The Bad Tenant

Jess lay across the couch, bare feet propped on the armrest as the TV droned on in the background. The clock on the wall ticked away, each second stretching into eternity. 7:07 PM in Texas. 5:07 PM in California. Tom would still be trapped in meetings for at least another hour, probably more.

She thumbed through her phone, scanning their most recent text exchange:

Tom: "This project is a mess. I miss you."

Jess: "Miss you too. How's the hotel?"

Tom: "Decent. Room service sucks though.

Jess: "Want me to FedEx you some real food?"

Tom: "God I wish. I'd give anything to be home with you right now."

Jess: "Even your promotion?"

Tom: "Ouch."

Jess: "Sorry. That wasn't fair."

Tom: "No, you're right. I'm so sorry about missing your party. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

Jess: "I know. Go save the day."

She tossed the phone aside, frustration bubbling beneath her skin. She should work on the Skyline designs, but motivation eluded her. Instead, her mind drifted to Friday's party, to the emerald dress hanging in their closet, to the career milestone she'd be celebrating alone.

The resentment simmered fresh in her chest, refusing to dull. Jess still hadn't fully forgiven Tom for dropping the San Diego work crisis on her with no notice, right after she'd come home glowing from dress shopping, ready to show him the emerald green knockout she'd splurged on.

She'd spent weeks looking forward to celebrating together, picturing him beaming at her at the Skyline party. Instead, all that anticipation had soured into an empty house and a calendar marked by his absence. She knew the promotion was important. She knew their future depended on it. But knowledge didn't blunt the sting of feeling like an afterthought, again.

Her phone buzzed. Madi's name flashed on the screen.

Madi: "I need DETAILS. How'd Tom lose his shit over that dress? I bet he couldn't keep his hands off you!"

Jess's fingers hovered over the keys. She didn't want to deal with Madi's reaction, but lying felt worse.

Jess: "He's in San Diego. Some work emergency. He won't be back till Saturday."

The response was instantaneous:

Madi: "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?"

Madi: "Please tell me you're joking."

Madi: "He's seriously missing your party? For work???"

Jess: "It's a big deal. This project could mean his promotion."

Madi: "This is YOUR moment. He should be here supporting you."

Madi: "I swear to god, I'm going to text that workaholic husband of yours and give him a piece of my mind."

Jess sat up straighter, panic flaring.

Jess: "Madi don't. Please. He already feels terrible about it."

Madi: "He SHOULD feel terrible. This is fucked up, Jess."

Jess: "I know. But it's complicated. Just leave it alone, okay?"

There was a long pause before Madi replied:

Madi: "Fine. But only because you asked. You're still wearing that dress to the party right?"

Jess glanced toward the bedroom.

Jess: "I don't know. Maybe I'll wear that black sheath dress? New one feels too fancy without Tom."

Madi: "Don't you dare. You are wearing that dress."

Jess: "I don't know."

Madi: "Jessica Marshall. You are wearing that dress if I have to come over there and put you into it myself. Tom's absence does NOT diminish your accomplishment. You're going to that party, you're going to look smoking hot, and you're going to network your ass off. Got it?"

Despite herself, Jess smiled. Madi's fierce loyalty was both touching and slightly terrifying.

Jess: "Okay. You win. I'll wear the dress."

Madi: "Damn straight. Now tell me you're not just moping around the house."

Jess glanced guiltily at the TV.

Jess: "I might be."

Madi: "Go for a run or something. Get those endorphins flowing. You can't just sit there feeling sorry for yourself."

Jess: "You're right."

Madi: "Good. Do something other than stare at your phone. Love you!"

"Love you too," Jess typed back, then tossed her phone aside.

With a groan, she hauled herself off the couch. Staying still was driving her crazy. She moved to the kitchen, opening cabinets, reorganizing spices that didn't need reorganizing. Anything to keep her hands busy, to quiet the restless energy thrumming through her veins.

Her mind again drifted to the Skyline project she'd poured her heart and soul into. She remembered the way Chris Webb's eyes had lit up when she'd unveiled the designs.

This was her moment, dammit. She'd earned it, but now, at the moment of her triumph, she'd be attending alone. No Tom to squeeze her hand reassuringly. No Tom to charm the investors with his easy smile and quick wit. No Tom to celebrate with afterward, to peel that gorgeous emerald green dress off her body and make her feel like the most desirable woman in the world.

She slammed a cabinet door harder than necessary, the sound echoing through the empty house.

She took a deep breath. Madi was right. As much as Tom's absence hurt, it did not diminish her accomplishment. She was more than just Tom Marshall's wife. She was Jessica Marshall, up-and-coming interior designer.

With renewed determination, she marched to the bedroom. The dress beckoned, its fabric shimmering under the soft lighting in the closet. She ran her fingers over the material.

She was going to wear this dress, and she was going to own that party. Let them see her confidence, her talent, her undeniable presence. Let them remember her name.

Her phone buzzed again. She expected another text from Madi, but Tom's name flashed on the screen instead.

Tom: "You free to talk?"

Jess stared at the screen. She wanted to deny him, to flip her phone over and let him wonder, let him stew in silence. But her body betrayed her. Her heart leapt at his name, her skin prickled with that raw, stupid longing. She needed to hear his voice.

Jess: "Yeah. Call me."

Seconds later, her phone rang. She answered on the second ring.

"Hey," Tom's voice was warm, if slightly hesitant.

"Hi," Jess replied, settling onto the bed. "Long day?"

Tom groaned. "You have no idea. This whole system is held together with duct tape and prayer. I swear, every time we fix one thing, three more problems pop up."

"Sounds rough," Jess said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. She didn't want to hear about his work troubles. Not when those same troubles were keeping him from her.

"Yeah, it's... wait. Are you doing okay?"

Jess sighed. Even hundreds of miles away, he could read her too well. "I'm fine. Just... lonely, I guess. The house feels big without you here." She paused. "And I'm nervous about Friday."

"I know, baby. I'm so sorry. I hate this. I should be there with you."

"You should," Jess agreed, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into her tone.

Tom was quiet for a brief moment. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy with regret. "I know. Believe me, I know. I've been beating myself up about it all day. You deserve better than this."

"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty," Jess said, though part of her was glad he understood what he was missing. "I just... I wish you were here."

"Me too," Tom replied softly. "Guess who texted me."

Jess's brow furrowed. "Who?"

"Madi. I swear, that woman's a bloodhound when she's on a mission."

Jess couldn't help but snort. "Oh God, what did she say?"

Tom grinned, voice warming. "Just the classics. 'Don't you dare let Jess down. She's got this big moment Friday and she deserves someone cheering her on.' Stuff like that. She said I should send flowers, or better yet, fly back for the party."

Jess chuckled softly. "I told her not to text you."

"It wasn't that bad. Hell, for Madi, I got off easy. She didn't even threaten to drop spiders in my bed or superglue my car doors shut."

Jess smiled. "That was probably her toned down version. You should've seen the earlier texts she sent me. She was ready to storm into your office and drag you home."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. I'm just glad she didn't go full scorched earth."

Jess shook her head, letting her grin steal the heaviness from her mood. "I swear, she's more invested in our marriage than we are."

"She's just protective of you." Tom softened toward her laugh. "Can't say I blame her."

"She means well," Jess said. "I'll admit, though, her outrage was kind of comforting. She always has my back."

"I'm glad she does... you deserve that, Jess. People who always have your back. You've got her... and me."

"Thank you, Tom." Jess let the words rest there. Before she could push further, her thoughts jarred by a knock at the door.

"Someone's at the door," Jess said. She glanced at the clock. 7:38 PM. Who would be knocking this late?

"Probably just a delivery or something," Tom said. "You should get it though. I need to hop in the shower anyway. Early meeting tomorrow."

Jess nodded. "Okay. Call me tomorrow?"

"First chance I get," Tom promised. "I love you, Jess. More than anything."

"I love you too," she replied.

The call ended, leaving Jess alone once more. The knock came again.

"Coming!" she called out, scrambling off the bed. She gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror. The t-shirt hung to mid-thigh, preserving her modesty. Barely. But it would have to do.

She padded down the stairs, her bare feet silent against the hardwood. The porch light illuminated a broad silhouette through the frosted glass of their front door. She knew that build anywhere. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

---

Bob Caldwell stood in his kitchen nursing a beer while he unpacked the delivery that had arrived that afternoon. The chrome faucets, one for the kitchen and one for the bathroom, represented more than just plumbing fixtures. They were his ticket upstairs. His means of access.

He set his beer down and ran his fingers over the smooth curves of the kitchen faucet. High end shit. Barely cost him anything thanks to his connections, but worth every fucking cent he would have paid retail. The manufacturer owed him a favor after Bob had smoothed over some issues with faulty installations a few years back. Now those favors were paying off in ways Bob could never have imagined.

As he admired the quality, his mind drifted back to Saturday night, to the shadowy figure he'd glimpsed outside his window while pleasuring himself to Jessica Marshall's photos. He'd taken a huge risk, stroking his cock right there in plain view of the window. The silhouette had been unmistakably masculine, too tall and broad shouldered to be Jess. It had to have been Tom.

The next day, Bob had braced for some kind of confrontation. A bang on the door, an awkward conversation, maybe even threats of eviction. But instead, both Tom and Jess acted as if nothing had happened. Not a word, not even a sideways glance. Just complicit, knowing silence. The pieces fit together like a twisted puzzle.

Tom, that spineless fuck, had seen everything and chosen to stay silent. Whether out of fear, shame, or some twisted desire, he'd decided to let it slide. And that silence spoke volumes.

"A fucking cuckold," Bob muttered, nearly laughing. It was the only explanation that made sense. Tom's silent witnessing was tantamount to permission, an acknowledgment of the power dynamic already forming between them.

This changed things. Bob's strategy had initially centered on stealth and manipulation, gradually worming his way into Jess' life through a combination of calculated kindness and strategic home improvements. He'd planned to become indispensable, the reliable handyman always ready with a solution, slowly building trust over time.

But now? He saw a more direct path, a shortcut to his ultimate goal. Tom's perverse desires could be weaponized, used to gain legitimate access to Jess with her husband's blessing. He could potentially engineer scenarios where Tom would willingly step aside, perhaps even encourage Jess toward Bob's waiting arms.

If he was right about Tom, this game would evolve to something far more interesting, something where Tom would eventually hand over the keys to his kingdom, believing it was his idea all along.

Bob's mind raced with the possibilities this revelation opened up. He'd always known that his most reliable weapon hung between his legs, that magnificent cock that rarely disappointed. It was the kind of equipment that made women's eyes widen in shock before they inevitably became addicted to the fullness. Now Tom Marshall had witnessed exactly what his wife would be up against.

And at this very moment, that wife was up there all alone. Tom's Lexus might be in the driveway, but Bob knew better. He'd seen the man leave with a suitcase before dawn, had watched from behind his blinds as Jess drove him somewhere. Airport, most likely.

Bob's cock stirred at the thought of Jess' gorgeous fucking body, a masterpiece of femininity that deserved to be worshipped. She was the kind of woman men would have started wars over in the old days. A modern-day Helen of Troy, with those endless legs and perky tits that made his mouth water.

Bob sneered, imagining Tom's pathetic attempts to satisfy a woman like Jess. That pretty boy probably fumbled around like a virgin, too afraid to really give it to her the way she needed. Jess deserved a man who could handle her, not some limp dicked corporate drone who probably came in his pants just looking at her. She was a Ferrari being driven by someone who couldn't handle more than a Prius.

Bob had caught Jess looking at him a few times. Nothing in those looks remotely suggested attraction. More like assessment. Wariness, maybe. The way you might look at a strange dog, wondering if it bites. She was polite but there was always that careful distance. The way she'd angle her body slightly away from him during conversations, the way she'd maintain that extra foot of space between them. It was clear she didn't trust him yet, didn't see him as anything more than the old man living downstairs.

This realization tempered Bob's excitement somewhat. As much as he wanted to charge full steam ahead with his new, more aggressive strategy, he knew he needed to tread carefully. The revelation about Tom's voyeuristic tendencies opened up new possibilities, but it didn't change the fundamental fact that Jess was still wary of him. Rushing things now could backfire spectacularly, potentially ruining everything.

No, Bob realized, he needed to stick to his original plan, at least for now. He needed to build trust first, to become a fixture in their lives, to make himself truly indispensable. The faucets were a good start, a way to show his value, to get his foot in the door. But it would take time and patience to fully ingratiate himself into their world.

This didn't mean he had to be entirely passive, though. While he worked on gaining Jess's trust, he could still find other ways to satisfy his needs. Hidden cameras, for instance. Small, wireless, easy to hide. One for the bedroom, one for the bathroom. Positioned just right, they'd give him everything he wanted. The possibilities were endless. Bob grinned, imagining the hours of footage he'd collect, a front-row seat to Jess's most private moments.

And sometimes, in his own darkest moments, he wondered what would happen if he just took what he wanted and forced himself inside her. She was strong for her size, probably. He'd seen her in those yoga pants, knew she worked out, but he had close to two hundred pounds on her. She wouldn't stand a chance.

But no. Too risky, too messy. He wasn't stupid and he didn't want to spend time inside a prison cell. He'd worked too hard, come too far to throw it all away on one moment of brutal satisfaction. Besides, he was playing a longer game here.

Bob looked at his watch. Just past seven-thirty. Not too late to knock on their door, especially if he had a legitimate reason. He picked up the faucets and their accompanying parts, arranging them carefully in his toolbox.

A minute later, he stood at their front door, knocking firmly.

When Jess opened the door, Bob had to force his expression to remain neutral. She stood there in an oversized t-shirt that barely reached mid thigh, leaving those long, tanned legs exposed. Her blonde hair was slightly mussed, her face free of makeup. Even like this, especially like this, she was absolutely stunning.

"Bob," she said, surprise evident in her voice. Her hand moved instinctively to the hem of the shirt, tugging it down slightly. "Is everything okay?"

"Evening, Jess," he replied, keeping his eyes firmly on her face despite every instinct screaming at him to look lower. "Sorry to bother you so late. Those faucets we talked about finally arrived." He hefted his toolbox slightly. "Thought maybe I could get a head start on installing them. Shouldn't take more than an hour each."

Jess hesitated, one hand still gripping the doorframe. "Oh, I don't know if tonight is-"

"No pressure," Bob said quickly, adopting his most harmless expression. "Just figured since I had the time now... but if it's not convenient, I can come back another day."

He watched the conflict play out across her face. The polite hostess warring with the cautious woman home alone. In the end, politeness won out.

"I guess it would be good to get them installed. Tom's away on a business trip, so it's just me."

Just as he suspected.

"Oh?" Bob feigned surprise. "I saw his car in the driveway."

"He flew to San Diego this morning," Jess explained, stepping back to let him in. "I drove him to the airport. He won't be back until Saturday."

"Ah, that explains it." Bob stepped inside, careful to maintain a respectful distance as he followed her up the stairs. "Business trips can be a real pain. Sarah used to hate when I had to be away for work."

"It's not ideal," Jess agreed. "So, where do you want to start?" Jess asked when they reached the top of the stairs. "Kitchen or bathroom?"

"Might as well tackle the kitchen first. That way, if we run into any issues, you'll still have water for your morning shower."

Jess smiled, and Bob felt a surge of satisfaction. He was good at this, at putting people at ease. It was a skill he'd honed over decades of manipulating clients, ex-wives, and now, unsuspecting landlords.

"Let me just change quickly," Jess said, acutely aware of her state of undress. "Make yourself comfortable in the kitchen. I'll be right back."

Bob watched her move to the bedroom, his eyes fixed on the sway of her hips beneath the thin cotton. The t-shirt rode up slightly as she walked, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of the curve where thigh met ass.

In the kitchen, Bob set down his toolbox and began arranging his tools.

When Jess returned a few minutes later, she'd put on yoga pants. Still hot as hell, but less immediately provocative than before.

"Can I get you something to drink before you start? Water? Beer?" she asked.

"Water's fine," Bob replied. "Don't want to be operating tools after a cold one, you know?"

Jess laughed, a light, musical sound that sent shivers down Bob's spine. His mind drifted to his past as he watched Jess bend over to grab a bottle from the bottom of the fridge. When he'd met Sarah all those years ago, he'd thought he'd hit the goddamn jackpot. She was blonde, pretty, with a decent body, the kind of girl who turned heads at the local bar. But Jess was on a whole other fucking level.

Where Sarah had been attractive, Jess was breathtaking. It was almost hard to believe a woman like her existed outside of runways and magazine covers, let alone lived a normal life with some pencil pushing husband. Bob had been around a few beautiful women in his day, but he'd never encountered anything close to Jess. She was a rare breed, checking every single box physically while radiating an aura of effortless sensuality. Just being in her presence felt intoxicating, like huffing pure pheromones. Bob knew with absolute certainty that he'd never get another chance at a woman like this. Jess was a once in a lifetime prize and he was determined to claim her by any means necessary.