Chapter 1
I’m a little sweaty as I fix my makeup in the passenger seat of a 2014 Chrysler 200. I wipe away smeared red lipstick and eyeliner before reapplying, using the mirror in the sun visor. I smooth my sandy brown hair before peering around to make sure no one is looking when I get out. Tanner went in a few minutes before, leaving me in his vehicle to tidy up.
My black pumps click, click, click across the parking lot in the Oklahoma heat that creates a warped image of buildings nearby. I badge in and walk carpeted halls to use the rest of my lunchtime in the breakroom. Then, I open the fridge to pull the lunchbox my husband filled for me while I was getting ready for work. The room, with stark white walls and humming fluorescent lights, is mostly empty aside Marcus Robinson and Jupiter Jones, our IT guys.
The uncomfortable plastic seat is cold through the fabric of my black skirt when I sit at a sparse wooden table and I feel the soft fabric of my blouse against my stomach as I unzip the lunchbox and give a frustrated, audible sigh.
“Of course it’s tuna.” I say under my breath as I pull the Sprite can from the lunchbox and crack it open. It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. Mistakes happen. But I can’t help but think back to when we were dating and Daniel remembered what I liked and what I didn’t.
Including my visceral hatred of tuna. Not all fish. Just tuna for some reason. The smell. The texture. My mother could eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but it didn’t pass down to me.
“At least he packed me chips,” I decide as I grab the ziplock bag of salt that pretends to be potato chips, but I drop them into the lunchbox, sitting back in the chair when I discover that Daniel didn’t close it all the way. So now they’ll taste like tuna, too. “Damn.”
I stare at the lunchbox, wondering why he chose tuna, of all things. It’s not a big deal, I decide. There have been times I forgot something about him, like his mother’s birthday or his favorite player in football. People forget things when they’ve been together long enough.
The vending machine snacks won’t hold me over. I look at my phone and try to decide if I have enough time to get something else, when I hear the scraping of chairs. Marcus and Jupiter are in good spirits as they head for the door but Jupiter stops, half full tupperware in hand. I look up at him when his shadow blocks out the light. He’s fit, the black IT shirt stretching across his pectorals on which long, inky locs spill over his broad shoulders to rest from where they’ve been gathered in a neat ponytail. My green eyes meet his light brown with curiosity.
Marcus turns, wiry frame taking up the doorway. His words carry a thick southern accent from growing up in Georgia “Jupiter? You comin’?”
Jupiter’s gaze moves back to his friend. His own voice has a drawl that I’m pretty sure is deep Texan. It makes me think about my own accent and how it might sound to other people. “I’ll be there in a minute. Go on without me.”
Marcus lingers, his confusion palpable as his dark brown eyes flick between myself and Jupiter. I’m just as perplexed.
Jupiter waves him off with a crooked smile. “Go on. You know Amy can’t be trusted to be unsupervised with the printer.”
With some reluctance, Marcus turns back around, leather loafers meandering down the hall. I turn my attention back to the man before me, wondering what on earth he could be staying behind for.
He lowers the tupperware and I smell what I think is garlic and onion and maybe oregano. Whatever it is, it makes the tuna smell tolerable. “Here. I always make too much and I don’t feel like taking it home.”
I’m at a loss at the gesture and take a closer look. Chicken and rice? “Thank you.” And I mean it with sincerity, not sure what to do from here.
The first bite is a little spicy, but I’m too hungry to fret over it as I also missed breakfast after Daniel mistook my alarm for his own and turned it off. Accidents happen.
Jupiter casually seats himself at the table and I notice the tilt of his head. The glint in those pretty brown eyes framed by thick dark lashes as his full lips tug to his left in a way I’d call thoughtful. There’s a slowness, a cleverness to the way that he speaks and I realize something is afoot. “So. You’re fooling around with Tanner.”
It’s a conversational observation, but we both know I’m not married to Tanner and Jupiter’s gaze is blatantly on my wedding band.
“What about it?” I ask, feeling the heat forming in my mouth and my chest. I catch the smell of coconut oil and grass after heavy rain mixed with the spicy chicken and rice he had for lunch. Paprika, maybe. It’s pleasant, but I try not to let myself get distracted. “And how do you even know?”
Jupiter sits back, arms crossing and hands resting on firm biceps. “I overheard him asking if you were going to meet him in the parking lot while fixing whatever the hell Julie Anne did to her laptop. I still don’t know how she did that.”
I’m sweaty again and I’m not sure if it’s the chicken or the knowledge I’ve been found out. “Julie Anne still thinks everyone watches Walter Cronkite.”
Jupiter gestures with an open hand. “It’s why I tell her not to click links or do her own updates. Somehow it always ends with everything except copious amounts of kitten pictures in the trash bin.” I wonder if he’s joking or serious, but I don’t have time to wonder because he continues. “Your husband’s name is Daniel, right?”
The silence of the breakroom becomes a strange, almost unbearable ringing in my ears. “Why are you looking for my husband?”
Jupiter leans forward now, the fluorescent lights bringing his deep mahogany skin to a slightly lighter shade. I wonder if my white, pinky undertones look washed out. “Why do you think, Rosemary Davis?”
The spiciness of the offered meal leaves me sipping from my sprite in an effort to buy time and collect my thoughts.
Jupiter’s voice carries a warmth as if he finds me funny. “Can’t handle blackened chicken and rice, huh? It’s not even that spicy.”
I don’t know what to say to that, frozen in my fear that Daniel may know I’ve been seeing Tanner for months. Is that why he put tuna in my lunchbox?
“As I was saying, Miss Rosemary,” Jupiter continues, chin lowering and lashes drawing downwards as if he were about to give a careless, funny one liner. “It would be a real shame if someone were to tell Daniel that you’ve been stepping out on him for who knows how long, wouldn’t it? So I have an idea.”
Relief floods me down to my very bones that he hasn’t told Daniel. I love Daniel. I want to spend the rest of my life with Daniel. I’ve just been having my physical needs met elsewhere because he’s been busy and tired and I never want to bother him. He always gets bored when I tell him about my day because his job is so difficult and he just needs some peace and quiet. “I’m listening.”
Jupiter wets those full lips, gaze drifting back up to me. “Do you know anything about kink?”
This is so left field the only thing I can say is the most erudite and articulate: “What?”
“Kink.” He says again. “You have Dominant vibes. Am I wrong?”
I’m still free spinning because what the hell is this man talking about? “No? I’ve always been assertive in my relationships. But not a whips and leather kind of girl.” And for a moment, I ask myself, Do I really come across like that?
Jupiter nods along as I speak. “Whips aren’t really my speed, either. The leather, however.” He gives a little smirk. “I think it’d look good on you. So here’s my proposition, Miss Rosemary: You’re going to learn how to do Dominance the way I like and do it twice a week. And I won’t tell Daniel that you’ve been enjoying a different kind of sausage on your lunch breaks.”
I’m left speechless. Dominance? The way he likes it? He’s serious…
But what choice do I have? “Alright. Fine. We’ll do kink and you won’t talk.”
He sits up straighter as if he expected that I’d argue or have something to volley back, but I don’t. I can’t risk the loss of the only man I’ve ever loved. “Good. We’ll start today. List one thing you want from me.”
What I want from him? My thoughts echo over and over like that time my cousin yelled “butthole” in the grand canyon and my mother yelled at us for embarrassing her. Vast, with no response in an empty space. I’ve never had someone put me on the spot like this and I find myself looking around as if there would be an answer on these ugly, eggshell white walls before my gaze lands on the door. “I want…” God, this is going to be so stupid, “I want you to get the door for me? I think?”
He raises his brows. “You think?”
It’s stupid, but I’m already here, I decide. “Yes. Please get the door for me when we leave the breakroom.”
“Come on, Miss Ma'am. You can do better than that.” He says. Does he want a different request? Is he disappointed? I try to figure out where his mind is. A raised brow and squared shoulders. A straight spine and quirked lips in a way I would consider to be playful. He must be able to see my befuddlement because he says: “Say it like you mean it, Rosemary.”
So I do, “I want you to get the door for me.” It comes out bitchy. Kind of rude and I worry Jupiter will find me too harsh or mean. I immediately wish I could take it back and try again.
He lights up like a Christmas tree. “Now was that so hard?”
“Yes,”I realize. “It was.” Because I can’t think of the last time someone demanded I demand something of them. In fact, I’m not sure that’s ever really happened.
“You’ll get used to it.” He replies as he stands. The movement is smooth, as is his gait as he walks to the door and pops it open. “Come on, Mistress Rosemary. I’ve got to get back to work.”
