Heat Me Up
480 Words
I woke up with my panties clinging to me like regret after tequila. My wand lay dead next to me, blinking like it had been through battle. Honestly? It had. I intended to take a shower, but my bed was more compelling.
I groaned, rolled over, and stared at the ceiling fan like it held the answers to my moral crisis. John Jensen. That man was like a damn walking temptation wrapped in khakis and cologne. What the hell is wrong with me?
Oh yeah — everything.
I’m married, remember? Tied up in a comfortable, boring, financially crippled situation with a man who hasn’t touched me like a woman in years. Gerald loves me, sure. But it’s the kind of love you have for your old recliner — reliable, worn out, and still smells like someone else’s farts.
Still, guilt rolled over me like a thundercloud.
But it didn’t last long.
Because as soon as I walked into school, there he was — leaning against the wall like the cover of a damn romance novel. Hair slightly tousled, arms crossed, smirk in place like he knew what I did last night.
"Morning, sunshine," he said, voice like honey poured over sin.
“Good morning,” I muttered, pretending my panties weren’t doing their own happy dance.
“You sleep well?”
He knew.
He freaking knew.
I adjusted my purse strap, faked a cough, and blurted, “Did your nephew turn in his syllabus signature page yet?”
John laughed — low and slow — and stepped a little closer. “Not yet, but I’m sure he will. Eventually.” Then he paused. “Katie… can I take you to lunch this weekend?”
I blinked. Twice.
No one had asked to take me to lunch in years. Not like that. Not with eyes that undressed me while still somehow respecting me.
“I’m married,” I said. The words tasted like dust.
He nodded, not flinching. “I didn’t ask you to run away with me. I asked you to have a meal. You deserve more than cheap casseroles and coupon dinners.”
That stung. Because it was true.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He leaned in and said, “Do more than think, Katie. Live a little.”
And just like that, he walked off.
I spent the rest of the day floating between guilt and giddy. Like a teenager with a crush and a mortgage. At home, Gerald asked me if I could pick up frozen pizza tomorrow. That was his big contribution to dinner plans. A whole $3.78 gesture.
I stared at the receipt on the fridge — the one from the battery John paid for. I traced his handwriting on the envelope.
I didn’t ask for this.
But maybe…
Just maybe…
It’s exactly what I needed.
- Writer
