Husband Stay (Husband #2) Read online

  I resumed my blue velour seat and waited for them to call my name, hoping I could put the whole embarrassing evening behind me. But a relentlessly truthful part of me wanted to acknowledge that Jack and I had shared a moment.

  And why was that? I didn’t even like him as a person. He was crass and uncouth. There was nothing sexy about that. He’d vomited on my shoes for goodness sake. And as for his crude proposition back there in his hospital room? That spoke volumes about his attitude to women.

  But the more I railed against him, the more my mind dished up snippets of what could be: of me running a hand down that smooth, muscular chest, and lower, beneath the sheets. And him, pulling me onto the bed to straddle him, kissing me until my hair tumbled around us like a dark screen, hiding our carnal activities from the world.

  I didn’t like him at all, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how big and sexy he was, and how I wanted to feel his strong hands on my body.

  Was I that sex starved?

  “Mrs. Lata. Angela Lata.”

  Oh thank goodness. I stood, straightening my dress with my good hand. I had more important things to worry about than a drunken cowboy—like how I’d pay my rent if I couldn’t work.

  But as I followed the harried doctor into his consultation room, I had an uncomfortable premonition that my attraction to Jack was a symptom of deeper emotional issues. I’d always been ‘a good girl’, and had thought that living a moral life would make me happy. I’d even imagined that my sex life with Danny had been satisfying.

  But as I sat in the patient’s chair and waited to hear what my x-rays had revealed, I knew I’d been lying to myself.

  I was a faker, and maybe I deserved a cheating husband. The only orgasms I’d ever had were the ones I’d given myself on the sly. You could hardly call that a ‘satisfying sex life’. And now my husband had found someone who probably enjoyed his attentions more than I had.

  I’d never told anyone that I was faking orgasms, not even my closest girlfriends. They would have blamed Danny. But it wasn’t his fault. I’d just started off wrong, wanting to please him with my enthusiasm, thinking all that moaning was sexy, and then I hadn’t known how to be truthful. As the years rolled by, I got used to masturbating when he wasn’t there.

  I’d been dishonest.

  And it had made me feel ashamed of myself—ashamed of my sexuality—so much so, that when our marriage ended, a part of me was relieved that I could finally stop worrying that he’d discover me with my hand down my pants and the whole thing would blow up in my face.

  I missed our companionship, but if I was honest with myself, the way things had played out was easier to cope with. In society’s eyes, he was clearly the bad guy in the story, so I was off the hook.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t leave me a lot of clarity about future relationships. And my attraction to Jack—of all people—muddied the water further.

  As I watched the doctor clip my X-rays up onto a light screen, I came to grips with the idea that if I wanted to have a child—children—I needed to marry again. I needed to get into a sexual relationship.

  I had to find a husband, a good father for my children, and I’d always imagined the perfect candidate would be someone like Danny—cute, charming and undemanding—someone I could forget when he walked out the door and focus on again when he came home.

  That way I’d be able to give all my time and love to my babies, who I knew would be the great loves of my life. I’d never imagined being with someone I couldn’t stop thinking about, couldn’t keep my hands off, someone so sexy I actually wanted to have sex with him. That would be hopelessly distracting.

  The doctor started talking and I nodded at appropriate intervals—clean break, six-week plaster cast. I should have been asking questions, worrying about the future, something. But I just sat and listened, took his prescription for pain killers and went to wait in the plaster section where they’d put on my cast.

  It seemed crazy to be grateful for a broken wrist, but it was actually a good thing that a chance encounter with a drunk had brought all my sexual problems to a head. I couldn’t go on faking orgasms for the rest of my life. I’d go nuts.

  But what if I couldn’t find someone who turned me on? Someone decent, I amended, shuddering as I remembered Jack’s projectile vomiting. I didn’t have a decade to look around. At thirty-five, my biological clock was ticking. And if I ended up with someone who didn’t turn me on, could I tolerate the sexual half-life I’d already been living for the sake of a family?

  Or would that drive me slowly mad?

  You’re getting out of Sydney tomorrow. That will clear your head.

  I was scheduled to sing at the launch of Fritha’s new tea house Bohemian Brew in Belandera tomorrow night. But remembering that raised the question of how I was going to drive there.

  I glanced at my watch. I’d been in the hospital for hours and it was nearly 6am—not a completely unreasonable hour to phone a friend, and I knew which one I wanted to spend quality time with.

  I loved my three girls equally, but this wasn’t something I could talk to Louella or Fritha about. Louella didn’t discuss sex. Ever. And Fritha would be so eager to help, it would be embarrassing. Jill, on the other hand was carelessly blunt, so if I got in too deep, I could tell her to shut up—nicely—and her feelings wouldn’t be hurt.

  Ten rings later she answered, sounding sleepy. “Ange.”

  “I’m in hospital. I broke my wrist singing.”

  “As you do.” I heard scrabbling, then a clunk. “Where are you honey? I’m coming.”

  “St Vincent’s, but don’t. What if I fly to you and we go to the launch together? I can’t drive.”

  “Sure. Let’s do that,” she said, exactly as I’d hoped. Her soon-to-be-husband Finn had a property at Byron Bay, and they were trying out a trendy surfer lifestyle.

  I was just feeling relieved and wondering where I’d packed my bikini—before I remembered I had to keep the cast dry—when she said, “I can ring Louella to come too, and we can all go to the launch together.”

  “Oh.”

  That wasn’t at all what I’d wanted.

  “Or not. Do you want me alone?”

  I loved girlfriends. They were so perceptive. “Yes I do. I’m at a bit of a crossroads.”

  “And I make such good choices, you thought I could give sage advice.”

  We both laughed at that. Jill’s road to happily-ever-after had been a minefield of blow-up-in-your-face decisions. But still, she knew me, probably better than anyone. “It’s delicate.”

  “And I’m so discreet. Right. This has to be about sex.”

  Okay. So sometimes it wasn’t fabulous being read like a book. “Don’t tell the girls.”

  “Are you fucking someone?”

  I clutched my phone closer to my ear. “Is Finn listening to this?”

  “He’s asleep and I’m in the kitchen. I’m not completely indiscreet.”

  I chose not to argue with that. “Thank you, and no, I’m not. This is just about…future options.”

  “If this is about Doug, I’m not keen to rehash his performance.”

  Doug?

  Why would she mention her ex-boyfriend?

  The last time I’d seen Doug he’d been roaring drunk and jealous as hell about Finn. I’d felt sorry for him—he’d always been so lovely to Jill while they’d been together—so I’d tried to comfort him, but he certainly wasn’t on my radar.

  Unfortunately, before I could say that, she went on with, “I don’t want Finn getting jealous, and it’s bad form to kiss and tell. Even for a blabber like me.”

  “Good.” I was glad she respected Doug that much. They’d been together for ten years, and he was a very nice man. I liked him, and I knew he found me attractive—he’d said as much when he was drunk. But, “I’m not considering Doug.” At least, not at the moment.

  Her breath came out on a gust. “Thank God. Because I didn’t call him Doug the Dud for nothing. You need a hot guy
. Someone who makes you howl.”

  So much for no kiss-and-tell.

  I swallowed down embarrassment and glanced around myself, glad to see that no one had sat in close proximity while I hadn’t been watching. The hospital was reasonably deserted at this hour and that suited me well. Jill got loud when she was excited.

  I lowered my voice, hoping she’d take the hint. “Let’s talk when I get there.”

  “Sure. Come anytime today. I’ll pick you up at the airport. We don’t leave for Belandera until tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Fabulous.” Just talking to Jill on the phone made me feel better. I wanted to be inside her feisty hug, laughing at her outrageous sense of humor, feeling loved and accepted. Of the four of us, she was the most likely to understand sexual confusion. It was a good plan. “I’ll text you the details of my flight.”

  It was all straightforward after that. I booked my flight on my phone while I waited for my cast—which was surprisingly light once it was on. Then I headed for the desk to sign out so I could catch a taxi home. Unfortunately, that’s where everything came unstuck.

  “—must be a mistake,” I said patiently. “I’ve always had the top hospital cover. My husband pays for it out of…” I trailed off as sudden tendrils of fear snaked through me.

  Danny was technically still my husband until the divorce finalized, but that didn’t mean he was obligated to cover me with his medical insurance. For all I knew, he might have taken me off the policy as soon as I moved out. Payments had always come out of his salary, so I never gave it a thought.

  And I should have.

  “How much is the bill?” I asked tentatively.

  The clerk looked down at her computer, clicked a few buttons and said, “Five thousand, four hundred and thirty dollars.”

  All I could do was blink, moving from cold to numb. I’d just paid the registration and insurance on my car. I had six thousand dollars to my name. My financial settlement with Danny wouldn’t go through until our house sold. It would be months before I saw that money.

  So how could I survive the coming weeks with five hundred dollars and no job?

  I couldn’t.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I stared at the accounts clerk behind her counter and she simply stared back at me, as if she had all day to wait while I stressed about money. I’d been counting on singing and deli work to keep my buffer of five thousand dollars intact. Paying this bill and having less than a thousand felt like a terrifyingly vulnerable situation to be in.

  “I don’t have that amount…readily accessible,” I added, so I wouldn’t look like a charity case. “Can I take an account and—”

  “I’m sorry, no.” She pointed at a sign next to the reception desk. All accounts must be finalized on departure.

  “But I came in through emergency. In an ambulance. I didn’t see that.”

  “You asked for private medical treatment. If you’d gone to the public section of the hospital—”

  “Okay. I understand.”

  I suddenly felt very tired. It was nearly seven am and I’d been awake for twenty-four hours.

  “I’ll have to call someone.” I reached into my handbag for my phone. “I’ll get a credit card number for you.”

  The clerk nodded and went back to typing, as if I’d ceased to exist. In her defense, that could have been to give me space so I wouldn’t feel embarrassed. But it made me feel even more alone than I actually was.

  I looked at my contacts list, wondering if I could bring myself to ask one of my friends to front the money so I’d still have my safety buffer. Jill had ploughed most of her savings into her tea shop Bohemian Brew, which Fritha was managing, and Fritha lived week to week.

  Louella was rich, but she and I had been in competition since we’d both married. Admittedly, we were both in the process of divorcing, so neither of us was going to win a ‘perfect wife’ contest. And neither of us were mothers. Yet. The only thing that separated us irrevocably was money. Danny and I had been ‘middle class’. Louella and Marcus were wealthy.

  I hadn’t let that get to me, and in fact, I’d told myself money was irrelevant. But if I asked her to bail me out, that would mean she’d won. I knew it was stupid to feel that way—Jill would kick me up the backside if I dared mention it—but I simply couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ring Louella and listen to mock sympathy covering triumph. It would ruin us as friends.

  There had to be another way. So to buy myself time I said, “I’m just going to the toilet. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  The clerk nodded absently and watched me for a few second to be sure I wasn’t heading for the exit. Then she returned to her computer and I decided to distract myself with a first toilet experience in a plaster cast. I had to do it sometime. And Jill had always told me a good pee clears the mind.

  Before I reached the ladies’ rest room, however, I saw the sturdy nurse who’d bossed me into visiting Jack.

  She nodded in recognition. “Good job of cheering him up,” she said, completely straight faced.

  I blinked in surprise. Was she reprimanding me? “I beg your pardon. That creep—”

  “Was spaced out on morphine. He would have said anything.”

  Oh. Okay.

  That wasn’t what I’d expected.

  But still, I rallied. “He was drunk when I met him, so excuse me for not realizing—”

  “He wasn’t drunk,” she snapped. “He was having an allergic reaction to antibiotics. He barely drinks at all, according to his chart. He’s an athlete. An Olympic Gold medalist.”

  “Oh.” Oh. I didn’t know where to go from there, until good manners forced me to say, “I’m sorry. No one told me.”

  She nodded again, an abrupt jerk of the head, reminding me of my mother’s old white corgi. “His parents are elderly and they live out west. They can’t come in. So he’s alone.”

  I stared at her disbelievingly. Did she want me to go back in there? No way. Of course I felt a pang of sympathy for his parents being so far away from him, as mine were from me, but I wasn’t about to let my marshmallow heart get me into any more trouble. I’d booked a flight. I had to go.

  “I’m sorry about that, but I have my own problems.”

  She raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

  “My ex-husband cut off my health insurance.” I held up my plastered wrist. “So I’ve got to find five grand to pay for this. Damage that Jack’s responsible for, by the way. And considering I won’t be able to work until this comes off, I’m not feeling particularly charitable toward him right now.”

  Okay, that was bitchy, but aforesaid tiredness was catching up with me.

  She nodded. “Up to you whether you visit him again.” But she pinned me with an I think you should gaze before she marched off on those rubber heels nurses sneak around on.

  “I’m not,” I said to her retreating back, but quietly enough that she wouldn’t hear me. It wasn’t her fault that she’d provoked me with her ridiculous suggestion.

  Go back in there.

  As if.

  But the moment after I thought, When hell freezes over, my reckless imagination saw me back in his room, up on his bed, doing things that would not be allowed in a hospital. Things I hadn’t imagined doing with any man, like licking my way down his stomach, below the sheet to…

  I shuddered and closed my eyes, but it wasn’t a shudder of revulsion. It was a shudder of Shiva protect me from my own mind. Because I didn’t do oral sex. It was unsanitary. And unnecessary. You didn’t make babies that way. I’d been very happily avoiding that for the last twenty years. So I had no idea why I’d be fantasizing about it now, imagining I’d enjoy it.

  It was ridiculous.

  I shuddered again, and forced myself to look around for the restroom. When I saw it, I marched on in, and after some awkwardness getting my dress up and panties down one-handed, I had a good, long pee. Which, exactly as Jill said, did clear my mind.

  I needed to get out of the hospital. And the only way
they’d let me do that was by paying the bill. There was no way around that. I’d be short on funds but I could work something out. Jill would help with ideas. She was smart. I wasn’t alone in this.

  So I made my way back to the admin desk, emptied my savings account to pay the bill, and on the way out, spent a precious ten dollars in the hospital pharmacy buying a pair of cheap flip-flops which I wore to the bus stop, trying to ignore the curious glances of other commuters.

  Thankfully, the trip back to my cousin’s apartment was fast and far less expensive than a taxi would have been. Kamal was still home, and after hearing my tale of woe, he offered to drive me to the airport on his way to work, even though it would make him late.

  I wanted to hug him, but he was twenty-five and oversexed enough without me giving him mixed signals. He looked on me as an older sister which suited me perfectly, and I was grateful that he was accommodating enough to let me stay in his guestroom until I ‘found my feet’, whenever that was.

  As we got into his nippy little Mazda sports car in the basement of his apartment block, I glanced across at him and suddenly realized that other women would think Kamal was cute. He went to the gym and had pretty brown eyes which had lured many a girl home to have noisy sex in the bedroom next to me.

  Last Saturday night I’d even overheard him professing that Hindus were taught the Kama Sutra, which had made me smile—for the first time in a long time. But as for my own sexual reaction to him? Nada. Zip. Nothing. Which was good. He was my cousin. But in the wake of the debacle with Jack, I felt suddenly confused about men and that distracted me from conversation as we drove to the airport.

  Was my libido waking up? Would I find all sorts of men attractive now? Or was it only Jack who turned me on? Kamal pulled up outside Departures and caught me staring at him. He frowned back.

  “Are you okeydokey, Missy Diva?” he said in a faux Mumbai accent, complete with head-wobbling.