"Good morning," Veronica paused, "Hello? You alive?"
Tom smiled at her. His face still wore a slightly sleepy look. His brown-blond hair, damp from the shower, had fresh tracks from a comb through it. His blue shirt, long-sleeved and buttoned down—was only partially buttoned up and his face, while clean-shave, still somehow looked like he had a bit of a shadow there.
Just a few years ago that sight would have made Veronica hot and wet. It still did, but it was a weak pulse of desire, like a fire that never really blew up—or blew out. On the other hand, just a few years ago she would have been laid out on the kitchen table while he breakfasted on her body instead of the toast and eggs that he'd crushed into a sort of sandwich and held in one hand while he looked through the bowl where they tossed their car keys and junk mail.
She sighed inwardly at the thought. Marriage. It was good. They still loved each other. But the spark was fading. She felt the loss. She just didn't know what to do about it. Maybe Tom didn't even notice, anyway.
He said, "Sorry hon. I've lost the fucking keys..." he came up with her keys, groaned, and dropped them back into the bowl. He fished out some old receipts. "Goddammit."
She asked, "Are they in your coat pocket?"
He went to the bedroom, came back out with his coat and a sheepish expression. "Yeah. I got to get going. I've got a brutal meeting with the bigwigs this morning."
A perfunctory peck at her lips later, he was gone. Veronica groaned and turned back to her laptop. Working form home seemed like the ideal situation. It wasn't. She was always distracted by something. The goddamn woodpecker that was busy drilling holes in every tree in the yard.
The dust collecting on surfaces. The laundry. The dishwasher she needed to unload so she could load the dirty dishes. She frowned and stared at the screen.
Her job sounded simple enough too. It was simple enough, most days. She was a bean counter, balancing accounts and making sure all the little beans added up to a hill of beans, that was how she described it to people. It was accounting, if she wanted to use her actual title, and it was as dry and boring as any words she used to describe it.
She stood up and stretched. Her body was still slender. She did yoga, took long walks. Maybe she was not as hot as she had been when they got married but surely she was not unattractive to Tom. Was she? Insecurity raced up.
She went to the bathroom, peered at herself in the full-length mirror. She dropped the robs she wore. Tits still perky. She turned. Ass too. Not a lot of weight around her middle. She brushed a hand over the pink discs of her nipples. They barely stirred at the touch.
"Maybe it's me. Maybe I've just forgotten how to be seductive." She pouted and bit at her bottom lip, trying for a sultry expression. Her reflection made her laugh. "Oh Jesus, I'm losing it." She grabbed the robe and went to the bedroom. She dug out yoga pants and a tank. She dressed hurriedly and went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee She stood at the counter to drink it carefully avoiding the blank and accusing screen of her lap top. You should be working. That was what that screen said. It was right.
But, goddammit, she was horny as hell. Only not horny enough to do something about it. She used to masturbate, used to plot ways to fuck her husband—plan out new positions. The yoga made her very flexible. The first time she had wrapped a leg around her own neck Tom had nearly come before he could even get his dick inside her.
Tom had been just as eager to totally blow her mind back then too. There was that time that they had fucked in the driveway—like teenagers. The old man who used to live next door had been standing in his living room, staring at the two of them out his window—and while neither of them would ever admit it—they had known he was there the whole time.
Now? Now he was busy trying to find his keys. So busy he had not even noticed that she was nude below the robe. Too busy to throw her face down over the table and fuck her good and hard.
And she couldn't even seem to bother masturbating.
She groaned and flopped into the chair. She keyed up long columns of numbers. Her focus kept shattering and breaking. There was something missing from her marriage. They still had sex, but it was usually just hurried and routine. How to change that?
Hm. Good question. She had not the slightest idea, really.
Impulse sent her to the search engine. She typed in spice up your marriage. Ugh. Three thousand articles all bearing the same advice. Go naked to his job. Good luck with that. He worked on the highest floor of a company that employed thousands. No way she was going to get away with that one. Fucking in a cubicle? Nope. Maybe next year, when he finally hit that major promotion and came up with an actual office.
Role play. Hmm. That was interesting. She leaned back. She could do her best school girl impression. Run out and get some knee-high socks and a plaid skirt...did she own a plaid skirt? Go all in, put her hair in ponytails. She found herself giggling at the very idea.
This was not working. Neither was she. She closed down all the windows and tried again to concentrate on work. She had a deadline. She had bills. They had bought the lovely Victorian home on a sheer whim that saw them exclaiming about charm and character and preserving history over buying a cookie cutter modern house. A year later? The charm was still there—but the furnace had gone out. Thank God it was summer and they had time to get their ducks in the row, and that repaired before the winter set in.
Still, there was always something and she had to get her work down if she intended to be a contributing partner to keeping the house standing.
Standing was a far better scenario than having it fall down on their heads. For sure.
She looked up some hours later and then over at her phone. She picked it up to see a text from Clare, the woman who had moved into the house next door.
Clara had written, hey I'm outside.
Shit. Clara had a habit of just showing up unannounced. Veronica stood and ran her hands through the back of her brown ponytail then went to the door. The sight of Clara startled Veronica. Usually, Clara's black hair looked like she had just stepped out of a salon and her face was always perfectly made up. Her hair was mussed. Her lipstick smeared, and her eyeliner too. The outfit she wore was not at all like her usual things either. Instead of some impeccable outfit, she had on a loose dress that obscured her slim and tall frame.
Clare asked, "Are you busy?"
"No." She wasn't. She was done with her work for the moment and she could either dust and do the dishes or talk to Clara. Clare was the better option. "Is everything all right?"
Clara grinned, went red. "yes. No. Um, could I come in?"
"Come on in."
Clara stepped into the living room and closed the door. She gave Veronica a rather abashed grin. "I...er...okay. I need some help. And I hope you won't laugh."
