Jill turned off the water. Her hands were shaking so badly that she gave up trying to dry them with the dish towel. Instead, she called the dogs. When they trotted to her side, she sank down on the floor and buried her face and hands in their soft fur.
She didn’t care how much money she was offered. She didn’t care what her mom said. She was never going back to that house.
25
Mrs. Smith
Mrs. Smith studied herself in the mirror with satisfaction. She looked like an older, sultrier version of the Brooke Shields girl.
Most of the men at the cocktail party would want her, but she was only interested in the most virile specimens. Tonight, she would have sex with several partners, hoping that a little sperm competition would fire up her anatomy.
She found her first partner while crossing the parking lot.
“Hot damn!” cried the valet as she passed by.
She paused to look him over. He was young, barrel-chested, and hairy. She spun in a slow circle. “Do you like what you see?”
He clutched his chest and said, “Lady, you must be a parking ticket because you havefinewritten all over you.”
Mrs. Smith gestured at the valet booth. “Is there enough room in there for two?”
“If we stand real close.”
She brushed her fingertips over the crotch of his black polyester pants. “How close?”
Within minutes, she was straddling the hairy young man. As she rode him, she closed her eyes and imagined tearinghim apart with her teeth. When he came, he twisted her nipple like it was a radio dial. She waited until he’d released his seed before leaning forward and biting his ear hard enough to draw blood.
He shoved her off his lap. “Ow! What the fuck, lady?”
Mrs. Smith licked her lips. The man’s blood stirred her hunger, but she was not here to feed. It was time to find another partner.
“Crazy bitch!” the valet shouted as she walked away.
She strode through the front door and approached the banquet room, wishing she could tune out the raised voices and peals of laughter.
She was over an hour late, which meant her neighbors were probably on their second or third cocktails. Here in their private club, with its leather chairs and trophy cases, their defenses would be lowered. All Mrs. Smith had to do was pick a man and get him to meet her in an empty room. As long as that man kept his mouth shut, she could continue luring partners to the same space for the rest of the evening.
She was walking down the hall behind a tall, broad-shouldered man when he suddenly ducked into the coatroom. Taking note of his thick legs and big hands, she followed him.
The man had his back to her. As she closed and locked the door, he continued rifling through a cardboard box. Grunting in frustration, he tossed the box on the floor and began digging through another box.
“Goddammit,” he muttered.
Mrs. Smith said, “Lose something?”
The man cried out in surprise and swung around. He opened his mouth to berate her for sneaking up on him, but his jaw went slack.
“I’ve been watching you,” she said, pointing a red nail at his chest.
His gaze probed every inch of her body. His eyes shone with lust. His face clouded in confusion. “Do I, uh, coach your kid? Mrs.... ?”
“Smith.”
He was taken aback. “Is Kirsten your daughter?”
Mrs. Smith walked her fingertips down her neck to her collarbone. “As much as Ilovechildren, I don’t have any of my own.”
“But you’ve been watching me?” The man shoved his left hand in his pocket in a lame attempt to hide his wedding band. “I’m Coach Patrick.”
