Thou Shalt Not(77)

Having Holly in my life had helped keep me focused on working out and running. She was health conscious when it came to exercise, and could eat whatever the hell she wanted and somehow lose weight. Plus, our sexual adventures together were often lengthy, and lengthy can’t happen if you don’t keep up with your cardio.

I found myself lying in bed Sunday night, unable to sleep. Most of the day I had spent thinking about what it would be like to have sex with April, but as I lay in bed, my thoughts turned to what the repercussions of having sex with her would be. No matter how much I was attracted to her, no matter how much I enjoyed her presence, no matter how much better she made me feel about life in general, she was still a very married woman with a husband known to be a violent dick. But the latter was really beside the point; she was my married coworker. There was a poster above Principal West’s desk at school that listed the Ten Commandments. Thou Shalt Not it said before each one. Covet thy neighbor’s wife was lucky number eight. I ran a hand over my face.

Had April and I gone from our serious make-out session the first time she came over right into sex that same day, I wouldn’t have thought about it. I wouldn’t have told her to hold on and wait so I could mentally run through the pros and cons of sexing up my new coworker. We would have fucked, and it would have been good.

But, now that I knew the chances of us having sex in the next 24-72 hours were very high, all the different positives and negatives floated through my mind. In two months, am I going to be blaming my dick for leading the charge, for making the decisions for me? Am I going to be blaming my heart for starting to fall for someone who didn’t really want anything other than sex and a connection? Or am I going to blame my head for overthinking everything and missing out on an opportunity to start something special? I hated myself right now. Nothing was this complicated with Holly. Why didn’t I just stick with Holly? I reached into my nightstand and fumbled around until I found my box of toothpicks. Toothpicks made me think better. I stuck it in between my back teeth and continued to torture myself.





Monday morning was muted. The students were in a weekend-coma that they hadn’t been revived from. I hadn’t seen April yet, but her classroom clearly wasn’t unattended or I would have found out quickly. She had probably just been running late again. Punctuality didn’t seem to be her strong suit.

As the bell chimed to send our classes to lunch, I walked over to her classroom. She was seated at her desk, looking tired.

“Hey,” I said, interrupting her from something she was doing on her phone.

“Oh,” she looked up. “Hey.”

“Coming to lunch?”

“Not today,” she said, standing up. “I am taking the afternoon off to take them to the airport.”

I could sense she still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being without her children for a few weeks, but as a childless man, I knew my words of comfort would have been ineffective. Most likely, she wouldn’t be comfortable again until they were home.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” she said as she collected her things.

She walked toward me, and then past me, heading for the door.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the classroom as the door shut behind her.

The worst part about giving people space is that normally when you know you need to give it, it just so happens to be the time you selfishly don’t want to give it. I wanted to chase her down the hall, call her, text her, just be in contact with her somehow. But I knew it wasn’t the time.

I left her alone the rest of Monday afternoon and the school day dragged like a motherfucker. You’re a motherfucker, I told myself. And then I had to pull out my box of toothpicks.

Holly texted near the end of the afternoon to ask what my plans were for the night, and I made the right excuses to keep her away. I didn’t want to be around her while my mind was completely on April. That wasn’t fair to her.

The TV was on in the background as I made dinner. The Rays were beginning their final series of the season, and no mention was made of Marco to start the telecast. The situation was no doubt being swept under the rug, and the prospect of the team bringing Marco back the following year seemed to be remote. So, more than likely, by the start of the next season, Marco would be playing somewhere far away from the Tampa Bay area. The question remained whether April would be with him. Or with me.

God, I’m thinking way too far ahead, I thought as I cut up mangos for a salsa. I had chicken cooking in a skillet on the stove. The mango salsa was a recipe from my mother, one of the few things of hers I still had with me.