Page 79 of The Seven Month Itch
At his nod, I turn back to Reina, who bites her lip in anticipation.
How can I say no to her? To that face?
I flash a smile of my own. “After you.”
Chapter 38
Justice
“Ciara!”
My Missy Elliott impersonation flows with precision at the sound of “1, 2 Step” through the speakers. My friend Sierra jumps up from her seat to pop and lock, a performance that earns her well-deserved applause. She’s not an R&B princess but is one of my best friends from college.
This track was our go-to jam to hype us up before a big game. As the only two freshman cheerleaders on the Bodie University squad, SiSi and I developed a bond. We don’t see each other much, but we pick up where we left off when we do. LA is her home, but overseas has her heart. So does her work as an interpreter. My friend speaks five languages, and her passport boasts of destinations that make desktop backgrounds look like kindergarten art.
“Thank you, thank you very much.” She takes a bow and winks at me. “Gosh, Jay. I can’t believe you’re in my neck of the woods.”
“I’ll say. It’s a miracle we’re in the same time zone. Where did just you get back from?”
“Ethiopia. I was with a group that provided translation services for a social-protection-system project.” She sips her drink like her life isn’t impressive. Sierra is one of the humblest people I know.
We’ve spent the last four hours together. We toured her new condo, grabbed dinner, and landed at a bar for drinks. Well, she has a drink with liquor in it. I have cranberry juice that I know makes her curious why my lips aren’t on a manhattan. But she’s not one to pry, thank God.
After lunch with Emma, I went to pick up my rental car and headed back to Malibu. Terrence was in meetings all day, which gave me the perfect amount of time to peek inside our home away from home, which looks more like a compound than someone’s private residence. We’re in the main house so we don’t disrupt the staff who take care of all the animals. I don’t think I’ve seen so many alpacas and chickens in my life and had to fight Emma to let me stay. Her excuse was, and I quote, “No person in his right mind has a zooanda space-age Flintstones house in Malibu.” It took an hour of debating before she left, but she did eventually. This was after she told me I can stay with her if I cough up a lung from all of the animal hair.
“When can we see each other again?”
“I have to check in with Terrence, but let’s try for dinner with Em on Thursday? You leave on Friday, right?”
She nods. “That works. I know you want to surprise your man. I’ll touch base tomorrow about Thursday.”
Crap.
I rushed Terrence off the phone so I didn’t spoil the surprise I’m in California. Lord knows when he’ll be back to the house. I’ve got time to make my way to Malibu since he’ll be out late.
Did he say something about a strip club?
“I better go before I ruin my plan.” I stand and wrap my dear friend in a hug.
We say our goodbyes. Ciara’s commute is super short, given her condo is only two blocks away. I cross the street to my rental, thankful I found a spot so close. The May night is pleasant yet busy for a weekday. California is an enchanted place, and it gets me excited to see Terrence.
Who’s on the other side of the street.
I have to will my body not to dodge cars to get to him. He’s in a navy-blue suit and a bronze tie that coordinates with his oxford shoes. His blazer rests against his sculpted forearms, which are on full display with his sleeves rolled up. It should be illegal how his thighs press against his pants. I’m not above sinking my teeth into his ass on this street corner. To yell over the cars whizzing by is pointless, so I open my phone to text him, when he does the unexpected.
Terrence gives the guy next to him a playful shove and puts his arm around a woman’s shoulder. She looks up with adoration in her eyes and the biggest smile before he—myhusband—kisses the top of her forehead.
Her. Fucking. Forehead.
From the view I have of her between parked cars, I can tell she’s gorgeous. Her thick, brown hair flows down her shoulders and blows in the wind. She looks put together, matches him in navy, and has petite curves. She reminds me of a Latina version of Elena fromTheVampire Diaries.
Where have I seen her face?
Two thoughts enter my mind. The first is that this doesn’t look like a business meeting. He’s too cozy with this woman, who nowhas her arm wrapped around his waist. The second is more of a math equation to determine how big of a casket I’ll need to bury him alive.
I want to vomit, cry, and choke him and Fake Elena at the same time. Well, maybe not Fake Elena. Maybe she doesn’t know he has a wife at home, because he sure as hell isn’t acting like he does. That question goes out of the window when his wedding ring glints off the headlights of a passing car. They can both go in the same ditch.
This betrayal is a new form of torture. My heart pounds against my chest, and breaths become too difficult to maintain.
