A Second Chance for True Love

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A SECOND CHANCE FOR LOVE

Clark Preston

Aggravated, I answered my ringing desk phone without looking up from the computer monitor. Having just spoken to the project analyst, I assumed she was calling with another asinine question. "Yes!" I answered, trying to control my voice.

My fiancée's familiar and playful giggle was like oil upon troubled waters. Lisa teased, "Clark Preston, is that any way to answer the phone when your smoking' hot fiancée is calling you with an invitation for coffee?"

Despite the afternoon's frustration, I smiled and replied, "No, baby. I thought it was the project analyst calling me for about the fiftieth time since four o'clock. She's trying to work up a budget for that..."

"Shhhh!" she forcibly shushed me, which I found mildly irritating. Lisa is often unfiltered. Unfiltered as Flint, Michigan tap water, unfiltered. Considering it was Lisa, who assumes not only the world but possibly the entire universe revolves around her, it was not unexpected.

Her giggle made me smile. "Listen, Clarkie-pie. Meet me at The Better Bean downtown coffeeshop at five-thirty. It's north on Rawson, just off Main."

I looked at my watch. "Sure, hon. I need to approve some design changes on the Menard-Shildon job, and then I'm outta here." My other line rang; it was the analyst, and Anne, my office assistant, took the call. "So, what's happening at the coffeeshop that beats having dinner?"

"Oh, I'm dying to see my handsome, smart, and sexy fiancée." She giggled again. "Annnnd, my sexy fiancée needs to meet my amazing new friend, Kim."

I recalled Lisa mentioning Kim, a new manufacturer's representative selling to the graphic arts supply where she worked. She also said that they'd become quite friendly. "Then, we can have an early dinner up the street at The Red-Eyed Pie," Lisa added, referring to a trendy, new pizza place that opened last month.

I agreed to meet her, and after hanging up, I called and peeled the project analyst off the ceiling. She was suffering the Friday blues, too, and wanted to leave. It took five minutes to give her the figures she needed.

Next, I grabbed the bulging engineering change request file. I reviewed the proposals earlier and only needed to complete the paperwork. I signed a half-dozen design changes and rejected two more for the Menard-Shildon project. Finished, I bolted for a much-needed weekend.

As I drove over the busy, slow-moving Northwinds Viaduct towards the downtown Main Street exit, I pondered my strange and sometimes uncomfortable engagement to Lisa Mertzon. Just 5'1" and 110-pounds, Lisa is a small package, and she is the embodiment of the crazy artist type. Over our eighteen months together -- eight months of it being actual engagement -- Lisa and I were in a relationship of extremes.

The Greeks counseled 'moderation in all things,' but Lisa struggles with that. Where most peoples' lives are much like a tranquil sea, with gentle swells and occasional stormy weather, life with Lisa fell into two extremes. Half of our life was like the glass-smooth seas found in the Doldrums. The other half was a sudden, unexpected CAT-5 hurricane, often appearing without warning. With Lisa, everything was extreme: raging or laid back; bubbly or blue; the most incredible day ever or end-of-the-world.

Flighty, self-absorbed, and mercurial all describe the crazy side of Lisa, and she struggled with impulse control. In social situations, Lisa sometimes ran roughshod over me as she fought to be the center of attention. Her often tearful apologies took place in private, which did nothing to offset the public nature of her actions. As if to excuse her erratic ways, Lisa's M.O. was to make up with the same blinding intensity of her excessive behavior.

Once I got closer to Lisa and broke through her defenses and quirks, I discovered warmth, intelligence, and creativity. That's how I fell in love with her. It was never that bad, but sometimes her behavior strained our relationship and took advantage of my easy-going, tolerant nature. As a result, I felt a certain... uneasiness concerning Lisa.

We met at a party that we were both crashing. For me, that act was during a period of uncharacteristically self-destructive, drunken behavior following the sudden breakup of a long-term relationship. I was in free-fall for about two months as I tried to make sense of my 'perfect life' suddenly imploding. For Lisa, it was just her typical Saturday night thrill ride.

Intellectually, I'd say this relationship, which we were getting ready to make permanent, was definitely of the 'rebound' variety. Looking deep within myself, I felt trapped between what I knew was a problematic relationship and my kind and loving nature. Even worse, my personality causes me to sometimes 'rescue' people.

There were plenty of red flags. Life with Lisa was like Red Square on May Day, circa 1950! But I always managed to ignore or explain them. I refused to see the warning signs or look at my choices: a rocky marriage or hurting the girl with whom I'd fallen in love. Human nature often compels us to take the easier third choice -- do nothing and hope something changes.

With these nagging doubts, I squeezed my late-model F150 into a parking spot at The Better Bean next to Lisa's little red Fiat. Before locking the vehicle, I did what I do well: I compartmentalized my thoughts, put on my smiling game face, and resolved to live in the moment.

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Entering, I looked for Lisa, but of the ten or so people in the long, narrow coffeeshop, there was no Lisa. Just as I removed my phone to call her, Lisa stepped out into the bathroom hallway and smiled at me.

"Clark, baby! You made it!" She draped her arms over my broad shoulders, and the lips on my 6'2" frame met her 5'1" lips somewhere around 5'3". I always met Lisa way more than halfway. In everything. That is my nature: easy-going, good, accommodating.

"Of course, Lisa, honey! I told you I'd be here," I said, smiling.

Noticing all the females in the room were with someone, except for a single, late-50s or early-60s woman in the corner who wrapped herself around a book, I asked, "Kim couldn't make it?"

Guffawing, Lisa covered her face with her hands in sheer, unfiltered delight. "Oh, Clark!" she laughed, grabbing my arm and turning me towards a table where a man set. He was tall and lean, almost ascetic, with spiky, gelled hair and close-together, deep-set blue eyes.

"Honey, Kim is not a woman!" The man was watching with a knowing smile on his face. To him, Lisa chortled, "He thinks you're a girrrrrrl, Kim!"

I flushed as everyone was watching this tableau unfold. Kim rose and offered me his hand, and taking it, he tried to crush my hand. Initially, it surprised me because the guy was about my height, but only about 175. As he continued pressing, it pissed me off -- not a good first impression.

While in college, I worked summers as a pipefitter's helper with my uncle's company, so I responded with more pressure. Quickly, Kim looked away and released his grip before inhaling sharply. I continued to squeeze, shake and smile until his knees began to buckle, at which point I turned loose of his dead fish hand.

Seeing his reaction, Lisa snapped, "Stop it, Clark!" Her eyes flashed at me in anger and disbelief. She turned to Kim and cooed, "I'm so sorry. My fiancée forgot his manners."

I wanted to say something, but what could I say that wouldn't sound whiny? 'He started it!' No, I'd wait until we were home to straighten this out. 'Easy going does have its limits which Kim now understands!'

Flexing the fingers of his right hand, a chagrined Kim took his seat next to the window. Lisa sat beside him, their coffees and a couple of pastries already there. Lisa motioned to the barista, who brought my coffee.

"I got you your usual, Clark. That plain old borrrring black coffee you like." She turned to Kim. "Boring coffee. My boring fiancée Clark likes boring coffee." Lisa chuckled as she forcibly rhymed the words. "Tell him what you're drinking, Kim."

"An iced, double-mocha, Frappuccino with caramel and extra-vegan, solar-clarified soy milk," he recited proudly.

This guy was sure checking all the boxes on Clark Preston's Asshole Checklist.

"That sounds like a Dairy Queen special," I snickered. "Did you get sprinkles with it, too? Maybe some crushed Oreos hiding under the ice? I'm surprised it's not in a 'Cars' souvenir cup! With a sippy lid."

"Enough, honey!" Lisa snapped. Her brown eyes glittered angrily as control slipped from her grasp again. She didn't like my reaction to Kim, and I didn't care for him.

"Sorry, Lisa. I was just exploring Kim's 'not boring' Java. Maybe I'd like to try that sometime. Perhaps even adding a shot of insulin." She knew she'd pushed me too far and chuckled nervously in response.

Looking at the other man, I asked, "So, you're named Kim after the Kipling story? Or, maybe it's The Dear Leaders of the original Juche idea?" The look on Kim's and Lisa's faces told me those allusions sailed waaaay overhead. Smiling, I added drily, "Silly ol' me, I just naturally assumed Kim was a female."

He responded with a wan smile. "Kimbrough Marshall, Jr. That's all I'll tell anyone. The rest of my names are secret." Kim laughed at that. The spiel sounded like an oft-repeated routine.

Lisa playfully punched Kim on the arm. "Did you see the look on Clark's face when he figured out you were a dude?"

"You set me up," I interjected with a genuine smile.

"Oh, did I ever set you up," my fiancée replied, her eyes fixed on mine. Her face was smiling, but her eyes were intense and knowing. That was never a good sign with Lisa.

'What the hell am I walking into with Lisa?' I wondered with a twinge of concern. I began trying to understand what her angle was. Something was going on that made me uneasy, but it continued to elude me.

"Clark, he's asking you a question!" Lisa snapped her fingers, interrupting my reverie. "He's back with us, Kim," she scolded. "Ask him."

Kim asked, "The wedding is three weeks from tomorrow, right?" I nodded. Kim gave Lisa a sidelong glance and told me, "You're getting an amazing wife. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," I answered, smiling at them.

She leaned over and hugged Kim's long, right arm, her face against his shoulder. I felt jealousy and a wave of uncomfortable anger as I watched her. "You're such a dear, Kim." Then, to me, she said, Kim needs to ask you something, Clark, honey." A touch of pink colored Lisa's cheeks.

She released Kim's arm and sat upright in her chair. Lisa reached across the table and grabbed my left hand with her right; her face reflected a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation.

"I have two tickets to a concert at the Sky-Top arena at Mountain View State Park for tomorrow night." Kim chewed his bottom lip and continued, "My girl left town for a family emergency, and I want Lisa to go with me."

"What? That's a three-hour drive each way," I stated, confused.

"Honey, it's The Emphatics, one of my favorite groups!" Lisa pleaded. "And Kim has a room at that lodge just outside the park so that we won't be driving home late tomorrow night."

'What? Did I hear that right? Yes, I did!' My senses went on high alert. Adrenaline began trickling into my veins, and the blood rushed inside my ears.

"A room? Singular? No effing way!" I shook my head emphatically. "Lisa's my fiancée. Hell, we live together and have been exclusive for over a year!"

"Please, honey! Kim's my friend!"

I stared speechlessly but not without a reaction. That was all internal.

Assuming my silence was vacillation, Kim reasoned. "Look, man, she wants to see the concert. My girl likes the band, and I know Lisa does, too."

I nodded my head slowly to throw them off stride. "Are you a big fan of The Emblematics, Kim?"

"Emphatics," Lisa corrected.

"Not a fan, Kim?" I questioned.

"Naaah. Not really. Chicks dig it," he said evenly with a confident smile. "I'm totally into metal."

'No surprise there!' I thought dismissively.

Here's where I wipe off the smile. "Tell you what, Kim. You aren't a fan, and I'm not a fan, so sell me the tickets and hotel room, and I'll gladly take my beloved fiancée to see The Emphatics. Problem solved!" My confident smile mirrored his.

Their smiles evaporated, as I figured. This was not about some silly-assed concert. As they stared at me, I imagined the Easter Island stone heads showed more awareness than those two.

"Deal?" I asked and offered my hand.

"Ah, no, man. Those are my tickets. My room at the lodge," Kim stated firmly.

"I see," responding in the same tone. I pointed at Lisa, "And that is my fiancée."

Suppressing my growing rage, I rose. "Come on, Lisa. Let's go eat."

She looked up and shook her head. In a determined voice, she instructed, "Sit down, Clark. I need to tell you something, baby." Her demeanor was cold and firm.

I sat down as my stomach started tying itself into knots no Boy Scout or blue-water sailor ever saw. My normally warm disposition began tying itself into firm 'nots' in anticipation of Lisa's next words. I looked at Kim; he appeared fixated on something outside in rush-hour traffic.

Lisa took a deep breath and said, "Honey, in three weeks and one day, we're going to get married. For all time. You are my man, my only man. My eternal love." She looked over at Kim, probably for encouragement, and frowned for an instant before looking back at me. "You and I have been with a number of other people, so it's not like we're any little innocents, are we?" I stared dispassionately at her, giving her nothing. Lisa's dry, nervous laugh was full of tension.

"So, Clark, I want to be clear." Lisa reached for my hand again, and I pulled it away. "Kim and I have some crazy chemistry between us. We can't explain it, but I'm going with Kim tomorrow and returning Sunday night. His girl will return early next week, and we'll all go our separate ways." She licked her lips nervously. "He's... Kim is changing sales routes on the first, which is next Thursday, and he says a lady sales rep will service my store's account."

"So, this is a done deal?" I rasped through my dry, tight throat.

After Lisa played the bad guy, Kim found his voice. "'Fraid so, dude. Taking her for a dirty weekend, man. Ain't nothing personal." He smirked.

There's an old saying, 'Ride to the sound of the guns!' And this feckless string bean just fired the first volley. I looked at Lisa, and her brown eyes were wide and determined. She'd finally done it -- gone nuclear - and it was... Damn, it was a relief! It's like she broke the spell!

I looked at Kim, and just above a whisper, I asked, "What did you say, Kimberly?"

His eyes narrowed in anger, but he recovered with a smirk. He'd surely been called Kimberly before. Kim deliberately repeated, "I said, 'afraid so, dude -- nothin' personal.'" He laughed and added, "I won't use her all up. Shit, I topped her off for ya just this afternoon!"

Lisa screeched, "Kim, no!" The cat lept from the bag with blinding speed.

He looked at Lisa, smiling. "I'm fucking you this weekend, so why does today matter?" he chuckled.

My right hand shot across the table, grabbed Kim by his shirt, and dragged him up and over the table until we were face-to-face. My left hand grabbed Lisa's wrist so she couldn't pull away. Kim and I were nose-to-nose. There would be no mistaking my words.

In that same malevolent whisper, I said, "You can't take my fiancée, dickface. No. That's because I GIVE her to you. She's yours effective right this fucking minute. Lisa is going home with you tonight, Kimberly. Perm-a-nent-ly," I enunciated.

I looked at his left hand, which defensively gripped my right wrist. "That white skin circling your left ring finger tells me you're married, Kimmy. No 'girl' gone on a trip. So, your life will be very busy with Lisa and Mrs. Dickface." I shoved him into his chair, nearly tipping it backward.

By this time, everyone in the coffee shop was watching. One of the twenty-somethings across from us was pulling out his phone, and I fixed him with a no-shit, 'that's-not-a-good-idea' glare. I shook my head slowly. He nodded, and the phone disappeared into the pocket of his polyester 90s hipster shirt.

Lisa stopped struggling and quietly wept. When I removed her engagement ring, her eyes went wide, and she said, "Nooooo! Please, Clark."

I shook my head and said sadly, "Sorry, baby. You pushed me too hard. You fucked ol' Kimberly here, and now we're done. You're finally going to see that actions have consequences."

"Baby, I never meant to..." My glare stopped her cold. She changed her approach, "Clark, please. I just thought..." I shook my head, and the words died on her lips.

"Yes, Lisa, you mistook my easy-going, good nature for weakness. You just kept pushing, each time a little harder. Now, it's like they say in the stores selling fine China: 'You break it, you buy it.' Well, it's all yours, Lisa. You can go to his house, apartment, Hobbit hole, or wherever he lives."

Lisa choked out, "I can't. He's... he is..."

"Married. I know," I stated in a sad voice just above a whisper.

I looked at her, and more relief flowed through me. I'd known all along that marrying her was probably wrong, but a nice guy like me gets trapped by his good nature. Sometimes we're not very good at standing up for ourselves when it will hurt someone else. Not now! Her actions forced me to confront my doubts by showing me what she was capable of. I saw what I knew all along: Lisa Mertzon is toxic. She's broken, and Clark Preston won't be Mr. Fix-It!

"Clark, honey... I don't have any place to go! Please, we can..." I held up my hand and shushed her. With the other hand, I opened my phone and went to My Contacts.

"Who are you calling, Clark?" she gasped in a panicky tone. "We need to work this out, baby. Nobody else needs to know. Please, baby, don't..."

The caller answered on the second ring. "Julie? It's Clark." Pause "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine..."

"No!" Lisa gasped. "Hang up!"

"Yes, that's your sister, you hear, Julie. She needs a place to stay." Julie asked the obvious question. "For good," I responded. "She crossed the line. Fucked a sleazy piece of shit and wanted a dirty weekend away."

Lisa wailed, "No, Clark. Please, baby! I love you. Kim is just..." She looked at the man next to her as if he were the second coming of Ted Bundy. "...he's just a guy I was stupid with." Her eyes spilled more tears.

I was ignoring her as Julie spoke to me. I responded, "Interesting. Well, that tells me a lot." 'Damn, Julie, said Lisa did almost the same thing to her last boyfriend!'

I gave Julie directions to the coffee shop. Next, she pressed me for logistical details. "Yep, I'll let y'all in tomorrow afternoon to get her stuff. It will be in boxes in my garage."