She sat in her car, staring up at the Motel 6. After begging her boss to let her off early, she almost wished he would have said no. If her boss knew what she was up to, he probably would have.
"I shouldn't be here," she whispered to herself, staring at the motel key Steve gave to her.
But she also knew she wanted to be. The same battle she has every Sunday night at about nine thirty. It's always the same. Leave work two hours early, come spend time with Steve. It's become as easy as blinking; automatic, and doesn't take a lot of effort.
But, at the same time, She knows what's waiting for her when she gets home. Her husband, who sits on his beloved recliner, who flips between ESPN 1 and ESPN 2. He barely notices she's there, unless he needs a refil on his beer. Why does she even need to be there?
Why is she constantly seeking love from a man who won't even look at her, when Steve...
Ah, Steve. He saw her at Starbucks one day, and sat at her table because she looked lonely. "I would love to help you, Carly," he winked at her. "You look like you could use a friend."
Seems he wanted to give her more. So much more. And always did...
But now, she felt guilty. Now, she wondered if she should even continue what she's doing. Sure, her husband hardly shows her attention, but...Carlie felt she could do so much better for him and-
She jumped at the sound of her phone. Flipping it open, she said, "Hello?"
"Hey, Carlie. How's work?"
She smiled at the sound of her husband's voice. "Good."
"Can you bring home a case? We've run out. Thanks."
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Carlie got out of the car, and headed for the motel room where she could get the love she craved.