Josh’s hands are on my waist, and his mouth is on my neck. There’s nothing more I want to do right now than have sex with him and get out of my head about whether a long-distance relationship is even a possibility.
“Shit, I can’t find the card,” I say, giving up on my search and leaning against him. “You don’t happen to have one, do you?”
He turns me around and shakes his head. “You want me to go downstairs and get one?”
I scrunch my forehead. “No, it’s okay, they’ll make an issue out of giving you one. I’ll just go,” I say.
He wraps his arms around my shoulder and walks us toward the elevator. “We’ll go,” he clarifies.
I smile as we ride back down and trudge towards the front desk. I lean on the counter as Josh gently rubs my shoulders, while I explain the situation to the guy behind the desk and go through the motions of getting out my ID out to prove I am who I am…
“Lena?”
I turn around to see the last person I expected to run into at this hotel. In Miami.
It’s Gabrielle. She works with Brandon. She and her husband are casual friends of ours. The kind of casual friends you run into at holiday parties and have dinner with on occasion.
“Hey, Gabrielle,” I say busying myself with putting away my ID. “Wow, what are you doing in Miami?”
“Oh, you know, work,” she says, all eyes on Josh.
I nod, desperately wanting the guy behind the desk to just give me that damn plastic card.
“How’s…Brandon?” she asks, fluffing out her hair.
The moment that name comes out of her mouth, Josh’s hands stiffen on my shoulders.
I gulp. And shut my eyes for a moment as if to check whether this is just some terrible dream. “Fine, he’s…in San Francisco.”
Gabrielle nods like an animated figurine. “Well, tell him I said hello,” she says, before typing something on her phone. “Maybe the four of us can grab dinner again soon.”
She smiles the politest wide-eyed smile before walking away with a skip in her step, like she’s on the brink of spreading the hottest gossip to all our mutual friends.
The guy behind the desk finally hands me the plastic card. It sweats in my palm. Josh’s hands drop from my shoulders. My heart rapid-fires a few shots. I turn to face him. He takes a few steps back.
Walking backwards, he throws his arms in the air. “Whoa.”
I walk towards him. “Can we talk about this in the room?”
His pace quickens. “Who is Brandon?” he asks, voice raised. “Is he your boyfriend?”
The few people milling about the lobby area glance towards us.
I scurry to keep up to him. “No, he’s…” I start, but the words are just too awkward to say. And this is not how I envisioned telling Josh…that I’m married.
I reach for his arm, but he pulls it away.
“He’s your what?” he asks, stopping at the door that leads out to the pool area.
I almost run into him like he’s a brick wall. “Can we not do this here?”
“He’s your what, Lena?” he demands.
Frozen with fear and the realization that I screwed up big time, I stop in my tracks and look around for an escape route. Except you can’t escape the truth.
“I’m recently separated, and our friends…no one really knows yet.”
The words are like an admission of the worst guilt.
Josh pops open the door with a force that reverberates through my body. He walks away from me at a brisk pace.
I catch the door. The warm breeze feels cold against my skin.
I shouldn’t follow him. This is big. He needs a minute.
My feet contradict my thoughts, the clinking of my heels loud against the pavement. We’re the only ones out here, but it feels like the world is watching.
He turns around. “You’re married?”
The moon reflects off the pool like a spotlight on our drama. His face is tightly constricted like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle.
He asks me again, voice raised.
Heart racing, I step closer to him and nod.
“When were you gonna tell me? Or were you, even?”
His hands are clasped behind his head, and his face is turned upwards towards the darkened sky as if looking there for answers because he doesn’t want to hear any from me right now.
I clench my fists. “Of course I was going to tell you,” I say, my throat tight and dry. “But honestly, I don’t know when. This last month has been a blur. I didn’t expect my husband to talk divorce on our anniversary. And I didn’t expect to meet you.”
“So, I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?” he demands, as roughly as he might to someone who’s just cut him off.
“No. But maybe a little understanding…” I say, a plea in my voice.
“You used me.” He turns back around, striding away swiftly.
I keep up and reach for his arm again, but he shrugs me off.
“I’m just some rebound until you and your husband decide to work things out.”
“That is not the case at all,” I say, my voice now raised. The second accusation stings more than the first. “I didn’t use you any more than you used me to get a taste of the good life.”
He turns around with fire in his eyes. I freeze, knowing my last statement was a low blow.
“I like my life just fine, Lena. It may be modest but at least it’s honest.”
He takes a few more steps and then he’s at the last gate that opens to the boardwalk along the ocean.
“I’m sorry,” I say, unsure whether he can even hear the words because he’s gone before I can enunciate the last syllable.
He doesn’t turn around this time.
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