Page 73 of The Lies I Told
“I know how to fix that frown,” he said softly.
In his world, sex solved everything.
“Do you?”
He took me by the hand and guided me away from the bathroom. “Look at it this way, we’ll increase the odds. Insurance, just in case.”
“I have to leave in an hour. I’m meeting Marisa.”
“Marisa? What for?”
“She wants to get coffee. I don’t have to teach today, so why not?”
Marisa’s call had thrown me off my game. I didn’t want to see her, see Clare, today of all days. The last thing I wanted was a reminder of secrets I had never told. But saying no looked worse.
The mention of Marisa’s name brightened his gaze as he ran his hand up my side under the oversize T-shirt and squeezed the tender flesh of my breasts. Jack had always had a thing for Marisa and once had asked me to dye my hair red. That idea had flown like a lead balloon.
Now he pushed me toward the bed with enough force to send me tumbling backward. I was annoyed at his callousness. And a little turned on. If I were pregnant, there wouldn’t be many more days of wild sex for the foreseeable future.
“Are you pretending again?” I asked.
He pushed off his pants, tugged my cover-up off, and opened my legs. “How so?”
Games. Always playing games. “Who am I today? Marisa? I saw the way your eyes lit up when I mentioned her name.”
He hesitated for an instant and then pushed inside me, rougher than usual. “Does it matter?”
Jack had dated Brit, but I believed he really wanted Marisa. He’d gone out of his way to give Marisa work after rehab, helped her stay sober, even bought her damn apartment building. I’d once asked about her, but he’d just laughed and reminded me he’d picked me.
That victory had been thrilling at first, but I wasn’t so sure who’d really won. Jack had secrets, which hadn’t bothered me when it was just us. The pregnancy scare had shifted everything. I might not be pregnant now, but I soon could be. “No, it doesn’t matter.”
31
MARISA
Thursday, March 17, 2022
3:20 p.m.
I arrived at the coffee shop five minutes late and wasn’t surprised to see that I’d beaten Jo-Jo. The woman never met a schedule she could keep. I glanced at my phone. There was another text from Paul. I wasn’t feeling diplomatic and deleted the message. Sooner or later, he’d get the hint.
I ordered a cappuccino and was sipping mine when Jo-Jo rushed in fifteen minutes later. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze flighty. She’d the look of a woman who’d just had great sex. I sipped my drink, hoping to hide my smile and envy. Not for Jack, but for an ideal of love and marriage I wasn’t sure existed.
Jo-Jo sat quickly in the chair across from me. “Am I that late?”
“Twenty minutes. Basically, right on time.”
“Better late than never.” She smiled, didn’t seem to care about the time, as if it were already forgotten. Had to give Brit credit. The Scarecrow hat had been on point.
“You look relaxed. How’s Jack?”
A slight hesitation and then a grin. “He’s fine. But you didn’t ask me here to talk about Jack.”
“Can’t friends just visit?” Foamed milk swarmed around my mug’s interior.
“They can, but we rarely do. We haven’t really spoken in years, and now we’re becoming a regular thing.”
“Can I get you a coffee?”
