Page 32 of Infidelity Rules

I pull on a pair of snug-fitting yoga pants and a stretchy top that knots and twists in the front, exposing just a teeny glimpse of belly.

Now you see it, now you don’t, kind of thing.

This is not my usual exercise get-up. This is my pricey, Lululemon, I-wouldn’t-dream-of-actually-sweating-in, athletic gear.

I know, ridiculous, right? But I prefer to work out in old, ratty stuff that I don’t have to worry about hand washing. Or stinking up on my long runs.

So why the fussy, expensive yoga pants? Marcus.

He’s taking me on a leisurely bike ride today along the Potomac River.

Picnic included! I haven’t seen him since his love note and I cannot wait to throw myself at him.

He’s going to be in town for the next two days and I’m hoping to spend every possible moment with him.

Hence the cute workout clothes.

Marcus isn’t due to pick me up for another half hour, so I start throwing clothes and toiletries into an overnight bag.

I’m staying at his hotel with him tonight, per his request. We’ve stayed at my place a few times, but honestly, nothing beats room service pancakes.

Or somebody else making the bed and providing fresh, fluffy towels.

I’m rifling through my underwear drawer looking for a clean pair of sexy panties when I glimpse a framed photo of Dezi and me on my dresser.

We’re posing in New York City’s Central Park on a gorgeous fall day, with the iconic Bow Bridge in the background.

That was one of our last trips together, just us girls.

Before both Elliot and Marcus. Before things got so complicated.

I sigh thinking about Dezi beseeching me to figure out Marcus. I know she’s right, but I’m certainly not going to be the first to bring up his wife. I’ve never broken any of my cardinal rules. And I don’t plan to start now.

“Ah ha,” I say aloud, finding a beautiful black lace thong tucked in the back of my drawer.

And there’s a matching bra! “Where have you two been hiding?” I really need to go lingerie shopping again.

Oooh, maybe Marcus would want to join me.

I smile at the thought. But as I continue packing, my mind wanders away from lingerie shopping and I simply envision us strolling, sharing Sunday brunch, grocery shopping, folding laundry—all the day-to-day things regular couples do.

This is decidedly not my usual daydream.

Not even close. And it makes my stomach feel weird.

Thankfully, my odd reverie is interrupted by a soft rap at my door.

I throw open the door and there stands my 6’ 5” hunk of man. He opens his arms and grins as I jump into them, wrapping my legs around his waist and burying my face in his neck. He carries me into my living room easily, as if I’m the size of a cat or a lap dog rather than a basketball player.

“Quinn,” he breathes into my hair as he wraps his arms tightly around me. “Have I missed you.”

I find his face and look into those startling blue eyes and smile. “Oh yeah?” I ask playfully. “How much have you missed me?”

Marcus starts backing me up toward the kitchen island, kissing me gently as he talks. “Well, my gorgeous redhead,” he says, punctuating each word with a kiss. “Why don’t you let me show you?” he asks, putting me down on the counter, his hands on my hips.

“Come on now,” I say, teasing. “I was promised a bike adventure. And a picnic.”

“Oh I’ll give you an adventure,” he says, sliding his hands under my shirt. “And your picnic.”

.....

“Well, you were right. That was an adventure,” I say, snuggling up in the sheets next to Marcus. I put my head on his chest. “We should definitely go bike riding more often.”

Marcus laughs and rolls me over, pinning my arms above my head with one hand. “I couldn’t agree more,” he says, his free hand doing delightfully unspeakable things to my body.

After round two, we are both spent and sated and lounging in my bed, my carefully chosen Lululemon outfit discarded in a heap on the floor. Who cares? It served its purpose. Well worth the price tag, I think.

I cannot stop smiling. I look up at Marcus, his eyes are closed and he’s smiling too. Maybe he’ll leave his wife, I think.

Wait. Did I just say that aloud? I glance at Marcus quickly. Whew. I did not. But I thought it. And that surprises me. I have never thought that. I have never, ever wanted that.

Oh boy, maybe this is the first step in “figuring out Marcus” per Dezi’s request.

I’m trying to get a handle on my thick stew of emotions — love, lust, terror and dread — all under the sheen of post-coital bliss, when Marcus stirs.

He puts an arm around me and nuzzles my neck. “Hungry?” he asks. “Somebody I know was promised a picnic. And I like to keep my promises.”

“Yes, I’m starving,” I say, grateful for the distraction of food. But I am indeed wildly famished, as if we had actually gone on a long bike ride.

We bag the biking and decide to head to his hotel for the remainder of the afternoon. The plan is to order an early room service picnic dinner and cuddle up with movies. Perfect.

“Grab a couple bottles of that red wine for our picnic,” I say to Marcus, pointing to a case I purchased but have yet to unload. “No sense ordering wine at the hotel. I’ll go finish packing my bag.”

“Please tell me you’re packing for two,” he says, pulling on his shirt.

“For two?” I ask, somewhat confused.

Marcus comes to me and cups his hands around my face. “Two nights,” he whispers. “I want you to stay both nights.”

I smile. “Shall I pack for another crack at a bike ride?”

“Always,” he says, his eyes twinkling. “Always pack for a bike ride.”

.....

We finally make it to his hotel room and I’m now officially ravenous. I scan the room service menu as Marcus opens the wine and pours me a glass. I’m so hungry that absolutely everything sounds delicious. Club sandwich? Yes! Salmon Caesar salad? Yes! Meatloaf and mashed potatoes? Yes! Yes! Yes!

“Get us whatever you want,” says Marcus, handing me a soft, cozy hotel robe. “Let’s get comfy.”

“How do you feel about French dip sandwiches? I can’t remember the last time I had one of those. Oooh, with fries. And coleslaw.”

Marcus smiles. “Sure, sounds like perfect rainy-day food,” he says, peering out the windows as rain starts to smack the glass. “And don’t forget the coconut cake for dessert.”

“Gah!” I whack him with a pillow. “I don’t think I can ever eat coconut cake again.”

Marcus grins at me as he picks up the hotel phone and places our dinner order. Including a slice of coconut cake.

“You had better eat your share of that cake,” I say, shaking my head at him.

“I promise.” He pulls me toward him, tipping my face up toward his. “But you have to promise me one thing in exchange.”

“Hmmmm, I’m not sure I can do that carte blanche. Even for you,” I say, kissing him gently on the lips. “But let’s hear it. Shoot.”

“You have to tell me all about those lessons you’re giving,” he says, still grinning.

“Hell no. And why did you have to remind me? You really are spoiling for a fight, aren’t you?” I laugh and pummel him with a huge, king-sized down pillow. I’m about to whack him again when there’s a knock at our door. “Dinner,” I say gratefully. “Yay!”

.....

We’re lounging in bed, drinking wine and finishing our sandwiches, when Marcus’s phone starts going berserk.

I see him glance at the screen and then frown.

Uh oh, I think. It’s either work or the wife.

I’m not sure which I would prefer. Work usually means he has to leave.

The wife, well, I don’t know. I’ve never been around when she’s reached out. I still don’t even know her name.

“It’s okay if you need to get that,” I say, pointing to his phone. “I can give you some privacy.”

“It’s fine,” he says, tossing the phone in the bedside drawer. “It can wait.” He puts down my wineglass and takes me in his arms. “Now, let’s see about our dessert, shall we?”

“You cannot be serious. I’m spent. And full. And just a wee bit tipsy.”

“I am always serious about dessert,” he says, lazily nuzzling my neck and lightly grazing my stomach and hips with his fingers. “Especially when coconut frosting is involved.”

Just when I start to feel as if I may be up for some “dessert,” Marcus’s phone starts acting up again.

“Don’t move,” he says to me, planting a kiss on my belly. “I’ll be right back.”

There’s pretty much no chance of me moving.

I’m deliciously drowsy and quite content in this huge, ridiculously comfortable bed.

I flip over on my stomach and start doodling on the hotel stationary as I wait for Marcus, who disappeared into the other room with his phone.

It’s his wife, I am certain, but I’m trying not to think about it.

My brain feels a bit woozy from too much red wine as I draw human faces with extra-large doe-eyes and big, goofy smiles. I’m no artist, so I try for a poem instead:

Lake Tahoe is blue.

Your eyes are blue.

I like cheese.

Your eyes are still blue.

Cheese.

Wow. That is a terrible poem. I blame the wine. And my sex-addled brain.

I return to doodling human heads, now with ponytails and big ears, when I hear Marcus’s voice coming from the other room. He’s not yelling or anything, but his voice is now definitely above a whisper.

“I can’t do this right now,” I hear him say. “Juliette, please be reasonable. I’m about to fly a plane.”

Juliette. Huh. Her name is Juliette. It’s a very pretty name.

“It’s my job. I’m a pilot,” Marcus says. “This is nothing new.”

Juliette. Juliette. Juliette, I think. I have no idea what she’s saying on the other end. I really shouldn’t be listening to any of this at all.

I doodle in earrings on my human head and try to block out his voice. Although I admit, I’m not trying too hard.

“Okay sweetheart. I’ll be back home in a couple of days,” says Marcus. “Uh huh. Yep. Yep. Okay, gotta run. You too.”