Slip of the Tongue (14 page)

“Fine.” I swipe my subway card and go through. “Go sulk by yourself. When you’re ready to talk, find me.”

“Come on, Sadie,” he says. The turnstile beeps at him when he tries to pass. “Wait. My month is expired.”

“I don’t care,” I call behind my shoulder and storm away. An overhead marquee tells me the subway is five minutes away. It should be enough time for Nathan to buy a new monthly pass, but still, I glance over my shoulder for him. I have to stop at a bench to take off my bootie and massage my foot.

Nathan walks in my direction, putting his new pass away and sliding his wallet into his back pocket. “I don’t like when you run off like that,” he says as he approaches.

“Tough shit.”

He nods at my feet. “Cramp?”

“It’s fine.” I look up at him and then away. “Are you going to tell me what your problem is?”

“Not tonight,” he says. “I wish you would respect when I tell you I’m not ready.”

I shake my head, done with this. “And I wish you would respect when I tell you not to talk to me until you’re ready to work this out.”

He puts his hands in his pockets and hesitates. “Look—”

“That was a nice way of saying leave me alone.”

I stare at his feet until he finally walks away. He goes to the next bench and sits.

Nathan and I suck at this. Maybe we should’ve fought more over the years—maybe it would’ve prevented things from getting this far. The worst part is the fresh, sharp memory of how we used to be. How he used to know me. It wasn’t long ago that Nathan brought home
the
coffee table of my dreams because he’d spent months stopping by flea markets to find it. He listened to me. He sensed what I needed. He always knew how to make me happy.

It’s been seven years since he walked into my line of sight and flipped my world right-side up. What hurts the most is that I remember that happy moment like it was yesterday.

TWELVE

Nathan and I met at a summertime barbeque in the Hamptons. It was an engagement party for Jill, my closest friend, and Victor, the man I’d introduced her to. They’d rented a house for the weekend. Victor and his friends were short players for a beach football game, so they invited some guys from the house next to theirs.

Jill and I came onto the deck wearing skimpy bikinis and sipping strawberry margaritas. The tall, muscular quarterback was getting rushed when our eyes met. He dropped the ball immediately and jogged toward us. Since he looked as though he had something to say, I leaned over the railing to hear better.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The glass was sweating in my hand. He had large, cappuccino-colored eyes and a suntan to match. Jill nudged me to prompt my answer.

“Oh.” I looked up from his broad chest, which was slick with sweat and sand. “Sadie,” I replied, wary of his question but smiling. It’s hard not to smile when a man like him pays you attention.

“Have you been here before, Sadie?” he asked.

“To the Hamptons? Yes—”

“No, here.” He pointed down at the sand under his feet. “Have you stood here?”

Jill put her ice-cold hand on my forearm and squeezed. She told me later the sparks between us were flying.

I giggled nervously. Having seen my reflection in the sliding glass door earlier, I knew my mouth was red from the drink. “Yes. We had a bonfire on the beach last night.”

“Okay.” The handsome quarterback dropped to his knees and looked up to the sky. “Thank you, God. If I ever doubted you—”

“Hunt, what the fuck’re you doing?” called one of the players from the beach.

The man met my gaze again and responded only to me. “I’m worshipping the ground she walks on. Literally. It calls for at least that.”

I blushed profusely while Jill clapped. “Are you all watching?” she yelled at the gawking men. “That’s how it’s done.” She winked at him. “Bravo.”

It was too much, but it worked. I would’ve swooned if he’d only offered to refill my drink.

“Stay and watch the game,” he said. “Will you, Sadie?”

My cheeks ached from smiling. “Yes.”

“Don’t skip out on me. Okay? I’m coming back for you.”

And he did. His name was Nathan. When football ended, and they’d cleaned up, Nathan and his friends came over for dinner. Later that night, he and I shared stories and a blanket on the beach. We made wishes on shooting stars. I was twenty-four.

From that day on, Nathan adored me. And I let myself be adored. That didn’t mean I loved Nathan any less than he loved me, though. It was just how we were. How we used to be.

A bottle shatters on the ground. My sunny Hamptons afternoon is swallowed up by a frigid, starless subway station in Brooklyn. I’m shivering, my shoe in my hand. Nathan, on his bench a few yards away, doesn’t look over at me. Maybe he can’t worship my ground anymore, because he’s found a new place to kneel.

The subway was supposed to arrive three minutes ago. My body sags. I just want to be home in bed.

“Hey,” I hear. “You. You lied to me.”

It takes me a moment to realize I’m being addressed. I look at the group walking toward me—the bespectacled man and his friends from outside of Brooklyn Bowl.

He plops his ass next to me on the seat. “You told me you were married,” he teases.

I spare him a sideways glance, but I’m hardly in the mood. “I am.”

“Liar.” He makes a face like he’s constipated. His glasses slide a millimeter down his red nose. “You hurt my feelings.”

I wedge my bootie back onto my bloated foot. “You’ll survive.”

“I won’t. I need a kiss to make it better.”

His friends laugh. A woman nearby looks up from her book then back down.

I stand up and walk away. He yanks my elbow, pulling me back. With a flutter of his eyelashes, he shuts his eyes, puckers, and breathes beer fumes on my face. “Just one. Please?”

“Let go, asshole.” I pull too hard and stumble back into a wall of a body. My heart leaps as two hands land on my shoulders, trapping me.

“It’s me,” Nathan says above my head.

I exhale as the tension in my body eases. I turn to thank him, but he steps around me. Spectacle’s eyes are still shut when Nathan shoves him backward. He stumbles across the platform, and his glasses clatter to the ground. “Hey, what the—”

“That’s my wife.” Nathan’s shoulders are nearly at his ears as he stalks toward the guy, who’s probably half a foot shorter and starting to look more like a kid.

“Are you crazy, dude?” he asks when he’s regained his footing. “You could’ve killed me. You don’t push someone in the subway.”

Nathan leans down and nabs the glasses. “Don’t forget your hipster crap. Who do you think you are, Clark Kent?” He throws them at the guy, who catches them at his stomach like a line drive.

Some people snicker. The group he’s with collectively
oohs
.

“Fuck you. I’m not the one pushing people around like some stupid superhero.”

“I’m teaching you some respect,” Nathan says. He’s outnumbered, but he doesn’t seem to care. “She told you she was married.”

“Twice,” I add.

“She doesn’t
look
married.” The kid puffs his chest out triumphantly, as if he’s insulted us.

His friends begin to disperse one by one, apparently bored with the confrontation. “Come on, dude,” one of them says. “Back off.”

He follows them, scowling as he inspects his lenses.

I’ve had my fair share of drunken admirers. Nathan usually lets me handle them unless I need back up. Tonight, I’m glad he was here. I look up at him. “Thank you.”

The platform trembles as the L train approaches. Nathan just nods and pulls me by my bicep up to the yellow line. We wait in tense silence until the doors open. There are plenty of open seats, but I take a middle one so Nathan can have the end. He stays standing. Once we’ve crossed back into Manhattan, I get up to be next to him. The late-night train moves fast, rattling us around. I let my shoulder bump his.

“You’re quiet,” I say.

Predictably, he doesn’t respond.

I grab the lapel of his coat and run it through my hand. “That was sexy,” I say.

He arches an eyebrow. “Getting hit on by a drunk hipster?”

“You know what I mean.” I pull him a little closer. “The way you defended me.”

“I would’ve done it for anyone.”

For some reason, he wants his words to sting. They don’t. He might do it for anyone, but he’d never
not
do it for me. I keep my hold on the soft wool. There’s one thing that can obliterate my anger from earlier, and it’s arousal. I lean into Nathan. It becomes clear to me that I don’t truly believe he’s been with Joan. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to stomach having sex with him. And right now, I definitely can.

I slip my hand into his coat. “You’re getting so hard.”

His nostrils flare as he glances down at me. “Hard?”

“Your muscles.” I rub his flat, ridged stomach. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. And your hair. It’s different, but I like it—”

He grabs my wrist, stopping me. “Don’t.”

Don’t
. The other night, during sex, he covered my mouth when I said his name. He still doesn’t want me, his wife. It’s okay, though. I’m turned on enough by the way he claimed me in front of those guys to play along. “I don’t normally do this,” I say, glancing around the car. “But I was wondering if you’d like to come home with me tonight.”

“What’re you doing, Sadie?”

“Sadie? Who’s that? Your wife?” I shrug. “I don’t mind. I can keep a secret.”

“This is ridiculous.”

The subway stops. Someone gets off, someone else gets on. I blink up at Nathan a few times and slide my hand through his, back to my side. “You’re a faithful husband,” I say. “I get it. But we don’t have to touch to have fun.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Haven’t you ever talked dirty?” I ask. “Or doesn’t your wife like that?”

He hesitates, but responds, “She does.”

The subway jostles us, throwing me against him. He catches me, and I’m hit with the smell of cigarettes. “Have you been smoking?” I ask, surprised enough to break character.

He pinches his eyebrows together, but then his expression eases. “Don’t tell my wife.”

I bite my lower lip.
Bingo
. He’s interested. I rise onto the balls of my feet. When he doesn’t move, I motion for him to bend down. He does. I whisper in his ear, “You’re making my knees weak. Not sure I can stand much longer.”

“What . . . what do you suggest?” he asks.

“How about I kneel? Right here. Take you in my mouth.”

His breathing deepens. “We’re not alone.”

“Who, them?” I ask, nodding to the other passengers. “They can fuck off. Or watch. If you don’t mind, that is.”

His hand tightens around my bicep. “Christ, Sadie . . .”

The train comes to a grinding halt. If he weren’t holding me, I’d fly forward. The doors open. We’re at our stop. He and I stare at each other a moment. “Go ahead,” I dare him. “You’ve been trying to get rid of me all night, haven’t you?”

He hesitates, but releases me and leaves the car. I give him a head start. When he’s halfway up the stairs, I catch him checking over his shoulder for me. I’m not there, but he doesn’t stop.

Right before the subway doors close, I hop out. By the time I’m on ground level, he’s gone.

My phone rings. I answer it with, “You left something on the train.”

“Yeah?” Nathan asks. “What?”

“Me.” I swallow, checking left and right. There are people around, but fuck it. This is New York City. Nothing shocks anyone. “Do you normally walk away from a woman who’s ready and willing to suck your cock?”

The man walking ahead of me looks back, but I avert my eyes.

“Fuck, Sadie,” Nathan says. “You aren’t playing fair—”

“I bet it’s huge. A tall, strong man like you.” Nathan and I can talk it up in bed, but I’m not used to being this candid. Especially in public. I can’t let him distract me, though. As long as Nathan wants me, I haven’t lost him. As long he reacts, even if it’s with anger, then there’s still a chance. I can’t seem to connect with him emotionally lately, but sex can bring him back to me, even if it’s only for a little while.

I press on. “Does she let you come in her mouth, your wife?”

“No—” The word comes out strangled.

This is supposed to be for him, but it’s working on me too. I’m getting wet. “I would. Like a good fucking slut.”

The line goes dead. I check the screen. He hung up.
Shit
. Why? If he wants a slut, I can be that. He doesn’t need to find a Joan, or anyone else, to satisfy him. But what else can I do to show him I care? He rejects my touch. My words. My love. All that I have. I’m at a loss.

By the time I reach our apartment building, my self-doubt has become a hurricane inside me. It shouldn’t be so much work to get my husband to notice me.

But when I get off the elevator, Nathan’s there, leaning against the door of our apartment. His arms are folded over his chest, his eyes dark. I can’t read his mood. I don’t speak as I approach, afraid to say the wrong thing.

“How’d you find me?” he asks.

My heart skips. He still wants to play. I don’t miss a beat. “I followed you.”

“Why?”

“Because, I . . .” I glance at the door. “I . . . want to come in.”

“My wife is home.”

My thighs tremble. My panties are sticky, already damp from earlier. This is having a swift effect on me. “Are you suggesting—”

He whirls me around and pushes me up against the front door. “This what you want?” he asks. “Is this why you won’t leave me the fuck alone?”

I’m not sure if we’re still role-playing. My breasts are mashed, but I like this new side to Nathan. The shock alone is enough to get me going. “Yes,” I say. “I want this.”

He pulses his hips into my backside, and I have my answer. There’s no question he still wants me, even if I am his unexciting wife. With my cheek against the door, I can see Finn’s apartment. My mind flashes to earlier, Finn’s hot, his hungry lips. “Here?” I ask.