Page 69 of The Husband Diet
There was no way I was going to fly to Paris courtesy of another man and give Ira any ammunition in a court room. I shook my head at Julian, opening and closing my mouth, not wanting to ruin the moment.
‘I don’t know what to say.’
Except for that I was dying to use that ticket, and fly to Paris and roll over and over on a French mattress with him. I remembered my aunts telling me to go for it, Paul telling me to go for it, Julian’seyestelling me to go for it. So why wasn’t I going for it?
‘Say thank you, Mommy!’ Maddy exclaimed, her beautiful eyes shining.
I looked over at Julian and blushed. ‘Thank you, Julian.’
Thenheblushed. ‘You’re very welcome, Erica.’
With Julian, all I had to do was close my eyes and feel him, even when he was on the other side of town. Once you’ve slept with a guy you like and the sex is mind-bashing, he’s virtually inside you (or me, in this case) forever.
So how the hell was I not going to get hurt again? I’d survived Ira. I definitely wouldn’t survive Julian.
Sure, he was great to the kids and me, but how did I know he really cared for me as a woman and that he simply didn’t suffer from Superman syndrome, thinking he could save me from all forms of evil and danger, myself included? And sure, he made everything perfect, but how did I know he wasn’t going to lure me off my straight path, into his bed for a painfully brief spell, and then lose interest in me once he woke and realized he wasn’t a superpower, and that, as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t solve my issues?
I mean, let’s be honest here. He was a gorgeous ex-baseball star. I was an overweight, under-loved wife and mother of two who, when at home, dressed like Ernie fromSesame Streeton her better days. I was still slowly getting back in the saddle. We had nothing in common. Could you even remotely see us together? So could I.
25
Free to Be
You know those days at work when it looks like it’s going to be a breeze, when you can link your hands behind the back of your neck for a minute or two and relax because this might finally be the day everything will go, at least for a couple of hours, reasonably smooth? If you do, then I envy you.
I’d just flown in from San Francisco, California and was sitting at my desk with a thumping headache, trying to fight jet lag. It was pointless going home, as the kids were in school and I didn’t want to be there alone. Plus, I was actively avoiding Clifton Street Private School to avoid running into the other moms.
My stomach felt queasy and my legs hollow, and if I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought I was pregnant. There was no point in denying the deeply buried truth that Julian and I were, in a sense, lovers. And it felt great.
Let’s be honest. I’d married Ira out of fear of remaining single. All my life I’d lived in the shadow of gorgeous women like Marcy and her sisters. If all three of my gorgeous, intelligent and talented aunts were still on the shelf, what hopes exactly had I had?
Oh, why the hell did I have to go and get a schoolgirl crush on my kids’ principal? Why did he have to be so damn sweet and sexy and inaccessible? And where the hell had he been twenty years ago when I was looking for a boyfriend? But this wasn’tFantasy Islandand I wasn’t fifteen anymore.
And what was worse, in my dream I kept experimenting with these amazing sex positions I never knew existed (and I’m sure I must have invented a couple), and felt such intense climaxes that I’d wake up aroused, my heart pounding, my body more than ready. I needed another Julian fix pronto. I knew this was going to happen. Not that he’d want to sleep with me but that I wouldn’t be able to stop.
Jackie craned her neck into my office. ‘Honestly, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,’ she managed, dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex tissue.
‘What now?’ I groaned.
‘Better go see for yourself. Room 1312. It’s been like that for hours.’
I gave her my famous hairy eyeball and got to my feet. There were some days I really wished I’d stayed at home.
The occupant of Room 1312 was Mr. Dupré, a businessman from Chicago, Illinois. I stopped just outside his door, listening to the bed springs squeak and heave, squeak and heave, non-stop. Either he and his mysterious partner in there were going at it like jackhammer rabbits or there was a real problem.
I knocked discreetly. ‘Mr. Dupré?’
‘Come in!’ came an imperious voice.
I wish I hadn’t obeyed, because there he was, in his undershirt and boxers, jumping up and down on the bed. What the…
‘Hi!’ he exclaimed as he thumped away.
I crossed my arms. ‘Hello…?’
‘Don’t mind me,’ he said. ‘I can’t stop.’
‘The springs in our mattresses are that good?’ I asked nonchalantly.
