Chapter 1

Roger stood there at the door, dumbfounded, staring at Sarah as if he saw the Leafs coach chasing down his best player for a high-five. The lingering effects of alcohol and the game’s euphoria still coursed through his body, except for one particular part that, free from Roger's control, eagerly signaled its excitement at seeing Sarah.

“Mmmm,” Sarah purred, her eyes twinkling. “I can see you’re happy to see me. By the way, congrats on the game. Excellent win!”

“Yeah...” Roger mumbled, running a hand through his hair. Summoning his courage, he asked, “What are you doing here, Sarah?”

She smiled mischievously and shot back, “What does it look like, Roger? What the fuck am I doing here in the middle of the night in your hotel room, wearing only this beautiful red dress and nothing underneath? Any guesses?”

She laughed, a sound that was both seductive and mocking. Roger, feeling more than a little uncomfortable in nothing but his underwear, stepped aside to let her enter. He walked to the armchair and sat down, grabbing a bottle of water from the coffee table and gulping it down. The situation was truly bizarre. He felt awkward wearing just his briefs and even more mortified with his excitement trying to stage a jailbreak from them. 

Roger, having put down the bottle, said, “I’m in no shape today for discussions like that, Sarah. I had too much booze...”

Sarah laughed. “Just like the other hockey night when I had to drive you home.”

Roger gave her a look. “Don't be a smartass, Sarah. You drugged me.”

“I did,” she admitted with a shrug. “And lied to you about the sex. I know. But if I had a chance to just spend the night with you in bed again without even a single thought about sex, I would. You smell so nice, Roger...just like freshly baked cookies with a hint of regret.”

Sarah was laying on the charm thick, and Roger immediately noticed.

“Look, the past is the past. It’s gone. I have no intention of any relationship. And I love Bridget,” he said simply. 

Surreal as it was—Sarah standing in her gorgeous red dress, Roger sitting in the armchair in his underwear, and his dick trying to regain its freedom—it felt like the most hilarious and ridiculous scene one could ever observe.

“Yes, you do love her, Roger. I realize that. However, I do see you have feelings for me too, just right there” – she pointed to Roger’s sacred spot and giggled – “That’s why I am offering you a deal. I promise to stay away from your marriage if you give me the occasional weekend in the Bahamas, Bermuda, Mexico, or here in Florida. Just fun, sex, and nothing more. I have my own life to live it to the fullest, and you are only a small part of it. How does that sound?”

Roger listened carefully to Sarah’s sweet speech. He didn’t believe a word she was saying. “Think about it, Roger,” she said, then opened her designer bag, took out an envelope, and threw it on the coffee table. “This will help you decide. I’ll be in touch.” She smiled, turned away, and left. The door closed with a thud.

Roger slowly took the envelope. His intuition whispered that he should throw it right away without even looking inside. Roger hesitated for almost one full minute. Then, his other self, the one who used to face troubles head-on, won. He ripped open the envelope and pulled out three large photographs.

The first showed his wife Bridget and her tennis buddy Caden walking along a hallway that looked like a spa, both in their swimsuits, with Bridget’s hand firmly on Caden's ass. The second was a night shot of Bridget and Caden in a deep kiss on a park bench. The third was another passionate kiss of the two women, this time on the balcony of some hotel.

The first feeling was shock. The second was doubt. The third was a realization that this might be Bridget's payback for his betrayal with Sarah. Roger looked at the photos again. The intimacy was undeniable. However, knowing Sarah, he didn’t trust the photos easily. They looked authentic, but who knows what technology can do these days?

He put the photos back in the envelope, got into bed, and closed his eyes. Sleep didn’t come. Roger thought about the irony of life. Now, just like Bridget had, he found himself with recorded proof of his spouse having an intimate affair. Not just any affair—she hooked up with her best girlfriend!

“What the fuck?” Roger thought. “My wife is gay? Bisexual? Should I feel lucky she didn’t choose Frank for that?” His thoughts buzzed around like bees on caffeine. “Or maybe it’s all bullshit. Bridget kissing Caden, so what? Girls will be girls...”

“Oh, karma, you wicked witch,” he muttered, half expecting a laugh track to start playing. “Just once,” he pleaded to the universe, “can I go a week without my life turning into a fucking circus?” 

While Roger was fuming about his misfortunes, his dick drifted off to sleep, still dreaming of Sarah in that long red dress, and left its master with a simple goodnight message: "Idiot."