Enemies with Benefits Read Online J.D. Hollyfield

Categories Genre: Angst, Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
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We both had solid jobs. He was an investment banker. I was a kindergarten teacher. We traveled and lived life. Never took advantage of the moment. I can’t really pinpoint when things started to change. I remember when my intuition kicked in, and I decided not to listen. I loved Chris. He loved me. There was nothing in our marriage that would make him stray. I refused to believe the facts right in front of me.

“I’m sorry. Please. . .”

“You’re not sorry or you would have never done this.” I yank my arm from his grip and walk out of the kitchen.

“Mak, please. It was a mistake. I hate myself for what I’ve done. I’ll do anything—”

I whip around, dizzying myself. “Letting you fool me was the mistake. The lies? You let me believe you were a good man. An honest man. You know what you really are? Pathetic.”

“Mak, I love you—”

“Was it worth it? Was she worth it? What did I possibly do that made you need more?”

“Please,” he reaches for me, and I back away. “She wasn’t worth it. She never meant anything to me, I promise that. It was meaningless.”

“Wow, that makes me feel so much better. You destroyed our marriage for meaningless sex.”

Tears fall from his eyes. “Mak, I fucked up. I’ll do anything. I cut ties with her completely. I told her it was over. I want you. I’ve always only wanted you.”

He had been having an affair for almost a year by the time the truth came out. He broke down and told me details I wish I never knew. By coming clean, he hoped I’d be able to forgive him, and we could mend the damage he caused. At first, I gave in, falling into a what-did-I-do-to-cause-this depression. Had I not given him enough? Was I not beautiful enough? Had I not been enough? What wasn’t I doing that had him seeking another woman to warm his bed?

I allowed him to stay in the house to work things out, but my trust was tarnished. Was he truly at work and not at a hotel? Alone when he traveled? Was he late getting home because he was with her? I was giving myself ulcers from the stress. No reassurance made it better. And it made sense. He was still cheating.

Little mistakes were made. Maybe he wanted me to find out. Maybe his guilt was eating at him too. But still, he denied it all.

At that point, I was done playing the fool. I got a lawyer and filed for divorce. Christopher went crazy, telling me he loved me and wouldn’t stop fighting for me. His version of fighting was borderline stalking. Vandalizing my car. Late night calls. It was too much.

In the mix of all that mess, my father died.

But strangely, it turned out to be a blessing. It brought me home—a place I swore never to come back to—and gave me a fresh start. Away from Christopher. Away from my past. I never expected to be in the position I’m in. A new job. Amazing coworkers. New friendships. I smile at how much my life has turned around the last few weeks.

And hopefully tonight at the open house, my luck will continue, and I’ll get an offer. Celebrate with a nice bottle of win— “What on earth. . .?”

I pull up to my house. “No, no, no. . . what’s all this?” The entire lawn is covered in signs. Pineapple signs. I pull into my driveway and hop out. “What. . .? No. . .!” I run toward the yard and start pulling them up. “Who did this?” I cry out, taking in the covered lawn and ripping another one out. A car pulls up, and I look at the time. Shit. Shit!

I race to pull out the rest of the signs and throw them in the trunk of my car. “Hi! Thanks for coming. It’s a great house. Perfect for large families.” I grab another sign, dropping the one tucked under my armpit. “These darn signs. The company must have gotten the address wrong. I have no idea what these are. I mean. . . I know what pineapples are, but like, who puts pineapples on their lawn?”

Another car arrives, and a couple walks up. “Wow, more than one. We love these kinds of parties.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, swiping at a strand of hair sticking to my sweaty forehead.

“The ad. The pineapple house. We normally only swing with one couple, but we’re up for a new adventure.”

My eyes bulge out. “Say again?”

“Uh, the swinger ad you posted. I hope we’re not too late. You do look like you’d be a fun time. We also brought our handcuffs like you requested,” the woman says, brushing her finger down my shoulder. I stare at her in shock. The sign falls from my hands. A scoff from my other side resonates, and I realize the other couple heard the whole thing.


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