Free A Well-Laid Trap: The Story Of A Professional Hotwife by Arnica Butler

yourself, Really. French onion soup? Means your wife is having an affair?
    “Paddy? You there?”
    “I...it's, my phone cut out. Did you say french onion soup?”
    “I did. I just..you know, if you're going to be late, I'll just go to the gym now and make it when you get home. The kids already ate three loaves of bread and a jar of peanut butter. Olivia can wait. Or...like, if you won't be home at all...we'll just eat it ourselves.”
    “He won't be home,” I heard Olivia's voice drone on near the mouthpiece. “He's working late, I told you already.”
    Everything was literally normal here. 
    But my mind was on a trail, and I was going to be led down it no matter what. It could be a ploy of some kind.
    “I'll be...” What should I say? An hour? A little late? Very late? What could I tell her that would prompt her to maybe go out with her lover?
    I lied. “Sorry. Really late. Like eleven. Don't even worry about me.”
    A pause.
    “Oh, too bad. I figured I'd try.”
    What was in her voice? Resignation? Disappointment? Excitement?
    “Told ya,” Olivia said in the background.
    How did we end the call? I barely remember. I was clearly being a fucking idiot. Olivia's responses seemed too natural, and I was just a sad little man trying to catch his loyal wife in an affair because I had seen a woman who looked like her in a bar and spun out of control fantasizing about her.
    What was I going to do until eleven? I couldn't even work. My ass was cold and uncomfortable.
    I could be home, eating french onion soup and getting some of the work I needed to do done, in a comfortable chair with a beer next to me.
    Fuck, I was so stupid.
    But I didn't move.
    Ten minutes went by, with me thinking about how stupid I was. Headlights appeared in the gray asphalt of the street, and I looked down at my computer to give the appearance of being a busy businessman and not a stalker. I was parked around the bend from the direction all traffic entered the neighborhood. Another reason I knew no one would see my car: there was no way out his way; it dead-ended at a cul-de-sac about a quarter of a mile behind me.
    But the lights did not swing around the corner and into my face, as I had expected. I looked up.
    My heart skipped a beat. The beams of the headlights were shining against the garage door.
    I strained to see the vehicle, but from where I was, I couldn't.
    My heart started racing.
    Jesus, Paddy, it's probably just some dipshit guy for Olivia.
    But my heart wouldn't quiet, not with reason.
    A friend of the kids'?
    And then, the front door opened.
    After so many days of seeing nothing, I was so shocked by this development I almost didn't trust my eyes. I rubbed them.
    Out of the pool of light in the doorway stepped Jordan.
    My heart sank for a moment. With disappointment. She was wearing a dumpy jacket, and carrying a duffel bag.
    But then the details of the image began to reach me. Like shards of glass, each one sharp and painful, each one cutting into my eyes, into my heart. Each one deliciously damming, painfully undeniable. The puzzle shifted, my heart flopped, my chest began to hurt so much that I wasn't sure I wasn't having a heart attack.
    And my cock, my crazy fucking cock, began to throb wildly in my pants.
    Dumpy jacket, yes. Duffel bag, yes. Tennis shoes, even.
    But as the jacket swung around her frame, I saw it.
    Not sweats. Not yoga pants. Not biker shorts or any of the things she should be wearing.
    No. Swimming underneath the dumpy jacket was:
    The gray dress. 
    Jordan's figure stopped and she swung open a car door. I put the car into drive. She was getting into a car. On the driver's side.
    I edged forward after her figure disappeared. My lights were still off.
    I turned the corner, and saw the red lights breaking at a speed bump about three hundred yards down the street. Around them, the bright yellow paint, and the endlessly repetitious digits, of Metro Taxi.
     
    My mind went numb. Now what? Now what the fuck was