Waiting Ch. 02

Apologies for the delay. A wee bout of writer's block and taking on too much at once meant this is about a month late. I'll try to get the next chapter out much quicker...

Samantha staggered through the front door of her house an hour after dropping Seth off. She didn't get self-driving cars, but after navigating Toronto's traffic in a sex hungover daze, she wanted one. She couldn't remember how she got from his place to hers.

She kicked off her heels as soon as she got through the door and resisted the urge to collapse on the couch. Instead, she trudged up the stairs and into the spare room she'd been using ever since Eric moved out. She stripped out of her dress and underwear, flinging them toward the hamper. Then she flopped naked on the bed. She stared at the ceiling and questioned her sanity for the 100th time in the last hour.

"There must be a word for having your brains fucked out, which should be enough, but the guy is fucking hot so you want more?" she thought. "I bet the Germans have one that's 16 constants long."

She sighed, and then the word occurred to her. It wasn't even in German. "Teenager," she said out loud. "I am behaving like a fucking teenage girl who got properly laid for the first time."

And, if she was being honest, it was a hell of a lot better feeling than what she'd been going through for the last few months. Hell, the last few years.

She glanced down at her body. There were marks on her breasts from where Seth had sucked and bit them. Her nipples looked raw. She touched her pussy and winced. It was transitioning from the happy buzz of "Yay, fucking," to "Ow, I'm out of practice when it comes to fucking." If she had the energy to stand up and look at her ass in the mirror, some lovely bruises had to be there.

She wasn't sure she could survive more of Seth.

Samantha wanted to sleep for a few hours, but her head was spinning so she got off the bed and went to the closet. She put on her favourite burgundy cashmere hoodie and a pair of black bamboo sweatpants. It was not as fashionable as last night's ensemble, but they were cozy and comfortable. She went downstairs, made some lemon tea, grabbed the tiramisu from last night, and then went out on the back deck.

It wasn't a huge backyard, but at least she had one. She took a deep breath of the warm late September air and began processing.

So, she'd fucked the waiter.

That was unexpected.

Maybe 'unexpected' wasn't the right word. Samantha didn't book a hotel room at the Ritz-Carlton and think nothing would happen. But if she was being honest, some of it was bravado and over-confidence in talking with her friends. But it was still astonishing the speed and ease at which everything happened. The chemistry she had with Seth was off-the-charts. It was breathtaking the whole time she was at the restaurant. It felt like a younger, more confident version of herself had taken over her body and was flirting with him. The return of the slutty 21-year-old who could get any guy she wanted based on her looks and tits.

She'd been looking for something to boost her confidence post-separation. You turn 39 and discover your husband is banging his secretary. That will do a number on your confidence. But she hadn't expected to be licking tiramisu off Seth's chest at 2 am.

She took a bite of the dessert and blushed at the memory.

The plan had been to thank him for the sex and then enjoy the emotional, mental, spiritual and sexual boost. Oh, and never see him again. Except Seth threw a curveball. Her brain fucked her over by swinging at that pitch by saying that, yes, she did want to see him again. It was insane. She didn't even know his last name, for Christ's sake.

But she wanted to see him again. He talked to her, not through her or as an afterthought. He listened to what she wanted and Samantha could tell he was paying attention. Her husband ignored her for the last five years, so it was almost as good as the sex.

Maybe she was reading too much into it, but would she do any better on a fucking Tindr date?

Her phone vibrated on the table...again.

And then there was that. Samantha flipped over her phone and there were dozens of texts on the screen since this morning. Sighing, she unlocked it and sent a message to her group chat.

"I'm fine. I'm home." She paused, not wanting to use words like 'recovering' or 'processing' for the loaded signals they sent. "I'll talk to you at brunch tomorrow."

She closed out the phone and put it face down on the table. The phone began buzzing immediately with what she was sure were texts of outrage. She resisted the urge to toss it into the yard. She realized Tomorrow-Samantha would call Today-Samantha many bad words for having to clean up the Brunch Bitches mess.

After finishing the tea and tiramisu, she stood up and winced. Many things pissed her off about being 39, including the earlier onset of aches and pains. She worked out and stretched, and they still came.

"Jesus," Samantha muttered as the aches didn't ease as she moved inside the house. She opted for a long bath, dropping every revitalizing oil and lotion she could find. She tossed in Epsom salts for good measure.

"I'll need to start buying some of this in bulk if Seth becomes a regular thing," she thought, giggling.

***

The Bitch Brunch became a thing a few years ago. A couple of women met at a company party and were deeply bored with their husband's co-workers. They liked each other and decided that a monthly brunch to catch up would be fun. Soon enough, they brought friends, and those friends brought friends. It ballooned to almost 20 people but had been stable at a solid dozen for a year. They were all in their mid-30s to mid-40s.

Samantha was the eighth addition to the group through the second wife of one of Eric's colleagues. At the time, it had been a relief to join in. It gave her an excuse to get out on a Sunday morning. She brought in Lisa, who was now waiting for her a block before their brunch place.

She met Lisa during her first semester at the University of Toronto and they quickly became Trouble. Lisa was shorter than her, and time had only added to her curves. But her brown hair framed big brown eyes, which made her appear innocent, something she was very much not. Her looks and ability to think on her feet got them out of trouble more than once.

After university, she followed a boy and moved to Vancouver. Three years ago, she unfollowed the boy and moved back to Toronto. They reconnected, and Samantha dragged her to Sunday brunch. Lisa had changed over the years and was no longer the wild party girl. Yet, her ability to create mischief remained sharp.

Lisa was the one who launched the scheme which led to Samantha finding out her husband was cheating on her. And Lisa was the one who suggested she try and have a one-night stand with the hot waiter that Rachel bragged about.

So when she saw Lisa smirking, Samantha couldn't decide between wrapping her arms around her friend for a hug, or her hands around Lisa's neck.

She opted for the hug.

"You look good," Lisa said. Samantha wore a knee-length white sundress that buttoned up the front, a jean jacket, oversized sunglasses and a straw hat.

"Thanks, but I'm pretty sure I've worn this before," she said.

"Oh, you have. I'm talking about the 'well fucked' look you're still exuding this morning," Lisa said.

"Fuck you," Samantha said, but her heart wasn't in it.

"Oh, sweetie, this is the beginning and you know it," she said, taking her hand and walking towards the brunch place.

Samantha sighed in agreement. She liked her friends but couldn't swear they were nice people. In retrospect, gathering a dozen rich white women in a confined space wasn't a great idea.

"So, I know you'll be coy in there with them, but c'mon, details. I prodded you into action; I deserve some secondary pleasure out of this."

"I'm still sore," Samantha confessed.

She could feel Lisa clutching her hand a little harder. "Seriously? How many times did you get off?"

"I kinda lost count," she muttered. There once was a time when Samantha and Lisa would give a play-by-play. On several drunken occasions, they saw the other one working their magic. Now it felt weirder. Perhaps it was age, or still being shell-shocked from the divorce.

Another voice whispered in her head, "Or you like Seth and don't want to give up details in case one of these bitches decides to take their own run at him."

Lisa spun in front of her.

"You fucking lost count!? How many times did he get off?"

"Three."

Lisa grinned. "You slut. You had some catching up to do." Then seeing the look on Samantha's face, asked, "Why are you looking so weird about this? You had sex; good for you. You deserve to get rocked after everything you've gone through this year."

"I know I do. I'm still processing having sex with a different man for the first time in over 15 years. Now I have to go and face the Spanish Inquisition in there," she said, as they arrived at the restaurant.

Lisa took her by the arms and looked at her. "I know you're processing things, but they will eat you alive if you start looking sheepish or behaving weird. Are you going to see him again?"

"Yes," she thought, but even in her addled state, Samantha knew that would be a disastrous answer. "No, of course not," came out of her mouth.

Lisa gave her a stern look and didn't appear convinced, but she didn't push the issue.

"Look, for this morning, you are the Queen Bitch. Most of those women haven't had anything inside them that didn't vibrate in years. Go in there, be happy, smug and confident. Give them tidbits, but not the farm. It's two hours. You've dealt with worse shit this year."

"That's true," Samantha said, remembering the worse shit. "But at least I had a baseball bat then."

Lisa laughed, took her hand and dragged her inside. Ten heads from the table in the corner swivelled in her direction. A smile reflexively appeared on her face, and then Lisa whispered from behind her. "I'll check with the kitchen staff. If things get ugly, I'll see if I can borrow a rolling pin."

Samantha laughed, which was the boost she needed as she strutted towards the table.

"So ladies, what have you been up to this weekend?" she asked.

For the next 30 minutes, they wanted details about her night with the sex waiter. Yes, they needed salacious details to compensate for the lack of anything interesting in their lives. But some of it was to get under Rachel's skin. Rachel had been explicit about the hot waiter at Mattia and how she wanted to do all manner of things to him.

"Fuck, I could have skipped dessert, laid him out on the table and licked chocolate sauce off him. He is the best-looking tasty treat I've seen in a long time," she gushed. And that was only part of her description of what she wanted to do. She also said she hoped he called after slipping him her phone number.

The women at the table winced a bit. Samantha wasn't kidding when she told Seth about Rachel being crazy. Rachel had two divorces under her belt and a high churn rate when it came to men.

When Rachel talked about the men she was dating/fucking, Samantha tuned her out. But it always bugged Lisa. Rachel's obnoxiousness about Seth got under Lisa's skin enough that she prodded Samantha to take a run at him.

She resisted at first, but Lisa laid down her arguments: you'll feel good flirting in a safe environment, it'll be good to dress sexy for an evening, and if you land him it'll drive Rachel insane. The more Samantha listened, the more it sounded like the kick in the ass she needed.

Then it had worked....

Throughout breakfast, Rachel remained quiet. Terrifying so. When some of the ladies teased her, she smiled and said nothing. After that, the rest of them decided to let sleeping dogs lie. After her initial grilling, the ladies switched to other topics. It was a once-a-month gathering with much gossip and information to share.

When brunch ended Samantha felt palatable relief that it was over. That she'd bluffed her way through the morning. Of course, it would still come up, but only to tease her and rile up Rachel a bit. But the worst was over.

Granted, if they found out she was still fucking Seth, all hell would break loose. So she still needed to be discrete. But that should be it. As they reached the corner, Lisa hugged her and whispered, "You fooled them, but not me, Sam. I know you're seeing him again."

Samantha tried her best poker bluff face, but Lisa smirked and shook her head.

"Nope, they don't know you like I do from back in your university days. I know the difference on your face when you've had a one-night stand and when you're smitten. And you, Sam, are a smitten kitten," she said.

"Fuck," Samantha said out loud, acknowledging defeat. "He's....kind? I mean, the sex was amazing....amazing, but he was also happy to just talk. I dunno....I miss that."

Lisa laughed and hugged her friend again. "Then have fun. But do not get stupid over this guy, ok? Your pretty blonde head is still in a weird space. Fun is good, be a huge slut if you want like you were back in university...."

She gave Lisa a well-manicured middle finger.

"But don't elope or anything," she finished.

"Yes, mom. I promise not to elope with the sexy waiter I've spent 12 hours with. For fuck's sake, Lisa...."

"Well, you're blonde. Sometimes you have to repeat these things, slowly, so they sink in through the peroxide."

"Bitch," Samantha said, laughing as she walked away.

"I'd call you a ho, but that would be stating the obvious," she called back, a bit louder than Samantha would have liked. Still, she was in a better mood as she walked the rest of the block.

Right up until she got to her car, and saw Rachel leaning on it. Samantha sighed. She should have known that Rachel wouldn't let this drop easily. She also had to check later to ensure Rachel hadn't keyed her car.

"You thought that was fucking hilarious, embarrassing me like that," she said, striding up to Samantha. She didn't think Rachel would take a swing at her, but it was never a good idea to underestimate crazy.

"I went to have a night out and flirt with a guy you raved about as super hot. A guy that didn't return your call and you didn't follow up on, by the way. And things...happened. Let it go," she said, trying to defuse the situation.

"I don't give a damn if you're a whore and that you probably paid him to fuck you..."

"Oh, fuck you."

"But the way you embarrassed me in front of my friends, I'm not going to forget that. When I find the right moment, I'm going to fuck you up," she said loud enough to get attention from people passing by. Samantha noticed a few people slowing down, perhaps hoping for a catfight. Instead, she gave Rachel a wide-berth and got into her car.

Then the little demon that made her grab that baseball bat in her husband's office months ago reappeared. It gave her a nudge and made her roll down the passenger side window before she drove away.

"He remembered you, y'know. He didn't call you back because he could tell you were fucking crazy. Think about that before you call me a whore," Samantha said. She then slammed on the accelerator, shooting into the street faster than she meant. She kept forgetting how hard her electric car accelerated.

She didn't look in the mirror, but imagined Rachel was using some attention-grabbing language. Samantha knew that was a dumb thing to say. Plus, she dragged Seth into her drama, which was mean. But she'd taken shit for too many years.

If there were consequences, she'd deal with them.

***

Samantha regarded her soon-to-be ex-husband as a useless piece of shit on which she had wasted 15 prime years of her life. Still, her therapist reminded her that was a negative way to look at things. She didn't have to forgive, but she should acknowledge some good things happened during her marriage.

So the one good thing she focussed on was that he prodded her into her current career. Granted, he did it by giving her shit about how much time she was spending on the phone, but at least it did motivate her.

It shouldn't have shocked Samantha. Still, she quickly learned people were not clamouring for people with a sociology degree. She bounced around through several unfulfilling jobs while Eric climbed the corporate ladder.

One day she was fiddling with her phone and completely tuning out what Eric was talking about. She finally tuned back in when she heard him griping about her and not some nonsense at work.

"If you spent as much time looking for a job as you did on that goddamn phone, I wouldn't be busting my ass so much at work," he said. Then he stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

She was fuming at the hair salon later that day when she had one of those moments that made her believe in a higher power. Samantha was listening to the owner of her hair salon lament about social media.

"Plus, trolls!" she said. "Who the hell goes to a review site and shits on your business, and they've never even been here!"

After her appointment, she went to Michelle, the owner, and sat down at her computer with her. For the next hour, they worked together and got her social media straightened out. Samantha showed how to minimalize some of the damage done by trolls and other tools and tricks.

Michelle was so thrilled she offered to hire her on the spot to handle her social media part-time. Samantha laughed and was going to blow it off when she realized this could be a career for her. Not doing social media at a hair salon, but social media for small businesses. Social media could be overwhelming when you have nothing to do with your life. It was one more impossible thing to handle when trying to keep a small business afloat.

So she started to get the word out. And it started slowly, but she was good with people and got back to them quickly when there was a problem. She went to the business to meet with them. She didn't charge much at first, but then some of them started giving her tips on what to charge.

That was almost 10 years ago. Now Samantha had dozens of clients. Eric never viewed it as a real job, but when he saw how much she was making, he stopped grumbling about her phone.

She tried hard not to stare at her phone on this particular Monday. More specifically, she was wondering if she should text Seth or not.

It has been easy not to think about texts on Saturday and most of Sunday. But she was beginning to think about Seth again and seeing him Monday night by Sunday evening. They hadn't specified a time Monday evening. So should she show up, knock on the door and go, "here I am, fuck my brains out, please."

Probably not. No.

She hated being this indecisive and scatterbrained. Dating when you're 39 is much different from when you're 22. She had no idea of what to do anymore. Did she go back to being the sex-crazed flirt of her youth? Should she be more mature and responsible? She didn't even know if they were dating or just fucking. She was all over the place throughout the morning when she met with clients. A couple asked if she was ok. So by the time she made her appointment with her divorce lawyer, she was starting to panic.

Several of the Brunch Bitches recommended her lawyer. They used words like "awesome" and "terrifying," which Samantha guessed were good recommendations.

When Samantha made an appointment, the lawyer's admin asked if she could meet her boss at a Tim Hortons. She had a meeting nearby, which would save her time. Samantha arrived about 10 minutes early, more nervous than anything else. It was a Timmy's that had seen better days. Everything felt dated and worn. While staff might have been trying to keep it clean, the years made their efforts ineffective. She felt out of place in her dress and heels.