Otter was out of town, having been hired by some political website I’d never heard of (“I would have been surprised if you had.” “Hey! I know things!”) to follow around an up-and-coming Martha’s Vineyard reject on the campaign trail as he ran against some stuffy incumbent. Otter had shown me the picture of the man he’d be stalking (“Photographing, Bear, photographing”), and he’d been all wavy hair and perfect white teeth, and I told Otter in no uncertain terms that if this douchebag tried to get all up in his shit, I’d cut them both.
Otter, for some reason, had found that hysterical and apparently attractive at the same time, because he kept laughing while also trying to give me a hand job. It was really an awkward experience, but then he’d twisted his wrist just right, and I’d sucked on his neck while he snorted in my ear.
You don’t say no to hand jobs.
He’d been gone for a couple weeks and wasn’t due back for six more days, but I wasn’t pining. No, of course not. I was just sitting on the couch, dying, while my husband was hundreds of miles away from me.
“Because I don’t feel bad enough about that as it is,” he’d told me on the phone when I told him as much.
“Good,” I’d said. “Because I’m pretty sure my lungs are about to fall out of my mouth.”
“Well, you do sound terrible.”
“Thanks. Really.”
“I can come home. You know—”
“Stop. Don’t. I’m just feeling sorry for myself. You’re doing good with what’s-his-name. Has he hit on you yet? Everyone knows that most young Republicans hire gay hookers and have sex with them.”
“Wow. That’s not a real thing at all.”
“They said it on the news.”
“I think that might be the cold medicine talking. And no, he hasn’t hit on me. His wife is also here.”
“Please,” I snorted. “I had a girlfriend once. Still kissed you.”
“Oh boy.”
“You’re a home-wrecker.”
“I’m not a—”
“Came in and wrecked that home. Couldn’t let me think of anyone else, no matter how much I tried.”
“How much cold medicine did you take?”
“Stop trying to change the subject.” I sneezed. “Excuse me. Stuff came out. Gross. Wow, that almost looks alive—”
Otter groaned. “I take it back. I’m never coming home.”
“Bullshit,” I’d said with a sniff. “You love me. That’s why you wrecked the home and seduced me and ruined me for anyone else.”
“I pretty much did all that, didn’t I?”
“You don’t get to sound all smug about that. I contributed to the wrecking.”
He’d sounded like he was smiling when he’d said, “It all worked out in the end.”
“Ugh. You’re getting sappy. Go away.”
“I’ll call you later.”
“Yeah, yeah. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
And then I’d shut down, the TV squawking in the background, waiting for that one specific moment when my nose would clear and I’d be able to breathe again. I was convinced it would be the greatest thing I’d ever experienced, and I’d—