“Why are you in my bed?” she interrupts.
I think back to the last twenty-four hours—the last six months, actually—and I sigh, running a hand trough my hair. “Gretchen and I have decided to separate,” I begin. The thought of my marriage failing makes me nauseous.
Things between my wife and I have been…strained, to say the least. For years, if I’m being completely honest. In the beginning, Gretchen and I had been happy—or maybe she was just playing the part. Truthfully, as time went on, I started to suspect she was only in it for the money I made running one of the top advertising agencies in the country.
After taking a breath, I continue with my explanation. “I came to see Alan. We got to talking, I had quite a bit to drink, and he said I should stay the night.”
“In my room,” she states, her eyebrows rising.
While “having too much to drink” is absolutely no excuse for what happened between us, it’s really all I have to go off of. Alan and I had been up shooting the shit and talking about my failed marriage for hours, working our way through a few six-packs, before we decided to turn in. Alan wasn’t sure what time Amy was going to be getting into town the next day, but he said he didn’t want to be exhausted and hung over when she did. As always, drinking that much knocked me out completely, and the beer had obviously helped to blur the line between dreams and reality.
I’m not sure if it was the fact that I’d fallen asleep in her bed or if some subconscious part of me sensed her presence after she’d crawled into bed next to me, but she was the star of my dream that night. When I woke up with my fingers buried between her thighs, I was a confusing combination of horrified and thrilled.
Horrified because I’d taken advantage of her while we both slept…but thrilled because she seemed more than responsive to every kiss and touch I’d lavished her with unbeknownst to either of us—unless I’d mistaken the passion behind her kiss and how incredibly wet she was as something else.
The minute the sleep-induced haze cleared, any positive feelings I’d experienced dissipated, and all I was left with was guilt.
I bury my face in my hands and rub it roughly before dragging them up and through my hair again. “He assured me you wouldn’t be here until this afternoon some time. Amy, if I’d have known, I’d have taken the couch.”
“I decided to come early—” Amy gasps sharply, and I have to look away as her slip makes even me blush. She then stammers, trying to backpedal. “I mean...n-not come...” Knowing that she’s not making this situation any better, she stops trying.
Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door, and my guilt is quickly forgotten as my instincts of self-preservation kick in…of course, it wavers when Amy turns around quickly, unintentionally giving me a perfect view of her pert little ass and the blue butterfly tattoo on the back of her right hip.
God bless the person who invented the thong. I mentally chastise myself; now is not the time. “Owen? You up?”
“That’s disturbingly accurate,” Amy mumbles under her breath, making me snicker. She whips around, eyes wide with embarrassment; it’s clear she didn’t mean to say that out loud.
“Yeah, Alan,” I respond with a smile, my eyes locked on her. She smiles back—just a glimmer of one, but it takes my breath away.
Even though I know it shouldn’t.
The longer she looks at me like that—her big blue-gray eyes heavy-lidded, her lips red and swollen from a kiss neither of us engaged in consciously, and her chin slightly red from where my scruffy jaw scratched her—the more aware of my arousal I become, and just how little I’m wearing beneath her blankets. I also start to wonder just how far we might have gone had she not fallen out of the bed.
“You on the phone with Gretchen? I thought I heard voices.” Alan’s voice breaks me from my ogling.
I know Alan won’t respond well to finding the two of us in bed together, so I have to think fast to placate him enough to keep him on the other side of that door. Him thinking I’m on the phone with work might do the trick and should buy us enough time to put some clothes on and sneak her into the house without her father knowing.
Amy glances back toward the door before backing up. Her legs hit the edge of her bed and she sits down, her ass brushing against my calf. She doesn’t move, seemingly paralyzed in fear. I can’t blame her, either. I’m terrified her father is going to come barreling through that door at any moment and find us both in here looking guilty when we’re not...not entirely, anyway.
“Uh, yeah...” Her head snaps around to look at me as I lie to her father—something I’ve never done in all the years I’ve known him. Yes, I feel absolutely shitty about it, but I can’t exactly tell him the truth; he’ll kill me. “Well, not to Gretchen, but...work.” Proud of my quick thinking, I smile as I continue. The lies seem to just come easier. “I called to let them know I wouldn’t be in today.”