“I’m not so easily hurt. Don’t worry about me.”
“Your wine glass says otherwise.”
“That was just my wounded male ego.” He stirs the pot absent-mindedly. “To be honest, I always suspected something with Jesse Youngman. For a client generating virtually no revenue, she sure does get a hell of a lot of his attention. But Grace has always had her admirers. She often tells me about them. She tries to make me jealous.” He tips the pot into two bowls and hands me one. “It works, of course. It drives me crazy. And then she tells me I’m being overly possessive. So we fight, which is what she wants. She can’t live without drama.”
His voice is quiet, and I can barely hear him speak over the sound of the rain, which is starting to hammer on the roof. He looks like he’s about to cry, and I can’t blame him. I’ve just told him his marriage is a sham. How is he supposed to react?
We sit in silence after that, eating and listening to the sound of the rain. We finish a second glass, then a third. The pours are getting more generous, and when I stand up, I feel the room spin just a little.
“Why don’t you leave?” I say. I’m not sure if it’s the drinks or the shadows or the storm, but the night feels unreal, like anything we say or do right now won’t matter in the morning. He takes another bite of his meal and doesn’t look at me, so I repeat it. “Why don’t you leave her? This isn’t a healthy relationship.”
He stands up, and I wonder if I’ve taken it too far. The rain becomes even louder. Without saying a word, he steps onto the veranda, then down onto the thick grass. In seconds, his clothes are completely soaked through.
He hollers twice, so I follow him with the lamp. The rain is so heavy that it looks like a waterfall.
“Come down!” he shouts, moving awkwardly in circles. For all his qualities, Bradley isn’t a dancer. I shake my head, causing him to march up the steps and hold out his hand. As soon as I’m close, he pulls me roughly down, into the rain.
“Bastard!” I scream, falling into his arms. My clothes immediately become heavy.
He jumps in the mud and laughs. Not letting go of my hand, he spins me around, again and again, until he slips and falls. I keep my footing for a few seconds before he pulls at my leg, sending me toppling down on top of him.
“I’ve got you,” he says. His right arm is looped around my waist, resting on my lower back, and his left is on my side, just below my breast.
“That’s what you think,” I yell, digging under his armpits. He lets out a cry of surprise and loosens his grip. I wriggle away and escape back up the stairs to the shelter of the veranda, unsure if I should feel excited or annoyed.
“My clothes are ruined,” I complain, as he follows me up the steps.
“Mine too,” he says with a grin, and before I can protest, he unbuttons his shirt. I’m reminded of what Grace said. It’s like a romance novel. He goes back down into the rain, takes offhis pants—and then, just before I look away, his underwear. He stands in the rain, washing the mud from his body, then walks back up the stairs, into the light.
“We have a shower, you know,” I say, trying and failing to keep my gaze above shoulder height. As my eyes dip south, I see the large vertical scar on Bradley’s abdomen. He approaches me, places his hand on my waist, then tugs on the end of my T-shirt.
“Your turn.”
I open my mouth to object, but he’s already lifting it off. As he tugs on my shorts, I reach across and turn off the lamp.
“Spoil sport.”
I wait till I’m in the rain again before I take off my underwear. There’s still a faint light from inside, but with the alcohol and the steady stream of compliments from Bradley, I don’t feel self-conscious. I let the rain wash away the mud, then walk back up the steps, laughing.
“I need a towel,” I say, standing in the dark, unable to stop smiling. My arms are folded across my chest. “And new clothes.”
He slowly shakes his head. “You’re beautiful.”
“Don’t.”
“I mean it. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. As soon as I saw you, I knew this would be a problem.” He touches my hand, my hip. And then he kisses me—until I break away.
“You’re married.”
“Our marriage has been over for a long time.”
He touches me again, but I place a hand on his chest. His announcement is too assured, his words are too pat and clichéd. It’s like he’s reading lines from a script. “I don’t want to be responsible for ending your marriage.”
His eyes drop to my exposed breasts. “You’re not. I promise.”
I let the voices in my head all fade into the background, the ones telling me that I’m an idiot, that men say anything for sex,that he’ll never keep his promises. Other voices, telling me about Grace and how she’s going to literally shoot me, are harder to silence.
But it’s too late. We kiss and smile and touch each other until Bradley leads me inside. We dry ourselves in the lamplight, laughing drunkenly at nothing. When we finally lie on my bed, under the deafening noise of the rain, he turns onto his side.
