The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue 2)

“Wow. Guess it’s been a while since we were there.”

I scan the market, furrowing my brows when I don’t see her. Even in jeans and a blouse, Amelia wouldn’t blend in. Not to me, anyway. When I spot the back of her head through the crowd, muscles I hadn’t realized I’d been clenching loosen. Until I notice she isn’t alone. At first, I think she’s haggling with the man in a baby blue polo in front of her, but then he puts a hand on her upper arm. She shrugs him off immediately, and I’m speed walking in her direction.

As I get closer, I become more aware of her body language. Her head is ducked, as if she’s whispering. Her arms are crossed. The man looks over her head, darting his eyes toward the car parts booth as if he’s looking for someone. Me? Clean-shaven with studied posture and ironed clothing, he isn’t a flea market salesman.

I strain to hear their conversation, but I can’t until I’m a few feet away.

“What are you even doing in this part of the city? At a flea market?” she asks. “You live across town, and you hate this kind of thing.”

“Amelia?” I ask.

The man looks over her head. His eyes lock on me like laser beams are about to shoot out and slice me down the middle.

Amelia turns around, facing me. Tension cords her neck and collarbone. She touches my arm. “Let’s go.”

“Who is this?”

“Reggie,” she says. “Or, as you know him, my asshole ex.”

My back stiffens. Her nervous energy makes sense now, but it only reminds me of the reasons she’s upset. He’s here, in the flesh, the “man” who not only cheated on Amelia for a year but who manipulated her for longer and used sex as a weapon. A punishment. Something I’m now working to undo.

Even if I have reason to be angry, I understand almost immediately it’s not the way to get under this man’s skin. He’s just as skeevy as I pictured with the smooth-skinned face and hands of a little boy rather than a man. I put an arm around Amelia’s neck, bringing her into my side. To my surprise, she relaxes against my body, and it only makes me feel more protective.

“What’s this about?” I ask him.

“It’s between me and my wife,” Reggie says, eyeing my over-the-top display of affection. “If you’ll excuse us.”

Amelia opens her mouth, but I don’t give her the chance. “Your soon-to-be ex-wife,” I correct. “My current girlfriend. You can say what you have to say in front of me.”

“Tell your boy toy to go wait across the street with the other greasers,” he says with an upward tilt of his chin toward Amelia. “It’s got nothing to do with him.”

His attempt at insults has the opposite effect he means it to, and my anger simmers into a less-threatening irritation. Name-calling is a sure sign of a loser who only fights dirty.

“He’s my boyfriend, Reggie,” Amelia says.

“After three weeks? Bullshit. You’ve never even mentioned him.”

“Why would I?” she asks. “You had a girlfriend while we were married. I figure it’s okay that I have one now that we’re divorced.”

“We’re not divorced,” he says.

“Logistics.”

“All I want is an hour. Come sit with me. You owe me that.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“Fine—then you owe it to us. It’s like you’ve blocked out the first couple years entirely,” he glances at me, “when it was good. It was so good, muffin.”

I nearly gag at the pet name. Alerts are firing off inside me. I don’t like that he thinks she owes him anything, even time. I force myself to let Amelia handle it, though.

“I haven’t forgotten,” she says, and I check her expression to see if she’s serious. “It’s just that . . . the bad outweighs the good by so much, nothing you do from this day forward could ever even it out.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t know that. We can get back there.”

“Hey, man,” I say. “Back off. I just told you she’s my girlfriend.”

“Marriage is a commitment, a journey,” he continues, avoiding my glare, “and you’re treating it as if it can be tossed out like garbage.”

“I tried,” she says, but her heart isn’t it.

“No you didn’t,” Reggie says quickly, as I keep my mouth shut, watching him do his thing with my own two eyes. He heard the quaver in her voice just like I did. “You ran out when you found out about the affair and never gave me—us—a chance to put it right. How is that trying?”

Amelia glances away. I’ve had enough. “It’s over, man. You need to go home and sort shit out with your lawyer.”

“It’s not over,” he says slowly, “until I say.”

Amelia scoffs. I’m sure she can feel the tense and release of my bicep against her neck. He can call me what he wants, but as far as I’m concerned, he’s done jerking her around.

“What fantasy world do you live in that you think I need your permission to leave you?” she asks.

“The one in which I own fifty-one percent of you—your business, your apartment, your bank account.” He tilts his head. “I paid for the bed you fucked him in. I might as well own your left tit.”

I lunge for him before I even make a conscious choice, but he leaps out of my grasp, anticipating my attack. Amelia clasps onto my elbow, pulling me back with all her weight. “That’s what he wants,” she says. “A reaction. Don’t give it to him.”

Slight as she is, she’s able to subdue me long enough for the initial shock of his words wear off. “You piece of shit—”

He looks at her. “It’s the truth, and she knows it. You can play boss all you want in the bedroom, but you know who’s in charge. Me. Your only choice is whether you decide to fight against me, or alongside me.”

“Go to hell,” she says, stepping around me. I gently take her bicep, keeping her closer to me than him. “You’re a sad, lonely man with nothing better to do than swindle people out of their money and make me miserable.”

He laughs loudly. A small crowd has gathered, and a couple teenagers have their cells aimed at us. I wave to get the boys’ attention. They stuff their phones in their pockets before I even say, “Put it away.”

“Sad? Lonely?” Reggie asks. “You don’t know anything about my life. Women smell money, Amelia, and I’ve got lots of it. They’re all over me. But you know something? I haven’t touched a single one. Because I have a good woman at home, one who doesn’t make me want to go find someone else. Virginia is—”

“Virginia?” Amelia asks, her body stiffening against me. “You told me it was over with her.”

“I lied. She’s left Robert. As soon as you and I divorce, I’m proposing to her. She makes me happy, something you never did. She’s there when I leave for work and when I come home. She doesn’t treat me like I’m second place to a job.”

“Is that why you came to my place the other week, begging me to take you back?” she asks.

“You’re right—I must’ve gone temporarily insane,” he says. “You nag, you question every decision I make, you act like I didn’t give you everything. Virginia is grateful and never makes me feel like I’m not enough. She fulfills all my needs—she doesn’t even have to try to be beautiful and sexy, unlike some women.”

“Watch it,” I say, stepping between them. “I’m restraining myself for her sake, but you’re on my last fucking nerve.”

“If you have all that, then why won’t you let me go?” she pleads.

His eyes go blank, as if she’s just asked him the square root of the Brooklyn Bridge.

“I think you should leave,” I tell him.

He doesn’t even look at me. “You first.”

I step closer to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. What I meant was, get the fuck out of here before I kick your ass all the way to Hoboken.”

Finally, he looks up at me, and for all my rage, the fire in his eyes is a little alarming. Whatever this thing with Amelia is, it runs deep for him.

Before I can figure it out,

he sets his jaw and retreats. The haze over his eyes clears, and now, he’s focused on me. “Fine.” He holds up his palms. “I guess she’s allowed a revenge fuck considering the circumstances. But I know what we have,” he says, “and it doesn’t go away just because I made a mistake.”

He stalks off, roughly pushing his way through the crowd. Once I’m comfortable with his distance, I turn around. “‘A mistake,’” I mock. “He has a seriously fucked-up perception of reality.”

Amelia’s hunched over with her back to me, pinching the bridge of her nose. I put an arm around her. “Hey,” I say. “He’s gone.”

She ducks away from me too suddenly for me to stop her, especially since it’s the last thing I expect. “I just need a second.”

“That’s fine.” With my arms empty, I cross them over my chest. “What’s going on?”

She shakes her head, looking at the ground. “I can’t believe him. I thought it was over.”

I want to pull her back to me, but I can practically see the emotions working through her. Whatever just caused tears to form at the corners of her eyes is being replaced with anger. As much as I want to do something, I don’t know what will help, so I wait.

“How could he want that home wrecker? I’ve read about adultery, and a lot of the time, infidelity isn’t about romance. Cheaters are selfish, self-indulgent—”

As she talks, I glance at the same spot on the ground she’s staring at. This is why she’s so upset? Because he’s with someone else? I take a deep breath and try not to read into it. As my anger settles, regret replaces it. Regret that I didn’t knock him out cold. Regret that I almost lost my temper. Back in the day, hotheaded reactions were par for the course. But I have too much at stake to fly off the handle now. “Amelia.”