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Despite having their warm bodies beside her and all the covers on, she felt like she was lying outside on a field of fresh snow.I'm sorry. Please come back... Richard's words echoed in her head. What did he mean?Something was wrong.I was with Joel. She had told them, at least twice. But they had misunderstood, given the late hour. No one would sweep aside such lack of faith and trust so easily. It was a dream, or a joke, or a misunderstanding, but it was not reality. Morning would come, and the truth would be bright and ugly. There was no coming back. How could she accept an apology when she had been the one to go so wrong?The breathing grew louder in the dark. The scrapes and bruises that had settled down to being mere aches suddenly stung and felt red. Nausea crept over her, and she felt overwhelmingly stifled between Richard and Sandra.Suddenly she ripped the covers off and struggled to climb over Sandra to reach the floor. She had to leave them here sleeping, before they woke up. So he had resigned himself to the idea that she would only ever be an object of fantasy for him, and even then the flirtation between them could never be the same, all the delicious thrill of anticipation and maybes and what ifs had passed in a clumsy coup-de-grace to his desire. He was surprised to realise how much of the sparkle it took from his life, how much he had needed that edge of excitement that reminded him so much of teenage years, when he had been a walking hormone factory completely out of control at the first signal of feminine interest. Work became busier yet seemed more mundane, his social circle extended itself but seemed to be full of pointless people who really didn’t grab his imagination. Of course, his sex life with his wife was still good, but then it usually was. It was with relief he looked at the memo in front of him and picked up the phone. The memo was about setting up a night out on the town for a small group of them who had joined the company around the.
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