The Tenant: A Very Naughty Hotwife Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

bluffing it. There was no way she had anything made, and the more I thought about it, the more I doubted there was any food in our house at all.
    “I am starving,” John said, and I got nervous, as though I had told the lie myself and was about to get caught in it. “But I have to straighten a few things out here, take a shower...” he looked at his watch. “Six. Yeah, six is fine.”
    “Okay,” Anna chirped. She had slammed her beer, somehow, without anyone noticing, and she set the empty bottle on the table. “We'll see you then.”
     
    Anna made wa y for her purse as soon as we were through the door, and pulled a light crocheted sweater over her arms, tossing her hair over her shoulder and rattling keys. “I have to go,” she said. “I have to get something for dinner.”
    “I thought you made something. So much food we couldn't eat it,” I said, in a mocking tone.
    Anna shrugged, unaffected by my teasing. “He wouldn't have come if I...” she let her voice trail off as she dug through her purse for something. She looked up at me. “What do you think? Chicken? Steak?”
    I channeled my inner valley-girl and placed my hand on my hip. “Oh, John, my hot neighbor, come over...I just made too much steak on accident...there were two people and I lost count and just threw, like, ten steaks on the grill...two hours before we were going to eat...ohmygaaaahd.”
    I was being a little bit of an asshole, I could hear it in my voice. Part of me was joking, light-heartedly, but there was a knife's edge of dumb, animal jealousy.
    Anna could go either way with this kind of thing. Sometimes it set off her powder-keg temper, and sometimes she just laughed.
    I waited for her reaction.
    She rolled her eyes. “Okay. Yeah, you're right.” She placed her hand on my chest, in mock-seduction. “You're always. So. Right. ” She was annoyed by my comment, but she was in a good mood. She hopped out of the door, her hand up silently in a gesture of goodbye.
    I stood in the kitchen.
    Anna was not a friendly, invite-the-neighbor-to-dinner type.
    And why was she in such a good mood?
    And why did I find myself thinking of the evening ending with Anna and John pouring me glass after glass of wine, until I passed out in my chair, while Anna lowered herself discreetly under the table, inch by inch, until she was gone. And then John's face contorted with pleasure as she put her mouth around his cock...
    What in the actual fuck was wrong with me?
     
    Anna purchase d insane amounts of prepared food from the deli at an overpriced local market, and ripped open the containers, dumping them into our dishes. She was mildly frantic, ordering me around and then waving me away, the way she did when she really wanted things to be perfect at a dinner party or a presentation.
    I burned with jealousy as I watched her. She seemed not to care that she was acting like this, or care if I noticed. She made no effort to hide that she was fussing about the dinner, or that she was hurrying because she wanted enough time to go upstairs and perform the elaborate beauty rituals that would lead to her coming down the stairs in a t-shirt and jeans, looking very, very natural but having orchestrated the whole look as though it were a photo shoot.
    Anna, after all, was in marketing, and she marketed every single thing. She knew a complete package was the key to sales.
    What in the fuck are you talking about, Brian? Your wife is not selling anything here.
    But did I want her to be?
    A little bit.
    She disappeared upstairs after fretting about whether or not the pesto dish would seem authentically homemade or not if she reheated it, and then she pointed at one of the several bottles of wine (expensive) she had purchased. “Get one of those in the decanter,” she said in parting.
    I knew that I should be suspicious of my wife's behavior, and therefore jealous, and therefore inclined to confront her about what she was doing and how transparent she was being about it.