Free Anathema by David Greske Page B

extremely hot water, there was still a sharp odor of beer beneath the tang of lemon-freshness. But as barkeep, he'd grown accustomed to the unusual smell and seldom noticed it anymore. Tonight, though, there was something different about it. There was another odor layered between the existing two. It was the thick, hot, passionate smell of old sex.
    The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Goosebumps rippled down his arms. A cold sweat popped from his forehead. Jarvis switched the lights back on, turned, and saw her standing in the doorway.
    She was dressed in a white robe that looked like a lace bridal gown. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and moonlight circled her head like a halo.
    "What do you want?” Jarvis asked.
    "You,” Diane whispered as she approached the bartender.
    "You shouldn't be here,” Jarvis said. He was compelled to take a step backward, but stepped forward instead.
    "It's okay. I've done this before.” Diane undid the single button that held her robe closed and it slid from her body.
    "This isn't right,” Jarvis croaked as he stared at Diane's soft nakedness. “This isn't right at all."
    Madness, this was. Jarvis knew he should turn away. Diane was another man's wife, and he had no business seeing her like this, but he could no more look away than he could jab hot pokers in his eyes.
    "This may not be right,” Diane cooed, “but it's what I want.” She unbuttoned his shirt and pressed her bare breasts against his hairy chest. “And I know you want it, too. I saw it in your eyes at the carnival."
    Ignoring reason, Jarvis ran his hand through Diane's hair, tilted her head back, and kissed her on the lips.
    Diane pressed herself closer to his now naked body and probed her tongue deep into his welcoming mouth. Her eyelashes tickled his cheek. The air that puffed from her nostrils was hot and full of passion.
    Jarvis let his hands wander down the center of her back, tracing the vertebrae beneath her honey skin with gentle brushes of his fingertips. He grabbed her buttocks and squeezed.
    Diane moaned and Jarvis...
    ...awoke bathed in sweat. He threw the covers back, sat up in bed, and ran his hand through his tangled hair as he waited for his heart to slow to a steady pounding.
    He hadn't had a dream like that since he was a clumsy, acne-cursed, high-school senior with a crush on Carol Tibbetts, head cheerleader of the Prairie Rest Ravens.
    Jarvis yawned, snapped on the bedside lamp, waited for his eyes to adjust to the glare, and then got out of bed. He wandered to the kitchen for a glass of water and tried to erase the vision of Diane from his mind.
    ( ... I know you wanted it, too.)
    Honestly, he had entertained such thoughts after he met Jim's wife. He wondered what she was like in bed. Was she a screamer, or a groaner? Did she like to be on top, or was she strictly missionary? Maybe she was an oral kind of gal, or maybe not. But weren't these thoughts just fantasies every man had when they saw a beautiful woman? Diane was married to a man who was quickly becoming his best friend. Jarvis couldn't imagine doing anything other than giving her a friendly peck on the cheek. Why, then, such an erotic dream?
    I think you know why, a voice whispered in his ear.
    Startled, the water glass slipped from his hand and shattered in the stainless steel sink. A thick, hot, passionate stink rose from the drain. On the counter was a swatch of white lace.
    Jarvis picked it up. Examined it. Smelled it.
    Semen.
    Disgusted, he tossed it in the garbage can.
    "Fuck you,” he hissed as he padded back into the bedroom where, for the first time in years, he closed and locked the door.
    * * * *
    The phone rang and he nearly whacked his head on the night table as he scrambled to answer it. He'd been pulled from his sleep again, but this time, it was by a bleating phone rather than a perverse nightmare about his best friend's wife.
    "Hello?” he grumbled into the phone. He looked at the clock, but without his