Free Piano in the Dark by Eric Pete

using his infamous acronym for hit-it-and-quit-it situations.
    “Dude, responding to that isn’t worth the trouble for either of us.”
    “Chase, I love you like a brother, but be careful. This kind of game ain’t for you.”
    “Duly noted, sir. And thanks,” I said, ending the conversation.
    Her husband played the piano too. Don’t know why that bothered me so much. Probably a different family situation growing up. But life is still about choices. Maybe deep down, I wished that painting Ava had given me had personal significance when it was done. But, anyway, how could she know I used to play the piano? That was something Dawn was oblivious to also.
    Ego.
    But she’d stroked more than that today anyway , I thought with a wry smile.
    I’d have a lot to consider and assess on my way home, but first I had to shed my clothes and get them to a dry cleaner’s ASAP.

16
     
    “How was racquetball?” Dawn queried as I returned home. She stood at the kitchen island, positioned as if a store mannequin before the granite countertop as she worked on her notebook computer. She still wore her blouse and skirt from a long day at Macy’s, but was answering e-mail from her college prep business. As she click-clacked away in response, she scratched an itch on her calf with the other foot, her blue Steve Madden pumps resting on their sides where she’d discarded them.
    “Too long,” I answered, having recently felt the sting from Ava’s scratches on my back as I exited the car. My stomach lurched as pangs of guilt swept over me. I wished Dawn had worked until closing tonight. Would’ve given me a better chance of gathering myself.
    “Did you win?” she asked. She pushed her laptop away from the island’s edge then came closer. I knew my wife’s mannerisms well enough. Seduction was on her mind, but she never had to work hard at it with me. I was always willing, except for tonight. Things were different. Changed. I was marked with another woman’s essence, our DNA having intermingled.
    “No, but it was close,” I answered with an exaggerated display of frustration, just as I felt the smarting reminder of Ava on my back again. “I just want to shower and go to bed. Facing Jacobi in the morning will be unbearable. And that’s not counting the grief until our rematch.”
    “Oh. Maybe I can take your mind off things,” she said, her eyes narrowing and her voice became more playful.
    “You don’t wanna do that,” I said as I waved an arm, scrunching my face to enforce my message. “I reek. And had some taco cabana too. Whoo!” I fanned the air for further effect.
    Dawn couldn’t help but laugh as she backed away, her nose crinkling. “You don’t have to tell me twice. I know what those chicken flautas and pico de gallo do to you. Hurry up and get in the shower, boy.”
    “Okay,” I said, leaning in just enough to kiss her on the cheek and hoping she didn’t smell the absence of what I conveyed. My supposed sweaty gym clothes were fresh, having hastily changed into them at a Chevron station off I-45 before dropping my sex-permeated gear at the dry cleaner’s.
    The shower wasn’t fully warmed before I entered, rapidly foaming up my washcloth with sport-scented shower gel. Nerves still frayed, I vigorously scrubbed over every part of my body, as if I could shed my sins like a second skin. I’d given into the illusion of freedom, full-on, despite knowing deep down that something was off beyond obvious moral issues of what I had done. As the flow of water hit me in the face, I lamented spurning my wife’s affections while wrongly reflecting on the other woman I’d touched, kissed, caressed, tasted, and pleasured repeatedly today.
    When I turned off the shower and exited, things were still silent on the other side of the bathroom door. I locked it, examining the scratches on my back more closely in the mirror. They didn’t look as noticeable as they felt, but were a valid reminder of my stupidity. After drying