Page 27 of Notes About Vodka

My breath hitches as I think about Val and his physique. Val’s body is impossible to ignore. He’s tall—taller than Sam by at least 3 inches. His broad shoulders taper down to a lean waist, every inch of him carved from muscle. It’s not just for show either; there’s a real strength there, a power that simmers just beneath the surface, ready to be unleashed if the situation calls for it. His arms are strong and defined, the kind that could easily sweep me off my feet, literally and figuratively. I’ve caught glimpses of his chest and abs through his shirts when he moves, and I can’t help but imagine what it would feel like to run my hands over that hard, sculpted flesh. I’ve drooled when I watched him roll up his sleeves before diving in to create a series of alcoholic concoctions. The way the veins in his arms pulsed.

Then there’s his jawline, clean-shaven most of the time, but when he lets a bit of stubble grow, it catches the light with a strange red tint that doesn’t quite match his dark brown hair. It’s a small, unexpected detail, but one that makes him all the more intriguing, all the more real.

I climb into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, but my thoughts linger on Val. I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to be held in those strong arms, to feel the warmth of his body pressed against mine. There’s a raw magnetism to him, a pull I find harder to resist each day. He’s not just a man; he’s a force of nature, someone who could sweep me off my feet and carry me away from everything I’ve ever known.

As I close my eyes, my dreams are filled with images of Val—his body, his eyes, that strange Russian accent that I can’t stop thinking of. I see myself in his arms, laughing with him, sharing secrets, feeling a warmth I’ve long forgotten. A warmth that makes me wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s something more out there for me. Something that feels like him.

In the middle of the night, I dream of how he would feel as if he were my husband instead of Sam. I made the mistake of marrying Sam and I regret every moment. But in my dream, Val makes me feel loved, adored, and as my mind creates the image of his fingers sinking inside me, my own find my heat, swollen and wet. I cry out from the orgasm, never waking as sleep pulls me deeper into a fantasy where Val and I exist.

Chapter Nine

LAURA

“Vodka, great for drinking, better for cleaning out old and new wounds.”

I wake up the next morning, the dream still vivid in my mind as my wrist has a slight cramp and my fingers are sticky from masturbating. I stretch, feeling a strange mixture of hope and uncertainty.

Dreading going into the living room and seeing Sam on the couch with his latest one night stand. I open my phone.

There, a message waits from Valerey.

Taking a moment to try and pronounce his name, I giggle as it keeps coming out as “Valerie” thanks to my southern accent emphasizing the last syllable; Amy Winehouse’s song of the same name starts to play in my head

Val: “Hey Laura. I was wondering, do you have a calculator I can borrow for my molecular geneticsexam tomorrow?”

I think about ignoring the message because I’m still mad at him, but I’m also curious, so I reply.

Me: “Why do you need a calculator in molecular genetics?”

While I wait for Val’s reply, I crawl out of bed and go do my morning business.

It’s barely 5 a.m., and if I’m lucky, Rhea and Skipper are still asleep.

I slip out of bed as quietly as possible, grab my bag, and head for the door. I want to get to the piano lab at NYU before class and work on a new piece. Practicing at home would be easier, but my electronic keyboard doesn’t have a headphone jack. And after the last time a neighbor complained about my "banging" when I got frustrated with a tricky combination, I’d rather not push my luck.

The lab will be empty this early, just me and the keys, no one to hear the mistakes. That’s the way I like it.

Once my teeth are brushed, I grit my jaws together and quietly head into the kitchen with my book-bag and purse, keeping all the lights off—I’m also hoping I can make it out without running into Sam.

When the coffee is brewing in my old percolator, I go back to check my messenger.

“Hey, baby, whatcha doing? Oh, hell yeah, fresh coffee. You know I haven’t had a good cup of joe since you moved up here. By the way, when are you coming home? I’m really tired of you acting out and all of this,” Sam says as he enters the kitchen and steals the coffee pot before its completely done, draining my life force of dark delight without saving me any.

I glare at my soon to be ex-husband. He doesn’t get it, we aresooooover.

“Sam, I don’t get you. Here, while you sipmy coffee, go ahead and sign,” I push a copy of the divorce papers I pull from my book-bag toward him on the counter. “Please, make this easy for me. Stop thinking I’m coming back to Alabama.”

“Whoa, babe, you know there’s no way I’m going to be easy about anything,” Sam states as he comes up behind me. “Besides, you wanting a divorce doesn’t have anything to do with these, does it?”

Sam drops a handful of notes from Val that I had hidden in my underwear drawer. I’m sick that Sam knows.

“You see, I found these when I first got here and I was so curious to who would be leaving my wife notes. Well, based on the fact that you are working at that trashy piano bar, I could only assume it must be someone from there. Glad I came with you last night, because wouldn’t you believe it, there was someone. A certain bartender who just couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, now could he? What are you replying, Laura? Are you telling him about your sorry, trailer park existence before I found you? Fresh out of high school and just wanting to be loved so bad. Did you tell him that, Laura?”

I’m trying to remake my coffee and ignore Sam’s jabs and cutting words, but he grabs me by the hips and shoves his rock hard, albeit tiny, cock between my ass cheeks. “You know how much I love your stories, Laura. I always like how you helped find our next adventure. If you wanted to have a friend, well, you know how hard it makes me when we share.”

The man is insatiable and not in a good way. At first, I loved it, the constant physical attention, the intense amounts of sex. But, something shifted in my brain one day. The crazy sex fiend that I know I am started to be disgusted with what I was allowing him to do with my body. To share what should have been ours with others.

“Sam, stop. If you want to get laid, go fuck little miss ho thing again.”

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