Jared started filling my glass with more wine.
"Forget it. Just hand me the bottle," I said, extending my hand.
He smirked and poured himself a glass before sliding the merlot across the table. "Bad day?" he joked sarcastically.
I pulled the cork off the bottle and threw it at him. "You know it was, dick," I replied, taking two big swigs, a little trickling down my chin. I wiped it away with my sleeve. For six months, every Friday night, this was our routine. Jared would come over to my dilapidated apartment and talk about life, work, friends, and, most often, our cheating ex-spouses. Sometimes we would drink, sometimes not. Tonight, we were drinking a lot.
"I guess you're not taking the announcement well?" he said.
"And you are?"
Jared shrugged. "The divorce is nearly finalized. Despite the months-long affair, she's actually been amenable in getting this done quickly."
I rolled my eyes. "How gracious of her."
He grinned, raising his glass. "Cheers to our ex-spouses. I lost a wife, but gained a best friend."
My cheeks flushed more than the wine was already making them. "To the only positive thing in my life over the last few months," I whispered, clinking the bottle to the glass before drinking the last pour.
"Whoops, we're out. Ready to switch to beer?"
Jared nodded. With only a little difficulty, wobbling off my chair, I opened the fridge and took out a six pack.
"But seriously, Claire. Are you alright?"
I cracked open a can and tossed Jared another. He surprisingly caught it considering how tipsy we were. I swayed over to him.
"Not really, but I will be. I may have a hangover tomorrow, but I feel good about things, relatively speaking."
One year ago, Jared and his wife Monica moved into the same apartment building that Mark and I had lived in for years. In fact, they settled on the same floor. After meeting in the elevator and inviting them out for drinks, we became fast friends. There were weekly board game nights, frequent dinners, and even a poker night that quickly devolved into drunk strip poker.
And then, six months after they moved in, things changed. Mark became secretive and defensive. If I asked to use his phone, he would angrily object. I caught him texting in the middle of the night multiple times, but when I asked who it was, he claimed I didn't trust him. He went out more and came back later and later, always vague about his whereabouts.
Finally, it came together. I checked his location when he claimed he was going to the gym. The idiot was never good with technology and forgot he gave me access. To my surprise, he was in our building. Something in me said to text Monica.
Hey. Just checking in. Mind if I come over to hang out?
No reply. With a rapidly increasing heartbeat, I texted Jared.
Are you home right now?
Two minutes passed before my phone buzzed.
No, I'm on a business trip. Monica should be home though as far as I know. Why?
I grabbed the spare key they gave us for emergencies and practically ran to their apartment, hoping beyond hope that I was wrong. I arrived at the door and, taking a breath, put my ear against the wood, faintly, but distinctly, hearing what sounded like moaning.
My heart stopped. With shaking hands, I quietly and slowly slid the key into the lock and turned. The door soundlessly opened and I was met with Monica getting railed over an arm of the couch by Mark, facing away from the apartment entrance.
For a few seconds, I watched as my husband repeatedly entered another woman, saying things to her that he never even said to me, her breasts flailing, blonde hair draped across her face, and his sweat dripping on her back.
As the image burned itself into my brain, I slowly closed the door and walked back to my apartment, numb. I called Jared and gently explained everything I saw. He was, shall we say, less stoic than me after hearing the events, but I managed to calm him down. Within a week, both Jared and I were moved out, each in new apartments. I never learned exactly what he said to Monica during that week, but it was also none of my business.
And now, after six months of healing, finally feeling like my emotions were getting somewhat back on track, I opened Instagram this morning. Even though I knew it was a bad idea, and having blocked Mark months prior, I couldn't help myself. I unblocked him and checked his profile.
Posted a week ago, the latest entry was Mark and Monica on a beach, kissing, the sunset behind them. The caption? "Officially official. July 30th 🤍"
I nearly dropped my phone. Anger, resentment, and sadness clouded my mind. It was one thing to screw someone else, but another thing entirely to date her. It wasn't just a lustful affair; he had truly given me up for another woman.
My first thought was Jared. Opening my phone, I sent a less than cordial text.
Want to get fucked up tonight?
My thoughts snapped back to reality when Jared grabbed my hand.
"We'll have a hangover together. We might hate ourselves in the morning, but at least we can feel terrible with each other," he laughed.
Our fingers intertwined. "So, you're staying the night?" I joked back.
Still seated, he looked up at me. Silence filled the room. At that moment, I noticed how close to him I was. His legs brushed against mine and my chest was only a few inches from his mouth. He could easily reach out with his tongue and...
I glanced at our hands. Maybe it was the alcohol, but his touch felt hot. I slowly slid my hand up his arm, feeling his skin. My fingertips were vibrating as I traced the inside of his elbow, eventually placing my hand on his chest. I could feel the tight muscles move as he breathed, my own breath starting to sync with him. I slowly looked into his eyes, and something passed between us. It felt like a choice had opened and if we didn't take advantage, it may go away forever.
The silence continued to linger. To my right, a warm breeze came in through the open window of the living room. The linoleum kitchen floor was cold against my bare feet, but I barely felt it as an intense yearning developed in between my legs.
