He looks like he wants to tell me it’s bullshit again, but he doesn’t, and maybe that’s because it works in his favor. Maybe because he’s hiding behind it, too, because he wants this as badly as I do, and this is the only way to protect ourselves.
“We can’t tell Izzy.”
That knot that’s been sitting in my stomach all morning grows just at the mention of her, and I find myself nodding. “I know.”
“Then okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” He nods, then gives me a devilishly handsome grin, one that says he’s definitely up to no good. “Want to come over again tonight?”
I can’t help but laugh at his eagerness.
“I think I can swing that.”
Me:do u like wine??
Noah:I own a cidery.
Me:so????
Me:i’m trying to woo you with booze!
Noah:I really just want you naked in my bed. No wooing needed.
I swallow thickly, then type a quick response.
Me:understood
I pocket my phone and grab a bottle of my favorite wine, just in case.
I’m heading over to Noah’s, and for some reason I don’t want to show up empty-handed, so I’ve been walking around the grocery store with a basket full of snacks for the last fifteen minutes, trying to talk myself into checking out.
I’m sure the guy behind the counter thinks I’m lost or something, but I don’t care. I’m nervous. It’s silly considering we’ve already done this before, but that was unplanned. That was a heat-of-the-moment kind of thing. This is definitely planned.
I’m having sex with Noah again, and I can’t fucking wait.
It’s terrible of me, especially since I spent the day planning his sister’s wedding, the very sister I’m hiding this from, but still. I’ve been looking forward to this since he walked me back to my car this morning, leaving me with a hand squeeze and a look in his eyes that told me he was just as excited about it as I am.
Gosh, I’ve really gotten myself into it, haven’t I?
“Odette!”
The bottle of Riesling I’m holding slips right out of my hands.
I’m lucky enough to catch it just before it crashes to the floor.
“Phew. That was close,” Lydia Stevens says with a laugh. “What are you doing out this late, dear?”
I brush my hair out of my face, tucking the bottle into the basket before I do something truly embarrassing like drop it again, and will myself not to turn red.
“You know how it is with us ladies. Once a month, we just feel like eating all the junk food and drinking the entire wine aisle.”
I toss her a wink, and she laughs.
“Oh, boy. Don’t I know it? Brian’s grabbing us some ice cream, then we’ll go home, pop open a bottle of wine ourselves, and likely fall asleep on the couch while the movie we’ve spent twenty minutes picking out plays in the background. When you’ve been married as long as we have, that’s what your date nights look like.”
It sounds like a great night to me. Like the kind of night I would want to have if I were married.
