← Back
I rolled over and kissed her.
She kissed me back, hungry, her hand still between my legs. I pushed her vest up and found her bare breasts in the dark, small and soft, nipples hard under my thumbs. She moaned. She hooked her leg over my hip and pulled me against her, and I could feel the heat of her through her knickers.
Then her phone lit up on the bedside table.
It buzzed. And buzzed. The screen glowed bright in the dark room, a photo of a smiling man in a rugby shirt and a single word underneath: ARJUN.
She froze.
“Who’s Arjun?” I said, though I had a horrible feeling I already knew.
“My husband.” She sat up, pulling her vest down. “We’re separated. Sort of. Mostly. We haven’t decided.” She stared at the phone. “He’s thirty-one and he never rings after ten.”
“You said you were single.”
“I said I’d been single for a year. Emotionally.” She winced. “That sounds worse out loud.”
The phone stopped. Then it started again.
She picked it up. “Hi,” she said, in a completely different voice, and walked into the bathroom and shut the door.
I lay on my side of the pillow wall for forty minutes, listening to murmuring and then crying and then laughing. At one in the morning I quietly got dressed, took my case downstairs, and slept in the lobby.
Reception found me a room at six.
Ending 8 of 16: The Husband Calls. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.