Seven Dates: A Different Kind of Hotwife Read Free Page A

sex appeal, it is more it would never occur to her. Which, in a weird way, was another thing that appealed to me. My last few girlfriends before her had been overtly sexual, but frankly crazy. I didn’t miss Stacy. Not really. There was always drama between her and her girlfriends. She was twenty-four and getting love handles and she farted in bed. She was a complete slob and had the disconcerting habit of getting wasted and then crashing over at some dude’s house. Nothing happened, baby. You know I love you.
    Though Joanie, when I met her, was a nineteen year old, innocent little Catholic girl, she was the first grown-up I’d dated and the first girl I could in good conscience bring home to mother. We bonded over discussions about the future, the stuff each of us wanted to do with our lives. That’s really how people fall in love, isn’t it? Sharing dreams and desires about what life will bring. I urged her to pursue her ambitions because I knew it would make her happy, but also because I knew I would always be there to support her.
    I fell in love with Joanie in part because she was so different from Stacy. But right now, what I wanted, what I needed was for Joanie to channel Stacy for just one day…. Fuck it, one hour.

CHAPTER TWO
    I walked in the front door of our townhouse. Joanie didn’t greet me at the door. No beer.
    She called to me from the dining room, “Did you remember the milk?”
    Fuck. “Sorry honey, I forgot, it’s been a hard –“
    She sighed loudly. “You walked right past the store.”
    Did you even fucking leave the house today? She was sitting at the table, papers spread out everywhere, wearing sweats, her hair in a stringy ponytail. So much for my backup hope of a nice meal and a bottle of wine.
    “I guess I can go back out….”
    She looked up at me. “It’s okay. We’ll do without.”
    Passive-aggressive bitch .
    “What did you say?” she snapped.
    Had I said that out loud or had she just read my thoughts?
    “Huh? Nothing. How was your day?” Could you at least ask me about mine?
    “I’m crunching on a deadline.”
    “Deadline?”
    “I’m pitching a magazine story to Harpers .”
    So, a self-imposed deadline for a proposal that will likely come to nothing. Got it.
    “Oh….” I was literally speechless. “So, um, what’s for dinner?”
    “I just need to finish up here, would you mind ordering pizza?”
    Well, at least I’d get the pizza…. No blowjob, no beer, no getting fucked senseless, but I would get the pizza… as long as I ordered it myself.
    “I guess I don’t have much choice,” I snarked.
    “I’m working on something.”
    I snorted.
    “Oh, I know Kellen, it isn’t anything as important as what you do.”
    I snapped. “At least my job pays, you know, actual money.”
    “I had a job.”
    “You had a glorified internship.”
    Her eyes flashed with anger.
    I backed down, “I’m sorry. I just had a really bad day, and I could use a little affection.”
    She nodded. “We’re both under pressure.”
    She rose. She kissed my cheek and rubbed my shoulder. “I’ll call the pizza, okay?”
    “Um, okay,” I replied blankly.
    “What?”
    “Oh, forget the pizza. I don’t care about the pizza. I had a fucking terrible day.”
    “What happened?”
    Finally . I explained about the botched contract language.
    She groaned. “I always tell you how important it is to proofread everything.”
    “Yes, you do.” You fucking bitch.
    “Well, maybe if you check the revision history of the document, you can find a version with the right language –“
    “Joanie, I know how to do my job,” I interrupted coldly.
    Well apparently not , her expression suggested. “I was just trying to be helpful.”
    “You could be more helpful by acting like a supportive wife.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    “You know what it means.”
    “No, I really don’t. What would you expect from a supportive wife?”
    I sighed. “Never mind.”
    “No, tell me, I want to know.