I had arrived late from work, as usual, and hungry, as usual. Throwing myself on the bed with my shoes on, I asked her to make a popcorn, but she said no, was tired too. To me that was what was missing to crown about a week of monosyllabic conversations and hostile looks — what was missing for me to start yelling and get out slamming the door.
Half an hour later I was in a singles bar, checking out a blonde in a black dress who was walking in alone. The hottie looked around the place as if searching for someone, glanced at her phone and then came squeezing her nice hips between the tables until passing mine.
"Did you see how she looked at me?" I asked my bud Fred, who I had almost dragged out of home that night.
"Yeah. She looked at you as if looking at a post," he muttered, still a bit upset.
Ignoring the comment, I looked over my shoulder. The blonde was now talking with two waiters, who soon began joining tables for what seemed like an improvised gathering. I put my glass on the table, got up and casually walked towards the restroom, passing close enough to overhear them.
"Twelve, right?" asked one of the waiters. "Then there are only two chairs missing."
"We have two unoccupied," I offered promptly.
"Thank you," she said suddenly turning around, only then seeing me there. "That was nice."
"...Victor."
"Oh?"
"My name. And yours?"
She laughed at my opportunistic introduction.
"Monica."
"Glad to meet you, Monica. Can I keep you company until your friends get here?"
"All right, but they probably won't take long," she said, and at the same moment I pulled myself a chair.
They really didn't, but we had time to get to know ourselves at least a little. I told her I was an obstetrician and gynecologist, lived in the neighborhood and worked at a clinic not very far from there. She was finishing law school and lived near too. We exchanged cell numbers. The next day I called, we talked some more and decided to meet for a beer Saturday night, when I was supposed to be at work. Perfect. Neither one would suspect anything.
As expected, I headed to our date without arousing suspicion. When I got to the bar Monica was already there, in dark jeans and white blouse, her long straight hair in a ponytail. Always on time. We drank, ate and chatted with all the parsimony of the first encounters, but it didn't take long for the kissing and the touching and the urge to get out of there straight to a room start. Thinking about saving the money of the motel, I asked if she lived by herself, but she said no, with her mother. She then returned the question and, as I couldn't mention my wife, I made up a roommate. So we chose the most obvious solution. I knew a reasonably comfortable and not too expensive place, to where we went by cab, making out in the backseat. We entered the suite at the same pace, her hands on the back of my head and mine on her waist, but she suddenly stopped as if realizing something important.
"What?" I asked.
"Do you have condoms?"
"I'll ask the attendant now."
I did, and while we waited, I emptied my trousers pockets, taking time to check my phone. A call from my wife would worry me more than one from the clinic, but Monica didn't know that.
"Afraid of being late for work?" she asked.
"Actually, I should be already at the clinic. But usually there isn't much to do there, so I kind of check in whenever I want." I smiled opening my shirt. "Technically, they're paying me to be here, in this motel."
She gave me a somewhat sly smile, put her hand on my bare chest and gently kissed me until the attendant arrived with the condoms. After he left, I finished taking my shirt off and threw myself back into bed. Show time!
