I see it happen out of the corner of my eye.
A single hand gesture, but I register the move in seconds.
He thinks he’s slick. Thinks he’s really made something happen here.
He’s probably done it hundreds of times. Probably gotten away with it.
She’s just another woman to him. A conquest. Across the table in front of me, Constance is telling me about something that happened today. A client who did something… Or maybe something happened to a client.
Which client?
I don’t know.
I can’t listen. Can’t focus. All I can do is watch as the woman reaches for her drink again while the man watches eagerly. She has no idea what’s about to happen. Looking around the room, it seems no one else does either.
Just this prick and me.
“Sorry, would you excuse me for just a second?” I hold up a finger, cutting Constance off midsentence and scooting back from the table.
If she’s angry, she doesn’t let on. Instead, she flicks a bit of her blonde hair over her shoulder and turns to follow my gaze.
“Is everything alright?”
I don’t answer. Can’t. I’m up out of my seat and across the restaurant in a flash. I bump into the man on purpose, reaching to steal the drink from the woman’s hand before it touches her lips.
Woman may not be an accurate term, I realize. She appears even younger up close—barely more than a girl. She’s twenty-two, twenty-three, maybe. Can’t be much older than that.
Her chestnut-brown eyes are wide as she stares at me, trying to understand what’s happening. Waiting for whatever bad thing is about to happen to her.
She thinks I’m going to hurt her.
No, maybe she thinks I’m going to hit on her.
Wrong on either account.
“Hey, mate. What are you—”
“Trust me, you don’t want to drink that,” I say, ignoring the man behind me completely. Then thinking better of it, I turn to glance at him over my shoulder. “And I’m not your mate.”
The bartender notices the commotion and approaches us with a wary look. “Everything okay?”
I hand him the cocktail glass, red liquid sloshing out onto my skin. “No. Everything’s not okay. This man”—I jut my head toward the guy next to me, whose pale complexion suddenly seems almost translucent—“just slipped something into this young woman’s drink. You should probably call the police.”
“I… What?” the man shouts, backing away. “What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t slip anything anywhere.”
The woman’s hands go to cover her lips, staring between us in horror. “Are you serious right now? You tried to drug me?” She already has her phone out, though whether she’s calling 911 or texting her BFF, I can’t be sure.
His jaw drops open with indignation. “You’ve got it all wrong!” He points at me. “He’s lying.”
I narrow my eyes at him. And the Oscar goes to… “I’m not. But feel free to stick around and explain your side of things to the cops.”
“Bro, screw this. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Clearly, you need your eyes checked. I moved her drink. That’s it.”
“Ah, right, well, if that’s the case, better save that drink.” I hold out a hand, stopping the bartender from pouring it out. “The police may want to test it.” I glance at the man again. “You know, in case I’m wrong.”
Both hands up in angry defeat, the guy backs farther away from us and makes a beeline for the door without another word.
I ignore him as the bartender gives me a look of concern, then, at once, we direct our attention to the woman.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods slowly, more out of habit than truly answering. “I… I think so.” She eyes the cocktail. “I didn’t drink anything.”
It seems like more of a question than a statement, so I confirm, “No, he’d just slipped it in when you were looking at your phone. Did you know that man? Was he your date?” The bartender is still holding the contaminated drink in one hand.
“No, he was… He just approached me. He seemed nice enough. Normal.” Her brown eyes are flecked with gold. Or maybe that’s just the reflection of the lights overhead. Either way, they brim with tears as she speaks. “I didn’t know him. I didn’t think he’d try to… I mean, you always hear about it, but you never think…” She seems to shake the thought away. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“No need to thank me. I’m just glad you’re okay. Try to be more careful with your drinks, okay? Keep them in your sight.”
She reaches out, brushing a hand across my arm. “Of course. I feel so dumb. I know this stuff, I just… It’s been a weird day, and I let my guard down. I know better.” Again, she shakes her head, more tears forming in her eyes. “I’m sorry, what was your name? I don’t think I asked. Can I buy you a drink? It’s the least I can do…” She still seems out of it, reacting more out of politeness than anything else.
“No, that’s okay. Just…just get home safely, okay?” Before I turn away, I add, “There are these ponytail holders they sell online now that unzip and fit on your cup to cover the top of your drink. You should get some. My wife never goes out without them.”
The statement seems to bring her back down to earth. “Right. Thank you,” she repeats, backing away from the bar. “I will. I’ll look into those.”
I feel strange letting her leave when she seems so shaken. Then again, it would be strange if she wasn’t. “Is there anyone I can call for you? Are you going to be okay?”
“No. Yeah.” She brushes off the question. “I’ll be fine. I’m just startled, that’s all. And embarrassed. I swear I’m usually so careful. I don’t even remember taking my eyes off the drink. I guess I must’ve…” Her forehead wrinkles as her voice becomes soft. Powerless. “I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t. You’re not. He was smart,” I say. “They usually are. He waited for you to be distracted by something.” I tap the phone in her hand. “It only took a second.” Eyeing the bartender, I pat the counter. “You need to keep a better watch up here. Creeps like that are everywhere.”
“Yeah, I will.” He nods at me affirmatively, and though his words carry no bitterness, I expect it would probably be warranted if they did.
The kid is young, too. Barely old enough to be consuming the drinks he’s tending, let alone to be in charge of the entire restaurant’s well-being. But he’ll never forget this, I can tell. Maybe it’s his first time, but I doubt it. And it won’t be his last. I see it way too often.
“I should get back to my date,” I say, pointing to the table where she’s still waiting. “Just take care of yourself, okay? Can you get someone to walk her out when she’s ready to leave? In case he’s waiting outside.”
Obviously shocked by the suggestion, her eyes widen. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Thanks.”
A bright-red blush covers her cheeks as the bartender tells her to come find him before she leaves, and with everything handled, I take my cue to walk away.
When I return to the table, Constance is watching me closely. “What was that all about? Do you know that woman?”
“No. Some asshole tried to spike her drink.”
“And you stopped him?” Her eyes light up with approval.
“I don’t think anyone else saw. I didn’t have a choice.” I’m trying to seem more modest than I feel, though I’m not sure it’s working. In all actuality, I’m running on a cocktail of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
She reaches across the table, her fingers lacing with mine, and lowers her voice. “That was amazing. You might’ve just saved her life.”
I shrug one shoulder. “And here I was, worried you’d be mad at me for interrupting our date night.”
A smile decorates her face. “Of course not. I’m just glad you saw it happen before it was too late. That poor girl…” She glances over her shoulder toward the bar.
“Me too.” I can’t stand men who think they’re entitled to everything, including women’s bodies. They make the rest of us look bad.
“Girls can never be too careful nowadays. It’s not like it used to be.” Nostalgia weighs heavily on her words, and when she sighs again, I half expect her to want to end the night early and head home, so it catches me off guard when she instead says, “Do you… Are you ready to get out of here?”
* * *
Back at the hotel she’s booked us for the night, our clothes are coming off before we’ve managed to shut the door all the way.
She has a fondness for my hero complex, apparently. I’d never noticed.
She eases herself out of the red chiffon gown slowly, never breaking eye contact. I’ve removed my tie but nothing else. I know better.
After our many years together, I know exactly what she wants.
Her dress hits the floor, revealing a set of lacy lingerie that must be new, and she steps toward me. She takes her time with each of my buttons, kissing her way down my chest.
Once my shirt is off, she removes my belt, making faster work of removing the bottom half of my clothing until I’m completely naked in front of her.
Her eyes trail the length of my body appreciatively. Hungrily. I never get tired of the way she looks at me.
Like I’m a work of art.
A statue meant to be adored by the masses, yet kept only for her.
She pulls me to the bed, where I’m finally encouraged to undress her the rest of the way.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I whisper. She likes compliments in bed. Needs them, maybe.
Nothing too dirty. Always classy.
I keep a mental checklist of everything she expects from me: every place I should touch, everything I should say and do, and when.
It’s important for this to be everything she could dream of. Most men don’t put enough thought into these things, but it's of the utmost importance.
She lies down, giving me firm directions about where she wants me, when she needs more pressure here or there, when I should move faster or slower, what to kiss, where to bite. She likes to be in command here, and I’m happy to oblige.
We both know I know this by now. I know the places that make her tremble, the moves that send her over the edge, but this is her game and I’m just a player.
She digs her nails into my back as I ease myself on top of her, locking eyes. As I slide inside her, all walls come down and she cries out, eyes closed. It’s as if her entire body relaxes with the sigh she exhales.
I draw out the act, faster, then slower, bending her over in front of me as she likes, and we end with her on top. I don’t finish until she says I can.
I wouldn’t dare.
When it’s over, when our breathing has slowed and she drops down next to me on the bed, she smiles at me with that sated smile that says I’ve done my job.
“God, I think you’ve gotten better since last time.”
I chuckle. “Lots of practice. And it helps that I have a good partner.”
She runs a lazy hand over my chest, leaning over to kiss me gently before standing from the bed and getting dressed.
I gather my clothes from the floor and step into the bathroom. Seems silly, I guess. She’s seen it all at this point, but I hate to ruin the illusion.
I clean myself up, rinse my mouth with the travel-sized bottle of mouthwash next to the sink, and get dressed. When I leave the room, she’s already on the phone with someone from her work. She waves at me as I make my way past, looking as sharp as I did when I entered the restaurant three hours ago.
When I pull into the driveway a little over two hours later, I check my account and see that the deposit has made it in.
Three hours’ work: An hour at dinner. Two hours at the hotel.
With any other client, I’d have Maddie request extra over the kiss on the mouth she slipped in at the end, but Constance has earned the extra just this once, so I let it slide.
I step out of the car and see the kitchen light flick on. Inside, I drop my keys into the designated bowl and hang my jacket on the rack.
“Hey, honey.” Willa’s voice comes from behind me and I turn around, smiling at my perfect wife. The sight of her still takes my breath away. “Long day?”
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