Forced In

Adventures in Modern Living

Glen, Second Movement

Glen had not stopped thinking about Phoebe since, two months ago, she stepped into his office smelling of honey, spice, and soap. Her white dreadlocks cascaded to her waist, a nipped-in bit of a waist. She stood on the smallest feet he had seen on a contemporary woman. He wondered about those feet. Dancers often had horrible feet, feet that looked as if they’d taken a pounding. Glen didn’t believe that was the case with Phoebe’s feet. Too bad the weather didn’t permit peep- or open-toed shoes.

She was very understated, except for her locks and the twinkle of subdued merriment in her amber eyes. She wore a knitted black sheath, delicately patterned with tiny red roses, that hinted at the tight  body underneath. Phoebe was winsome.

Twenty minutes. That was a long as he’d been able to keep her in his office. After she left, he sat for ten minutes breathing in her scent before allowing the next client in. Glen knew he wanted her, but not simply for a night and certainly not undercover. What could he do? His wife was everything Phoebe was not and he was sorrier than ever that he’d bowed to convention and married a woman with whom he no longer had anything in common.

In the oddest moments, Glen found himself contemplating Phoebe. Her name was a mantra for him. He could not help himself. She hadn’t contacted him since the office visit, so he texted her, a thing he never did with clients. When she sent her number, he called immediately, wanting to hear her warm, low, throaty voice. In nervousness, he sounded surly, trying hard to cover his excitement. Now, he had a response to his meditations.

He murmured, all gruffness gone from his voice, “What should we do?”

“We? Do? I’m sure we should do nothing…but talk. This isn’t exactly my proudest moment, falling for a married man I met for a few minutes on business, but something about you…calls me? That is the only way I can express it right now. Perhaps, if you talk with me, I can work out what is happening. That you said “we” let’s me know I’m not in this alone?”

“Yes. I’m in, over my head, I’m sure, but I’m in.”

“Just one thing. I’m in no position to make any demands, but I have a request. Would you keep this just between us?”

Categories: Craft, Fiction

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