The Houseguest
"His wife's best friend is staying for a month. She's everything his wife isn't — and she's noticed him noticing."
Claire announces it like it's no big deal.
"Denise is staying with us for a month. She's between apartments."
"A month?"
"She's my best friend. What was I supposed to say?"
I don't have an answer. Denise is Claire's best friend. Has been since college. They talk every day, share everything.
Everything except the way I've been looking at Denise for years.
They're opposites.
Claire is trim, efficient, perpetually stressed. All sharp angles and clean lines.
Denise is... not. She's soft everywhere Claire is hard. Full curves that she doesn't hide. A warmth that fills every room she enters.
The first time I met her, at our wedding, I thought I'd married the wrong woman.
I've been trying to forget that thought ever since.
She arrives on Sunday.
"Thanks for having me." She hugs me hello. Her breasts press against my chest. She smells like coconut and something floral. "I promise I won't be in the way."
"You're never in the way."
Claire appears behind me. "I set up the guest room. Come on, I'll show you."
They disappear upstairs. I stand in the hallway, trying to remember how to breathe.
A month. She's here for a month.
The first week is torture.
Denise in the kitchen in the morning, wearing shorts and a tank top that leave nothing to the imagination. Denise on the couch at night, legs curled under her, laughing at whatever Claire's watching.
She catches me looking. Every time.
And every time, she smiles.
"You're staring," Claire says one night.
We're in bed. The house is dark.
"What?"
"At Denise. All the time."
My heart stops. "I'm not—"
"It's fine." She rolls over. "Everyone stares at Denise. She's gorgeous."
"I wasn't—"
"Whatever. I'm tired." She pulls up the covers. "Just try to be less obvious."
She's asleep in minutes.
I lie awake for hours.
Week two.
Claire is at work. I'm working from home. Denise is... around.
"Need company?" She appears in my office doorway. "I'm bored."
"I'm working."
"Take a break." She walks in, sits on the edge of my desk. Her shorts ride up. "Claire's always talking about how hard you work. You deserve a break."
"Denise—"
"I've noticed you, you know." Her voice drops. "Looking at me. Have been for years."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Liar." She leans forward. Her cleavage is right there. "I've noticed you. And I've been looking back."
"This can't happen."
"What can't happen?"
"Whatever you're thinking."
"What am I thinking?" She stands. Moves closer. "Tell me."
"I'm married. To your best friend."
"I know." She's close enough to touch now. "Does that bother you?"
"It should."
"That's not what I asked."
I should push her away.
Should remind her of all the reasons this is wrong. The years of friendship. The betrayal. The destruction it would cause.
"No," I hear myself say. "It doesn't bother me enough."
She smiles. "Good."
She kisses me first.
Soft. Testing. Pulling back to see my reaction.
I pull her back in.
We don't make it to the guest room.
My office. The couch. Her straddling me, her hands in my hair, her mouth hot against mine.
"I've wanted this for so long," she breathes.
"How long?"
"Since the wedding." She reaches for my belt. "You looked at me during the vows. I saw."
"That was five years ago."
"Five years of waiting." She frees me from my pants. "Five years of watching Claire have what I wanted."
"Denise—"
"Shh." She silences me with a kiss. "Talk later. Fuck now."
Her body is everything I've imagined.
Soft, giving, curves that go on forever. She rides me like she's been thinking about it for years — because she has.
"God, you feel good," she gasps. "Better than I imagined."
"You imagined this?"
"Every time I visited. Every time I slept in your guest room." She moves faster. "Touching myself, thinking about you, knowing you were just down the hall with her."
"Fuck."
"That's the idea."
I come inside her.
No protection. No hesitation. She pulls me deep and holds me there.
"Better than I dreamed," she whispers.
"What happens now?"
"Now?" She climbs off me. Starts fixing her clothes. "Now we pretend nothing happened until Claire leaves for work tomorrow."
"And then?"
She smiles. "Then we do it again."
We do it again.
And again.
And again.
Every time Claire leaves. Every moment we're alone. The guest room, my office, the shower, the kitchen counter. Anywhere and everywhere.
"This is insane," I tell her one afternoon.
"Completely." She's sprawled naked on her bed. "Want to stop?"
"God, no."
"Good. Get back here."
Week three.
Claire notices something.
"You seem happier lately," she says over dinner. Denise is at the gym.
"Do I?"
"More relaxed. Less stressed." She tilts her head. "Is it the extra help around the house?"
"Maybe."
"Denise has been cooking a lot. Keeping you company while I'm at work."
"She's been... helpful."
Claire smiles. "I'm glad. You two should be friends."
I force a smile back. "Yeah. Friends."
Week four.
Her last night.
Denise's new apartment is ready tomorrow. She's leaving. Going back to her life.
"I don't want you to go," I tell her.
We're in the guest room. Claire is asleep. We have maybe an hour before it gets risky.
"I don't want to go either." She curls against me. "But I can't stay here forever."
"Why not?"
"Because she's my best friend. And I've been fucking her husband for a month."
"Denise—"
"I love her. I do." Her voice cracks. "And I love you. And I hate that I can't have both."
"What if you could?"
She looks up at me. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know." I hold her tighter. "I just know I can't go back to how things were."
She leaves the next morning.
Hugs Claire goodbye. Loads her car. Turns to wave.
Our eyes meet. Everything we are passes between us. Everything we want. Everything we can't have.
Then she's gone.
Three days later, my phone buzzes.
Denise: I can't stop thinking about you.
Me: Me neither.
Denise: I got a one-bedroom. Very private.
Me: When?
Denise: Now?
I look at Claire, absorbed in her phone, not noticing me at all.
"Going for a drive," I say. "Need anything?"
"Nope."
I grab my keys.
Some guests never really leave.