Free High Heels in New York by A.V. Scott Page A

clear that it wasn’t just a one-time thing. It was serious and Melissa was sure that it had been going on for a while.
    That Bastard!
    The bathroom steamed up and she lathered, rinse and repeated. She closed her eyes and forced herself to try and recall any sign that Jonathan had been cheating, a sign that she may have missed. Their sex life was good. It wasn’t great but it had never been great. Love always trumped sex…didn’t it?
    Wash that man right out of your hair! Melissa repeated what Christina said earlier in hopes that it would work.
    It didn’t.
    Instead, she thought about how Jonathan and she never argued. Wasn’t that a good thing? Or is arguing good? You can’t have makeup sex if you don’t argue. Shit! Was that it? Did he want throw-you-on-the-kitchen-table kind of sex? All of Melissa’s past boyfriends used to love to pick a fight. They’d fight over the littlest thing like the fact she never recapped the toothpaste or how she left the wet towel on the bed after she’d shower. Jonathan wasn’t like that. If he didn’t like something he would simply fix it himself. He would recap the toothpaste and hang up her wet towel without voicing a peep. Melissa thought it was a sweet gesture. Looking back at it now, maybe she should have done those things herself. And what if he did want makeup sex?
    Wash, lather, repeat.
    And she cooked. Twice a week. That was definitely a plus, especially living in a city where even McDonald’s delivers to your door twenty four seven. She put in the effort big time considering that cooking wasn’t her forte. She figured this out when she tried boiling eggs one morning in college and ended up breaking open the fire extinguisher. The dorm room smelled like rotten eggs for days. She’d used an egg timer religiously ever since. But her cooking limitations had worked out for both of them. Jonathan had recently needed to work late and barely joined her for dinner at a decent hour so she usually had take-out.
    Shit. Working late! That was probably it.
    Working late was the sign. It had to be. It was so obvious that she couldn’t believe she missed it. What man doesn’t use the ‘I’m-working-late’ excuse when he’s cheating? The bastard didn’t even try to make up a good excuse. Then again, she was dumb enough to believe him.
    Right?
    Knowing it was pointless to get riled up over old frustrations, Melissa forced herself out of the shower and toweled off. Then, she covered herself in a hot pink couture robe, brushed her teeth and this time, hung up the wet towel. Staring at it, she quickly grabbed the towel and threw it on the bed.
    Fuck you Jonathan.
    Walking into the kitchen, Christina handed Melissa a steaming cup of coffee.
    “Thanks,” Melissa said, taking a sip. It took her a few minutes to bring Christina up to speed on the most recent events. (Minus the pregnancy part.) There was enough of her business already circulating the streets of Manhattan.
    Christina had already caught air to Melissa’s problems from Angie and the news media but didn’t want to say anything. So, she listened to Melissa ramble on, all the while thinking that she had brought this upon herself. “I have to say Melissa. This is your entire fault.”
    “My fault?”
    “You live in a big city where relationships are over rated. You’re supposed to be having fun, experimenting, spreading yourself out like butter. Not trying to get married at twenty-nine and especially, not moping around in day old funk,” Christina said.
    “I thought snagging a really hot and successful man was the main goal for any woman?” She replied defensively. “Doesn’t every woman want to be a kept woman?” Her brain finally registered his last remark. “And I didn’t smell.”
    “Yo ur problem is you brag too much, ” Christina said, pointing at Melissa.
    “I do not.”
    “Girl, when Jonathan proposed, you were on the phone with Vera Wang before his knee came off the ground.”
    “Everyone knows