“I’m not a sex addict!” I sputtered.
“Ben, from this moment on, that’s EXACTLY what you are. In fact, my entire defense will be based on the concept that you can’t control your own actions but are working on getting better because you love your wife so much.” He raised an eyebrow, and I gave a defeated sigh in response.
Sex addict was a strong defense, even if it was embarrassing as fuck.
· · - ·?· - · ·
I returned to my hotel alone and feeling very sorry for myself a few hours later and sat on the edge of my bed.
How the hell was I going to win my wife back?
I pulled out my cell phone and then cursed when I remembered I still hadn’t fixed it. I connected to the WIFI again and went online to put in a few deliveries. Tonight, I’d have her favorite flowers delivered with her favorite bottle of wine. Then tomorrow, I’d have a masseuse show up at 8 a.m. to loosen her up before I went in. I felt a smile spread across my face as the pieces of my plan fell into place.
Flowers for her mother…
I suddenly realized I hadn’t sent anything to my in-laws to acknowledge Grandma Barb's passing.
Fuck!
I ordered a massive bouquet to be delivered tonight to Felicity and Leonard Walsh, and then had an expensive bottle of scotch added for Kyle. I wasn’t sure if he was still at his parents' house, but I definitely wasn’t going to call and find out.
Mel would be pleased when she heard that I had done something thoughtful for the family. I knew that catching me with another woman right after burying her grandmother was making all of this much harder for Melanie to get past, and I hoped that these gestures would help her hear me out when I went to beg for forgiveness.
I pictured her tight expression today and groaned. I had really hurt her. It was clear in the tired lines on her face and the way she held herself so rigidly whenever I was near.
If only she could understand that my need for variety didn’t mean I loved her any less. Didn’t mean that anything was wrong with her.
Maybe I am a sex addict?
I slid to the other side of the bed, where the hotel phone was, and decided to make a couple of calls. First, to the PI that Frank had recommended, then to the therapist, and finally to the goddamn phone company.
· · - ·?· - · ·
“Ms. Richards, thank you for making time to see me on such short notice.” I shook the therapist's hand with a sincere smile on my face.
“Of course, anytime Frank Gatti sends a client my way I make sure to prioritize them.” She smirked and looked me over. “So, Mr. Landon… why are you here?”
“You can call me Ben.” I fidgeted nervously and took a seat on the couch. “I’m here because my wife found out that I was cheating on her and now is threatening to divorce me.”
She nodded and started jotting down something on her notepad.
“Frank said that my best chance of beating the prenup would be to convince a judge that I suffer from sex addiction but I’m receiving treatment.”
She quirked an eyebrow and set the pen down slowly, “do you believe you are a sex addict?”
“No!” I felt the familiar emotion of indignation start to bubble up, but stuffed it back down when I saw the look on her face and rubbed my hands along my pants, “Maybe?”
“Which is it?” she giggled, and I felt my cock twitch. I’d always been a sucker for a ditzy girl.
“I don’t feel like I’m an addict in the traditional sense, I have turned down women I wasn’t attracted too, or when the risk was too high. Until Angela I’d never had a workplace affair.” I shrugged, “but the idea of staying loyal to one woman seems completely farfetched and even just hearing you giggle made me wonder what you’re wearing under all those clothes.”
I blurted out the last part without even thinking, and then winced when I heard how inappropriate the words were.
“Really?” She looked intrigued rather than offended.
“To which part?” I asked slowly.
“You are wondering what I’m wearing under all these clothes?” Her eyes twinkled with amusement.
