Polly Wants a Lover, page 1
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Polly Wants a Lover
Copyright © 2024 Penelope Holt
All rights reserved.
ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-964636-23-8
Inkspell Publishing
207 Moonglow Circle #101
Murrells Inlet, SC 29576
Edited By Toni Kelley
Cover Art By Fantasia Frog Designs
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DEDICATION
For the ones I love
CHAPTER 1: CAUGHT
Polly checked the time—2:00 p.m. She’d seen Christian and the blonde go into the bar over an hour ago. They still hadn’t come out. She couldn’t hang around much longer. She was scheduled to give a dance class in thirty minutes, and even if she left this second, she’d have to drive pedal to metal to make it back to the studio in time. Finally, at 2:04 p.m., right as she was about to give up and leave, the door of the Oasis bar suddenly opened, and Christian emerged with his blonde companion. When they’d entered earlier, the pair had seemed all business, but now they looked decidedly cozier, and Christian was definitely more handsy. Polly watched as her husband slid his palm down the back of the blonde’s coral silk blouse, over her slim waist to rest where the fabric of her gray pencil skirt pulled tight across her curvy butt.
Looks like the beers have loosened you up, Polly thought, as she crouched down in the driver’s side seat of her car. The blonde reached up and put both arms around Christian’s neck, lifting one foot in its high-heeled shoe off the ground. She raised her chin, seeking his lips with her own. Polly witnessed her husband look furtively from side to side to see if anyone was watching. She ducked down further, though she doubted he could spot her. She’d parked at the far end of a row in a space where she could see but not be seen. She held her breath to keep a wave of hurt from washing over her. Right before her eyes, she watched the man she loved make out with a woman she hadn’t known existed until today. She saw him playfully cap off their long kiss by biting the woman’s bottom lip, before escorting her across the lot to where they had parked their cars side by side. Chris got in his Jeep and took off, but the blonde lingered. Polly shifted in her seat, squinting to watch her husband’s mistress apply a fresh coat of lipstick to replace the one Christian had kissed off. When she’d finished her touch-up, the blonde checked her phone, then started her BMW X3 and pulled out of the parking space.
Polly knew it was a bad idea, but she had to follow. “Okay, Blondie, who are you and where are you headed?” she muttered, as she started her Subaru and began slowly trailing her rival through the parking lot. Keeping a safe distance, she only hit the gas when the BMW made a quick left onto the main road, right as the light changed. Too intent on the chase and her runaway thoughts, Polly didn’t notice the stop sign and sped through it. A sudden loud and urgent car horn startled her and she instinctively slammed on her brakes, managing to slow her Subaru enough that when it hit the oncoming pick-up truck her airbag didn’t deploy. Shoot! She got out of her vehicle at the same time the other driver leapt out of his to examine his fender.
Polly held up both hands in surrender. No contest, she was the guilty party. “Sorry, sorry. My fault, I know.” She glanced over and in a quick second became mesmerized by the vision before her. A tall, muscular male specimen in tight jeans, chambray cotton shirt, and work boots, made his way toward her. He started to say something, probably along the lines of ‘Why the hell can’t you watch where you’re going?’ which she absolutely deserved. Instead, his lips curved upward, revealing a spectacular smile. Polly leaned over to examine the damage. The pick-up’s front fender was already marred with a few dents, so it was hard to tell which, if any, were a result of the collision. Her Subaru, however, was a different matter. The passenger-side fender was crumpled and the headlight broken. “How’s your truck?” Polly asked, knowing full well he could easily claim against her insurance for any existing damage he decided to blame on her. The guy ran his hand along the shiny metal, his long, strong fingers feeling its ripples, pits, and small dents. “Doesn’t look like anything much on mine, but yours is pretty banged up,” he said, eyeing the smashed plastic of her bumper.
Polly sighed. “No one to blame but myself. So, do you want my insurance information?”
“Nah, you’re good,” he said.
Polly detected a hint of pity in his voice, along with a slight southern accent. He nodded toward her bumper. “You might be better off just getting a good body shop to work that out for you. Leave your insurance out of it. Could be cheaper that way.”
“You sure you’re okay with that? I know it was my fault,” Polly offered. The benevolent stranger nodded. Hit with a wave of relief, Polly caught a loose lock of her black hair blowing in the summer breeze and tucked it behind her ear. She lifted a hand to shield her green eyes from the afternoon sun and looked toward the main road. She hoped to spot the blonde, but she was long gone. Looks like you busted up my marriage and my car, she thought to herself. Turning her attention back to the victim of her careless driving, she suddenly became aware of a flutter in her stomach, as she took in more of his appeal. Maybe a hair under six foot, he was slim but with a muscular build, dark curly hair, deep blue eyes, and a slight scruff on his strong jaw. Cute. Very cute.
“Listen,” Polly said, “let me give you my number in case you change your mind and need to reach me.” The guy pulled out his phone from his back pocket, then pulled up the number pad and handed it to her. She keyed in her number and passed it back to him. She held out her other hand. “I’m Polly.”
“Marcus.” He shook her outstretched hand with a firm grip. “Look, I’m sorry you got the worst of it. A Subaru is no match for a pick-up.”
Polly checked the time again, 2:20 p.m. There was no way she’d make it back in time to give the private dance lesson. She’d just have to pray Maria hadn’t left the studio and could cover for her. She had to get going. “Marcus, thanks for doing me a solid. I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” He smiled, then walked around the Subaru and opened the driver’s side door for her. This small, chivalrous act charmed her. “Thanks,” she said, sliding in behind the wheel. When she pulled away, he slapped the Subaru’s roof twice as a send-off. Waiting for the light to turn green, Polly looked in her rearview mirror to see Marcus. He looked ruggedly handsome, as he stood next to his pick-up truck, watching her drive off. A couple of miles down the road, she heard the familiar ping of an incoming text.
Marcus- Hi Polly, it’s Marcus.
Again, she felt a tell-tale flutter in her stomach as she scanned his message.
Marcus- Sorry about what happened. I’ve got a friend who works at a body shop. He could do the work for a good price. Let me know if you need his name.
Polly stopped at a drive-thru to order a coffee. She dialed the studio. “Hello, Maria? Thank goodness you’re still there. I need you to cover my private lesson with the Parkers.”
“No need. They called earlier to cancel,” Maria informed her. “Where you at?”
“Great! I’m over in Portchester. I got into a fender bender.”
Maria gasped. “No way! You okay? How bad was the other vehicle? Were they hurt?” she asked, worried.
“Yeah, I’m fine. We’re both fine. His truck barely had a scratch. My Subaru, on the other hand, didn’t get off so lucky,” Polly said with a sigh. “Don’t worry, it’s still drivable. I’ve got a full schedule tomorrow, so I’ll be in early.”
“Okay. Glad everyone is okay. Later.” Maria hung up.
***
On the ride home, Polly thought about the distressing scene she’d witnessed outside the bar. The accident in the parking lot with the handsome pick-up driver had distracted her from the upset that was finally starting to wash over her. Christian was cheating on her. And worse than that. No, she thought, nothing could be worse than that, but just as bad was how she’d fallen for his lies, and all the cheap tricks that cheaters play. Lately, whenever Polly questioned him about his strange behavior or caught him in a small lie, he’d twist the conversation and act like he was the accuser instead of the accused. “Why are you acting paranoid and suspicious?” he’d complain, insisting he had nothing to hide. And for the most part, Polly had bought his excuses and cover stories. But a nagging intuition had told her things weren’t right between them. Still, she resisted playing the jealous wife. She didn’t check his laptop or cell phone for texts, or other evidence he might be up to something. And so far, she hadn’t lingered in any doorways to e
Back when they were first married, they had made a pact that they would never cheat on each other. On a lazy Sunday morning in bed, Polly had sat astride a naked Christian. “If one of us wants out, then we speak up,” she’d said. “We lay it all out and go our separate ways, but no sneaking around. Agreed?”
With his hands cupping her bare breasts, he’d nodded, distracted. “Agreed.”
A few weeks back, Polly had reminded Christian of the promise they had made to each other. “We have to be honest and willing to talk about any problems in the marriage.”
“I know,” he’d said, waving her off. “Nothing’s changed. Stop being weird.”
That morning, when she’d set out for work, Polly hadn’t planned to follow Christian and spy on him. It just so happened that as she was leaving the studio to grab a salad for lunch, she’d noticed his gym bag on her car’s back seat. He must have left it there the day before when he’d borrowed the car. His last stop after work was always the gym for a workout, so he’d be needing the bag. She thought about calling his office to let him know she had it, but changed her mind. She’d drop it off in person instead. When she’d pulled up to the office where Christian worked, she’d arrived just in time to see him leave the building, cross the parking lot, and get into his black Jeep. So, she’d followed. I’ll surprise him and we can have lunch together, she’d thought, realizing right away that she was lying to herself. The forgotten gym bag was just an excuse to check up on him and find a way to confirm her suspicions.
Polly had tailed Christian for a good twenty minutes before he’d pulled up to his destination—a dive bar called the Oasis that was situated in a small strip mall. That’s when she first noticed the blonde. She was waiting in the parking lot, and when she saw Christian drive up, she got out of her BMW to greet him. Just a chaste kiss hello. Could be innocent, Polly had thought, as she spied on them from her hiding place. The sexy stranger might be a client or a prospect. But then she watched as Christian held the bar door open for her. He looked around to see if anyone was watching them, and Polly’s heart sank. There was something in his look that signaled he was up to no good. She had debated following the pair inside but talked herself out of it. Get a grip. You can’t just barge in. What will you say? “Well hi there, Blondie, I’m Christian’s wife. What are you up to, looking so tasty on this fine day?” If this was a legit client meeting, Christian would be furious at her for spying on him. Instead, she’d stayed in her car, anxiously watching and waiting until they came out. Then, she’d witnessed them kiss, a lovers’ kiss that confirmed what she had known for months—Christian was cheating on her and lying about it.
Polly pulled into the driveway of the townhouse she and Christian had bought three years earlier and exited her banged-up car. She unlocked the front door and made her way to the kitchen. She spied the chicken she’d left to defrost on the kitchen island and returned it to the fridge. Christian was headed out of town in the morning for business, so as a treat, she had planned to cook him one of his favorite dishes, coq au vin, and serve it with the mid-priced Bordeaux he loved. Change of plans, she thought, as she opened the bottle of red and poured herself a glass. Yes to drinking, no to cooking. She wandered upstairs to the bedroom and opened her dresser drawer. Wrapped in tissue paper was the pale blue, lace-trimmed, silk nightie she had bought especially for tonight. She had eyed it just days earlier in a high-end lingerie store in the mall. The sexy underwear had brought back memories of long, sensuous nights with Christian, and how he had always responded to her beauty and seduction. One sultry evening, soon after they had begun dating, Polly had swapped out the T-shirt and boy shorts she typically wore to bed for a silk teddy with matching panties that she’d bought on a whim. Christian’s eyes had widened, as he watched her stand in the bedroom’s doorway, arm reaching up, while she leaned against the door frame, the other hand placed firmly on her cocked hip. She had curled her black hair and topped off her subtle make-up with a pop of bright pink lipstick. “Hello,” she purred, as a tumble of curls fell over one eye. She watched how his body responded. “Hell yeah,” he’d said hungrily. “You look like a goddess. Get over here, now.”
They’d just started seeing each other and the sex was great, but that night, as Polly tried on her new persona as a glamorous vixen, their love making had hit a new level. She had always loved Hollywood’s great sex sirens—Marilyn, of course, Rita Hayworth, Jane Russell, and later, Brigitte Bardot. Much of her passion for dance and musical theater had come from watching Hollywood bombshells perform in unforgettable musicals. Who could resist Marilyn singing Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend? Or Rita Hayworth shimmying to Put the Blame on Mame, Boys? On that night, six years ago, Polly’s sexy dress-up, and Christian’s response, had unlocked a deep sensuality in her that made her feel feminine, beautiful, and powerful.
As Polly had stood in the mall, studying the blue silk nightie in the store window, she had thought back to that long-ago steamy night, and started fretting about the insecurities that now routinely racked her. Maybe it’s my fault, she told herself. Maybe all my suspicions and harping are creating distance and stifling the sex. She visualized herself in the soft, silky garment that was draped on the mannequin in the display. The deep V-neck and shoestring straps would show off her breasts that were surprisingly round and full against her dancer’s otherwise lean body. The hem would graze her crotch and touch the top of her long, toned legs that Christian loved to lift and wrap around him.
Inside the store, Polly had handed the sales assistant her credit card, and left with the pink bag containing the confection of tissue paper and pale blue silk. On the drive home, she had psyched herself up. Let’s see if this can work some magic.
Now, Polly set her wine glass down on the bedroom dresser. Her lingering doubts and worries about her marriage had crushed her self-confidence. Once hot nights in bed with Christian were growing colder. They still had sex, and he was still hungry for her, but his desire seemed fleeting, and once satisfied, she could see how his thoughts turned elsewhere. Today, in the parking lot, she’d gotten an eyeful of his mistress, so at least she knew now why he was so distracted, and where his thoughts went when he had that distant look on his face.
She took the blue nightie from her dresser drawer and unfolded the sexy garment. Now it only mocked her naive notion that she could fix her marriage with a home-cooked meal and a night of smoldering sex in lacy lingerie. In the mirror, she caught sight of her frowning face and saw early signs of elevens, the two vertical worry lines between her eyes. She thought about the last few months and Christian’s guilty behavior. More than once, he’d come home in the early morning hours, claiming business meetings had kept him out late. He kept his phone on him at all times, clearly worried that she might get her hands on it and discover something damning. And he was throwing off a strange energy. Sometimes distant, and then, at other times, almost too affectionate, like he was compensating for something. “Penny for your thoughts,” she would say, when she caught him with a far-away look in his eye, but he would brush her off. “Just work stuff.”
Instead of acknowledging the signs that her husband was cheating, it had been easier to put the blame on herself and vow to work harder at fixing a marriage she hadn’t broken. She smoothed away the frown lines with her finger and talked to her reflection in the mirror. “You’re not a kid anymore, Polly. You’re coming up on thirty-three. You’ve given Christian six of your best years. Don’t waste any more on what can’t be saved.” But even as she said this, she was filled with insecurity. On what planet would she ever be able to walk away from Christian Caldwell? Handsome, successful, going places, with the world at his feet. He had captured her heart long ago, and she worried that now, even after he'd broken it, she wouldn’t be able to take it back from him. Balling up the nightie, she crushed the soft fabric and crammed it in the drawer.
She took a sip of wine and eyed the time. It was almost four o’clock. Great, she was day drinking. Well, she thought, a girl is entitled to drown her sorrows when she catches her husband groping his side piece, chases after her, and winds up running her new car into a pick-up truck. She made her way back to the living room and flopped onto the couch. She let the tears come. Christian would be home around 7:00 p.m., giving her about three hours to decide how to handle this debacle. Her instinct was to ready her claws, fly at him, and call him out for the no-good jerk he was, but instinctively she knew this approach wouldn’t get her anywhere. As it was, Christian probably had enough wiggle room to mount a credible defense against her accusations. If she confronted him now, he would swear Blondie was a business associate; convince her that it was all just a silly misunderstanding, and she was a paranoid idiot. No, she had to grit her teeth and say nothing, until she could put together an iron-clad case, and confront her cheating husband with so much evidence there was no way he could worm his way out of it.
