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She rolled her eyes and fixed her bathing suit.

When she walked over to the door she stopped.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“My hair.”

I looked at it.

“What about it?”

She turned toward me.

“Does it look fucked up?”

“Look the same to me.”

“That’s because you’re a man.”

“What the fuck that got to do with anything?”

“Everything.”

She pulled her phone out and started checking herself in the camera.

I leaned against the wall watching her.

Three weeks.

Shit had changed fast.

Thanksgiving was supposed to be it.

At least initially.

I wanted Xay’s wife.

Got her.

Simple.

Except Samantha wasn’t treating Thanksgiving like some horrible mistake.

Neither was I.

We fucked again.

Then again.

Then I took her to eat.

Then she called me after work one night because she’d had a shitty shift and didn’t feel like going straight home.

I picked her up.

We sat in my truck talking damn near an hour.