finality that his future is sealed.

He closes his cell, and heads to what awaits him downstairs in the curve of a bar.

“Hey, sexy, I’m back! Let me introduce you to my girl.”

Ryan is back on his stool, head hung low when he hears the sound, feeling a hand on his left shoulder. For the past four minutes, he’s thought of nothing but this last conversation. Ryan knows he and Carly are finally through. He’s tired of chasing after something that isn’t coming around. He’s tired of apologizing, tired of trying to explain the pain that still roosts inside him, just tired of all the bullshit.

When he hears Jennifer’s voice, it’s like smooth jazz on a romantic, candle-lit night. He fills his lungs as he raises his stare, pivoting on his stool to face the lovely Jennifer…

And comes face-to-face with a bartender named Reese instead.

How long they traded back and forth stares, he cannot say. It was one of those moments where the air seemed to be sucked out of the room, and all motion came grinding to a halt. He knows that conversation around him continues unabated, and yet it feels as if all eyes are on him.

Ryan tries to pry his stare away, but he cannot.

Reese is having similar trouble.

Jennifer’s eyes dart from Reese to Ryan and back to her friend again, trying to comprehend the situation. She shakes her head petulantly.

“Am I missing something?” she asks hesitantly. “Do you two know each other?”

Ryan is silent.

Reese disengages her gape with Ryan and turns to her friend.

“This is Ryan.”

“Yeah,” Jennifer responds, “I know who this is,” she says a bit irritated.

“No, girl,” Reese continues, “this is
the Ryan
—from back home.” She stares at her friend for a moment before comprehension registers on Jennifer’s face.

“Oh, my God! Ryan?”

“That’s my name.”

Ryan’s smile breaks the ice. Reese follows suit. For a moment, no one speaks. They stare each other down, except this time, there are smiles all around. Reese speaks first.

“It’s good to see you, Ryan. You are looking well.”

“You, too, Reese.”

And it’s true. She does look good. Damn good.

Ryan hates to admit it, but there’s something different about her. Standing before him is a kinder, gentler Reese; her expression is softer. Perhaps it is her attire. Reese is clad, like her friend, in knee-high boots and a tight skirt that hugs her curves like a glove. Her blouse is all-revealing, and Ryan can’t help but steal a glance at those ripened melons that he used to adore. The ensemble oozes sexuality, and Ryan can’t help but find himself turned on.

“Wow,” Jennifer says, cutting through the morass of memories, “this is
too
deep!” Her expression sours as if she’s just connected the dots, realizing that tonight’s plans are unraveling before her eyes. She sighs heavily. “And to think we were so close.”

Ryan laughs. It’s all he can do. Standing before him is the woman whom he cheated with months ago and her gorgeous, in-search-of-a-fantasy friend. Moments ago, he sat contentedly, wondering how this fortune passed to him. But as quickly as it arrived, it retreats, like a summer thunderstorm. All he can do is laugh out loud.

“What?” Reese asks.

“You…your friend…and me. The likelihood of us running into one another in a city of eight million people—the absurdity of it all.”

“What can I say?”

“I saw him first!” Jennifer cries, coiling her arm around Ryan’s neck. Reese takes a seat to the left of him, eyeing him and then her friend.

“Technically, that’s incorrect.”

Jennifer thinks for a moment, then exclaims, “Shoot! But he’s so damn fine.” Her words fade to a whisper.

“True, true.”

Ryan locks stares with Reese. He is thinking of his conversation with his wife minutes ago. To his right, Jennifer snakes a hand down his inner thigh. The sensation causes his suit pants to draw tight.

“I think I need a drink,” Reese says.

Ryan signals for the bartender. “We all do.” He smiles sheepishly. Jennifer is on his right, fingers stroking his lap, digits that creep ever so close to the expanding outline of his awakening dick. Reese is to his left, shoulders rubbing him seductively as she settles on her stool. Her breasts are like beacons, shining brightly, lighting the way.

Ryan shakes his head while contemplating his next move.

Only in New York City…

Hours pass.

He didn’t plan for that to happen.

But it did.

Exit strategy unraveling before his eyes.

He had planned on having one drink before taking off.

This was one group activity he had no intention of pursuing.

But something about Reese kept him planted on his stool.

There was none of the controlling, in-your-face person he had come to know all too well. Now she was laid-back, relaxed, laughing and chatting along with the two of them. They talked about
everything
…politics, films, traffic, New Orleans, the islands, Africa, reparations…everything but
them
. Reese dissecting the Asian bartender’s every move, reviewing her drinks as if she were Siskel and Ebert. It was quite refreshing, and Jennifer’s company was delightful indeed.

One more drink, Ryan promised himself. What could it hurt?

By eleven-thirty, Blue Fin hadn’t thinned an inch. They ordered food and ate at the bar: fresh tilapia stuffed with lump crabmeat for Ryan; Caesar salad topped with grilled salmon for Reese; and crab cakes for Jennifer.

Another round of drinks after the plates were cleared, and then coffee.

Ryan rises unsteadily, checking his watch—midnight—knowing it is now or never. Leave now, or stay the night with the two of them.

He pays the tab and kisses Reese on her cheek. Turning, he takes Jennifer’s palm in his.

“It’s been a pleasure. I wish we could have met under different circumstances.” Jennifer nods silently. “I’ll walk you to the door,” she says.

Ryan meanders around tables, Jennifer tagging behind him. The night air assaults them when they get outside, but it feels good. Ryan glances up and down the street, trying not to appear like a wide-eyed tourist. Jennifer settles close to him, her breast on his arm as she nuzzles against him.

“You should stay.”

“Not a good idea.”

Jennifer moves closer still. Ryan wraps an arm around her waist, grateful for the warmth.

“You should come back to our room with us.”

“Definitely not a good idea.”

“It’s okay with her, you know.”

Ryan gazes into Jennifer’s eyes before allowing his stare to descend to her nipples, which have hardened in the nighttime air. Her hand is above his belt, hanging loosely, but now it drops until she finds what she’s looking for; she cups his manhood firmly, feeling him through the suit fabric of his pants.

“Room 813, W Hotel. Please, baby.”

Ryan’s eyes are closed. He holds onto this stranger he barely knows; they rock together to a silent beat. He faces her, pulling her into him as they rock, her hand between his legs, stroking him to razor–like sharpness.

The snowball that became an avalanche. The freight train that screamed out of control.

He knows he is lost without Carly.

Yet he can’t do a damn thing to win her back.

That much is clear.

His relationship with the woman back inside is dysfunctional, to say the least.

Reese is, without a doubt, poison.

Yet, he stands here in the deepening cold, contemplating ravaging her and this beautifully intoxicating stranger, sweaty bodies intertwined in some frenzied out-of-control dance that stirs his loins.

But that would only complicate matters.

Only drive the wedge deeper, spreading the chasm wider still—a trench that cannot be filled.

Ryan removes Jennifer’s hand and raises it to his lips, kissing it gingerly. Turning up his collar and sighing heavily, Ryan heads north on Broadway.

Silently, Jennifer watches him go.