The Other Woman (29 page)

“Aw!” I rub my butt. “Did you buy me a present?” I ask. ‘I’ll only come to dinner if you
bought
me a present. If you didn’t buy me a present, it’s curtains.”

He pushes his face into mine. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, holding his gaze.

Slowly, from his pocket, he pulls out a little box and hands it to me. “I was saving it for later, but…”

"Ohmygod!” I whisper and bolt upright in bed. Gingerly I open the box. “You shouldn’t…Ohmygod!”

“Rival?” Raya shouts. “What’s going on? You got somebody there?”

I drop the box, clamp my hand over my mouth, and look at Ritchie with big eyes.

Then I hop out of bed and quickly turn up the volume on the TV.

“It’s just the TV,” I yell.

She doesn’t answer.

I look at Ritchie and catch his eyes sweeping over me. My face turns hot, and quickly I dive back in bed and hastily pull the sheet over me.

I pick up the box again. “This is just beautiful!” I gush as I hold up a gold wrist chain from which a tiny gold charm dangles – a bow and arrow. I look at Ritchie with eyebrows raised.

“You are the arrow,” he explains. “You were pulled back, and when you were released, you became supercharged and skyrocketed, Rival. I mean, look how far you’ve come on your own? You ran a marathon, published a book, got your independence – who knew you could be this way? Bet you didn’t. ”

I hang onto every word he says. He’s right – I feel supercharged these days. I lean in and kiss his cheek. “You make me feel like I can do
anything
,” I say.

“Well, I believe you can. If anyone holds you back, they better watch out, ’cause you will come back with force.”

I reward him with a smile before I admire my significant gift. “Put it on for me.”

With a smile, he fastens it around my wrist. After he does, he admires it, then presses his lips to the back of my hand.

“Thank you,” I say, giving him a big hug. “It’s one of the nicest presents I have received.”

“You’re welcome,
Arrow
. And happy birthday.” He kisses me on the lips. It’s a really light, innocent kiss, but it’s nice and…I find myself wishing it was more than light. I hug him again.

Maybe I am lonely, or missing the touch of a man, but I’m really enjoying cuddling with Ritchie. I really like the sensation of his body pressing against mine, the hardness of his thighs against mine. And I really like the feel of his lips on mine, the warmth of his breath on my cheek, the way he buries his face in my hair as he hugs me tighter. I snuggle deeper into him. He tightens his arms around me, and for a few moments, our bodies mold against each other. It’s the longest hug I have ever shared with him or anyone other than Bradley, and I don’t want it to end.

Ritchie ends it. After a little peck on the cheek, he jumps out of my bed. “Sixish?”

“Yeah…sure.” My smile is shy and I have trouble meeting his eyes.

He leans in, kisses my lips one last time, and whispers, “Wear that outfit you wore when you visited Bradley that Friday afternoon.”

My eyebrows shoot up.

With a wink, he backs out of my room and climbs down the ladder.

I lie in bed, playing with my bow and arrow and thinking about Ritchie. He’s beautiful. Hard on the outside, yet soft inside. I like that.

Then I shake my head to clear away my impure thoughts about my husband’s friend. But I’m looking forward to having dinner with him.

I dress carefully for dinner, exfoliate my entire body, flat-iron my hair, shave my legs, and apply bronzer, mascara, and perfume. When I slip on a push-up bra, I think of Ritchie.

But Ritchie is dating, I remind myself. I am reading far too much into two little kisses with no tongue, two hugs, his face buried in my hair, and a wrist chain with a little gold arrow. Get a grip or lose a good friend.

To my delight, Ritchie lets out a long, low whistle when he sees me. “You look …” He openly admires me, causing my cheeks to heat up and ruin my carefully applied make-up.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say as I take in his dark blue long-sleeve shirt, which brings out his blue eyes, and his navy pants that fit to perfection. “Handsome.”

It’s his turn to flame up, and I laugh at how shy he can be.

Caesar’s Waterfront Restaurant specializes in fresh seafood, and I know for a fact that you have to get a booking a few weeks in advance to get a table, so I wonder how Ritchie managed to get one.

We smile at each other over dinner. Tonight, things are definitely different – there is an awareness between us, a kind of…sexual tension that I am sure I am not imagining.

In the past, there was a flow to our conversation from topic to topic. Tonight, our conversation is stilted, and a couple of times, I look up from my food to find Ritchie staring at me. Then he blushes, and I blush, he smiles, and I smile, and finally, we both look away.

When his foot touches mine under the table, he quickly pulls it away. “Sorry!”

When his foot touches mine a second time, he doesn’t pull it away, neither does he offer an apology. “You playing footsy with me?” he says, his eyes narrowing.

“Sort of.” We both crack up laughing.

We drink a lot – two cocktails, two shots, a bottle of wine between us, and some fancy after-dinner dessert shots the waiter recommends. When we finally stumble out of the restaurant, our fingers are linked.

I don’t remember sights, I don’t remember people, I just remember every detail of Ritchie. The way his hand snakes around my waist, warm and protective, the way our bodies touch when we walk, the way his hard, firm thigh brushes against mine in the cab, the way his rough cheek brushes against mine when we try to read a pamphlet together we find on the back seat of the cab – a sleazy motel offering rooms by the hour.

“Fifty dollars!” he exclaims, hastily folding the pamphlet and sticking it into his pocket. “Never know when this will come in handy.”

Again, we crack up laughing.

He walks me to my door, our fingers still entwined. In the dark we smile at each other.

“I had a good time,” I whisper as I lean back against my door. “Thank you.”

“I had a
great
time,” he says, placing his forearm against the door and leaning into me, his voice husky.

I become a little tongue tied in spite of my inebriated state.

Now what would Scarlett say in a situation like this? What would the author of
Ramblings of a Psycho Bitch
say to a man who bought her a gold chain, took her to dinner, and expected nothing in return?

After taking a deep breath, I lean in and kiss him on the lips. Not too lightly; a little lingering, and a tad enticing. “Night, Ritchie,” I whisper as I wipe away lipstick from his lips with my thumbs.

To my dismay, he doesn’t respond.

Oh well, Scarlett is obviously wrong about a lot of things.

When I try to turn away, Ritchie grips my waist and yanks me in. His gaze turns molten before his hands close around my face and his mouth swoops down to capture mine. Our kiss is no longer light and feathery – this one is a man kissing a woman he
desires
– deep, wet, hungry, with plenty of tongue – the kind of kiss that literally moves your entire body.

The moment I get over my surprise, my hands snake around his waist and I angle my neck for his kisses,
eager
for more. Never before have I been kissed like this, and I like it.

But to my utter dismay, he suddenly pulls back. “Fuck, what am I doing!” He takes a giant step back. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he slurs. “I’m sorry. I’m not thinking. I’m sorry. Fuuck!”

I say nothing, taken aback by his kiss, dismayed by his remorse.

“Bradley is my friend. Arena, oh shit! She will kill me.”

Slowly, I fold my arms and look at him.

“You know, I…I….” His eyes drop to my lips, and it’s clear he’s wrestling with need. Then he lunges at me and kisses me again, his tongue darting inside my mouth, his arms wrapping around my body, his hips driving into mine. Wild boy, Ritchie.

I kiss back, unable to exercise any restraint, my arms travelling up and down his back.

As we kiss, I feel his erection and…my hips just push against it. As they do, he groans and sucks on my neck.

I welcome his travelling hands – over my breasts, my hips, my thighs – and I like it when he slips his hands under my dress and cups my butt, almost lifting me up off the ground and shoving me against the front door. I’m not used to such sexual ferocity, but I enjoy every moment of it.

“Rival? Is that you?” Raya screeches through the closed door.

Before I can answer, Ritchie steps away again, his bottom lip pinched between his fingers. “What the fuck am I doing?” he says, his eyes wide. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

“Yes, Raya!” I shout through gritted teeth.

“Why are you pushing the door?”

I shake my head and glare at Ritchie. “Found my key!” I shout as I whip out my key from my bag, open the door, step inside, and shut it on him. If it wasn’t nighttime, I would have slammed the door in his face.

Almost immediately, he texts me.
Im sorry I shouldnt have done that sorry sorry

With my lips pursed, I go to my room, slip off my dress, kick off my stilettos, and climb into bed.

Another text lights up my phone.
Rival im sorry so sorry I was out of line by kissing you

Again I ignore his text.

Fifteen minutes later, I get another text.
Fuck u r awesome im just a man after all

I need to get laid, I think as I thump at my pillow.

No, scratch that, I need to get fucked. Hard. A headboard-banging, feral fuck. That’s what I need.

****

RITCHIE

You shouldn’t crap where you eat. I did just that. What an idiot I am to have kissed Rival. How could I have lost control like that?

It’s not the kiss I regret – that was just amazing. It’s the aftermath. Is she mad at me for taking advantage of her? Is she mad at me for saying that I made a mistake? Will she expect me to talk about it? Should I just shut up and pretend it didn’t happen?

I decide to do say nothing and do nothing about it. But that doesn’t mean I stop thinking about our make-out session. It was fucking awesome. Her arse felt just great – round and firm in my hands, and her lips, man they were made for sin. And those tits…wow! She wanted me. As much as I wanted her, she wanted me. She kissed me back right away. No hesitation.

Could she really want
me,
or would any guy do? Was I just someone to kill time with while she pursued Bradley?

Imagine if they did get back together and Bradley found out that I once had my hands up his wife’s skirt and my tongue down her throat. I am certain that if I didn’t stop, we would have gone all the way.

Rival stays away from me. She works on my house during the day, but when I get home, she has left already. At first, I’m relieved – I don’t have to face her. After a while, I’m terribly disappointed that she chooses to avoid me.

Truth is, I really miss her. I miss our long chats and the laughs we share. Rival is the only girl I can laugh with. Be silly with. She is the first woman friend I’ve ever had who isn’t going gaga for me. Yet I’ve ruined it all. I messed up. I really regret my actions.

I return home early to find Arena and Rival in my kitchen. It’s been two weeks since we made out, and we haven’t crossed paths since.

“I’m not sure,” Arena says with a frown as she inspects swatches of countertops. “I think I like the…” she looks up and sees me. “Hey
boet,
you’re just in time.”

“Hey,” I say, my eyes darting between my sister and Rival.

“Hi,” Rival mumbles and looks away.

“Wassup?”

“I’m in a tizz,” Arena explains. “Grey or cream?”

“Don’t ask me,” I say. “You guys decide.” When I look at Rival, I catch her staring at me. She quickly looks away, her face turning pink.

I reach into the fridge for a Coke. “You guys want a drink?”

“No thanks,” Arena says.

“Rival?” I say, and look directly at her.

She looks at me and our eyes lock. “I’m good, thanks,” she says, her face turning redder.

I grab a Coke from the fridge. “Ally? Becky?”

When my daughters hear my voice, they charge at me and almost knock the Coke out of my hands.

“Daddy, I wanna swim,” Ally says, jumping up and down.

“Later,” I say.

“No, now, Daddy.”

“I said later, Ally. I mean it.”

“Please, Dadda? My wonderful Dadda?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Okay fine. But—”

“Yay!” they chorus.

With a sigh I change into my swimming trunks and swim with them. When I return to the kitchen an hour later, Arena has left and Rival is adjusting the kitchen blinds.

“They look nice," I say, my chin jerking toward the blinds.

“Yeah, they are, aren’t they?” Her eyes are fixed on the blinds.

My eyes drop to her legs. “Lovely.”

She looks at me, catches me looking at her legs and smiles.

A short silence follows.

I break it. “Hey,” about the other night—”

“Mm?” Her eyes slowly rise to meet mine.

“That’s, like…I mean, it was not right.”

“Not
right
?” she cocks her head at me.

“I mean, like, it …we, eh…I mean, you’re Bradley’s wife...and—”

“
Ex-
wife,” she corrects.

I nod. “You’re Bradley’s
ex-
wife, and we’re friends…good friends…and I got carried away and …” I stop and run my hand slowly through my hair. “This is just tough,” I mutter.

“Relax, Mac
Chicken
. It was just a kiss,” she says in a casual voice. “Nothing else. Stop stressing.”

My eyebrows lift. That’s all it was to her. “Really?”

She nods and walks past me, pausing to pat my back before walking on. “It’s not like I dragged you into my bed and fucked the daylights out of you.”

My eyes bulge.

She gathers her stuff. “I’m off now. “See ya, Mac
Frightened
.”

I’m speechless.
Who are you?

At the door, she pauses, turns to look at me, a naughty smile on her face. She winks at me, then steps outside and shuts the door.

I rush to the window to see her almost skipping down the footpath. When she disappears out of sight, I rush to a second window and crane my neck to see her. She did not say those words. Fuck the daylights out of
me
? She did not. She couldn’t have.

But then I remember her hand briefly on my back, her mischievous smile, the twinkle in her blue eyes, her lascivious wink, and I smile.
Rival, what are you doing to my head?

As I lie in bed that night, I do what I have done every night since our make-out session – I relive our kiss. The way she angled her neck for my kisses, the way her soft, yielding body pressed against mine, the feel of her tits against my chest, her husky groans as her hips rocked against mine...fuck!

****

RIVAL

I smile when I see Scarlett’s Facebook post. A picture of two
911
Porsches next to each other, one black, one dark gray.

Scarlett:
Midnight
Black or Gunmental Gray?Thoughts?

Obviously the insurance is replacing the stolen BMW, and she’s wants everyone to know she’s getting a Porsche.

Cynthia September:
Wow, Scarlett, do I envy you! You get everything. Gunmetal Gray I’d say.

Scarlett Murdoch:
Aw, thanks Cyn smiley face.

Odette Peters:
Gunmetal Gray without a doubt. Lucky girl.

Scarlett:
Don’t be jealous now, Odette.
(Smiley face)
Someday your prince (or your Brad) will come too. Lol!

Vera Lyn:
Omg Scarlett, are you getting a Porsche? Has Bradley got a brother for me?

Vera Lyn:
Gunmetal Gray for me too!

Vera Lyn:
When are you getting it? I’m so envious of you. Bet it has got a ton of gadgets???

Scarlett:
Lol Vera.
Soon girl. Soon.
Gadgets? Well, I can tell you it has the following:

LED light features, adaptive headlights, satellite navigation, voice control anti-dazzle mirrors and pewter-colored seats. Bradley chose it. I know so little bout cars so I leave it all to my handsome and wonderful husband. #blessed.

Am I burning as I read? No. Seriously, I’m not. You’ll see why soon.

Oh, and she also posted photos of an Apple MacBook Air and some chunky gold jewelry, all replaced by the insurance company.

A few days later, I view her post on Facebook. She has reposted the photos of both the Porsches with her and Bradley standing next to them.

Scarlett:
Couldn’t choose, so we bought both!#vroomvroom #911isnotjustforterrorists

About fifty comments appear on her post, all envious and all impressed. Even I am impressed, I have to admit. I log out of Facebook and work on my plan to bring down Scarlett.

A week later, on Friday afternoon, when I am sure Bradley and Scarlett are entertaining, I remove the case of money from the trunk of the BMW and hide it in Ritchie’s spare room behind some boxes he never touches.

Then I drive Scarlett’s stolen BMW from Ritchie’s garage to their house and park it in their driveway. I turn off the engine, place the key in the glove compartment, and quietly leave.

A short while later, using a local payphone, I call RIO, the insurance company who replaced all the stolen stuff. “That woman who reported her BMW was missing? It isn’t missing. She still has it. We had drinks the other night and she was shit-faced, and she started bragging about how she pulled off a huge insurance scam with RIO. Said that she still had the jewelry she had reported stolen. Said something about hiding it in a mattress in her spare room.” I speak fast.

“Oh, and she’s been advertising her BMW and jewelry for sale on
Cash Cow.
Is there a reward? I want the reward if you bust…”

I cut the call. Deliberately. Hopefully they’ll think they call has dropped. Damn payphones.

When I get home, I dress carefully, open my laptop, and prepare to be entertained.

And I am.

About thirty minutes later, a cop car cruises by. The car turns around and returns. A few minutes later, three cop cars show up, lights flashing.

Perfect.

With glee, I watch the cops knock at the door and talk to Scarlett and Bradley about the BMW parked in her driveway. The one that was supposed to be stolen.

The look on her face when she sees her BMW miraculously appear in her driveway? Priceless.

Another cop car arrives and a police officer runs up to the door, waving what looks like a search warrant. Then the cops begin to search the house. When I see them rip open the mattress in the main bedroom, I laugh. When I see them rip open the mattress in her spare bedroom and discover the stash of supposedly stolen jewelry, I am out of my chair and almost dancing.

“But…but…” Scarlett stands with her hands on her head as the cops show her Mabel’s stuff and the jewelry I planted.

Bradley barges into the room and balks at the sight of the stolen goods. With an incredulous look on his face, he looks at Scarlett.

She shrugs, palms to the ceiling. “Bradley, I…I…” She shakes her head.

“This is all a misunderstanding,” Bradley says to a cop when he gets his voice back.

“Really? Then how do you explain the advertisement in
Cash Cow?”

“What…what advertisement?” Bradley’s voice is a mere whisper.

“Adverts were placed on
Cash Cow
for the stolen BMW and the jewelry with both your phone numbers on it. Even for the iPad and the camera.”

“Anyone could have placed those advertisements,” Bradley protests.

“Well, the IP address that the adverts were generated from is yours. So clearly one of you placed the advert.”

Bradley looks at Scarlett as if he was seeing her for the first time.

“Bradley, I didn’t,” Scarlett cries, panic all over her face.

“Please turn around and put your hands behind your back,” a detective says to Scarlett.

“What? No!” Scarlett’s voice is shaky. “Bradley, do something. Call my daddy!”

“Well, I’m her attorney,” Bradley says, moving toward the cops. “Don’t—”

“You too,” a detective says to Bradley. “Turn around.”

Bradley pales. “You’re kidding me!”

“Turn around and put your—”

“No fucking way!”

“Sir, I will tell you for the last time.”

Bradley’s jaw drops. I have never seen my ex-husband speechless before, and it is a sight to behold.

“What about my children?” Bradley says, turning around, his shoulders rounding.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say…”

Bradley and Scarlett look at each other in disbelief as their rights are read to them.

“The only person I can call is their mother,” Bradley explains. “But she’s in no condition to take care of…”

“She’s a mental patient,” Scarlett says. “She’s not capable at all.”

“Then we’ll call Department of Child Services.”

“NO!” Bradley says. “No DOCS. Call Rival, rather.”

“Bradley!” Scarlett snaps.

“I’m not letting DOCS take them, Scarlett. It’s Friday evening. We’ll be spending the weekend in jail, and I’m not letting the kids stay with some strange family for so many days. I’m calling Rival.” He rattles off my phone number to a female officer, to my absolute glee.

My excitement is such, I cannot even breathe. I let my phone ring for a while before I answer.

“Of course, officer,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “I will be there in five minutes.”

I arrive just in time to watch them cart away Bradley and his whore.

Scarlett stares at me, looking like someone has given
her
a concussion.

I smile at her. “I’ll handle things. You just take care of yourself.” I shouldn’t have said that, but I couldn’t resist it.

“How convenient for you,” she hisses. She doesn’t smile or return my friendly wave. But I don’t care – I’m having the time of my life.