Pretty Girls Read Free

Claire said, and she could picture her analyst offering an exaggerated shrug as she demanded, “Who the hell does?”
    “You know what I was thinking today?” Paul took her hand. His palm felt rough. He’d been working in the garage all weekend. “I was thinking about how much I love you.”
    “That’s a funny thing for a husband to say to his wife.”
    “It’s true, though.” Paul pressed her hand to his lips. “I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you.”
    “Tidier,” she said, because Paul was the one who was always picking up abandoned shoes and various items of clothing that should’ve been put in the laundry basket but somehow ended up in front of the bathroom sink.
    He said, “I know things are hard right now. Especially with—” He tilted his head toward the television, which was showing a new photo of the missing sixteen-year-old.
    Claire looked at the set. The girl really was beautiful. Athletic and lean with dark, wavy hair.
    Paul said, “I just want you to know that I’m always going to be here for you. No matter what.”
    Claire felt her throat start to tighten. She took him for granted sometimes. That was the luxury of a long marriage. But she knew that she loved him. She needed him. He was the anchor that kept her from drifting away.
    He said, “You know that you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”
    She invoked her college predecessor. “Ava Guilford would be shocked to hear that.”
    “Don’t play. I’m being serious.” He leaned in so close that his forehead almost touched hers. “You are the love of my life, Claire Scott. You’re everything to me.”
    “Despite my criminal record?”
    He kissed her. Really kissed her. She tasted Scotch and a hint of peppermint and felt a rush of pleasure when his fingers stroked the inside of her thigh.
    When they stopped for air, she said, “Let’s go home.”
    Paul finished his drink in one swallow. He tossed some cash onto the bar. His hand stayed at Claire’s back as they left the restaurant. A cold gust of wind picked at the hem of her skirt. Paul rubbed her arm to keep her warm. He was walking so close to her that she could feel his breath on her neck. “Where are you parked?”
    “Parking deck,” she said.
    “I’m on the street.” He handed his keys to her. “Take my car.”
    “Let’s go together.”
    “Let’s go here.” He pulled her into an alley and pressed her back against the wall.
    Claire opened her mouth to ask what had gotten into him, but then he was kissing her. His hand slid underneath her skirt. Claire gasped, but not so much because he took her breath away as because the alley was not dark and the street was not empty. She could see men in suits strolling by, heads turning, eyes tracking the scene until the last moment. This was how people ended up on the Internet.
    “Paul.” She put her hand to his chest, wondering what had happened to her vanilla husband who thought it was kinky if they did it in the guest room. “People are watching.”
    “Back here.” He took her hand, leading her deeper into the alley.
    Claire stepped over a graveyard of cigarette butts as she followed him. The alley was T-shaped, intersecting with another service alley for the restaurants and shops. Hardly a better situation. She imagined fry cooks standing at open doors with cigarettes in their mouths and iPhones in their hands. Even without spectators, there were all kinds of reasons she should not do this.
    Then again, no one liked being told what to do.
    Paul pulled her around a corner. Claire had a quick moment to scan their empty surroundings before her back was pressed against another wall. His mouth covered hers. His hands cupped her ass. He wanted this so badly that she started to want it, too. She closed her eyes and let herself give in. Their kisses deepened. He tugged down her underwear. She helped him, shuddering because it was cold and it was dangerous and she was so ready that she didn’t care