Rocketship

Chapter Nine: you're not really his type

Nikki's POV:

"Go play," I shooed Gunner and Storm in the direction of the playground as Tommy and I took a seat on a nearby park bench. Decker sat beside me, drinking a juice box, while little Brandon was sound asleep in his stroller (he slept through his first ever visit to the park).

Tommy wanted to give Pam the afternoon off (god knew she needed a bit of respite), so he decided to tag along with the kids and I.

Since Marci was off duty that day, I thought what better way to tire out the kids than taking them to the park; nap time would prove to be no match for me.

Not a moment after we sat down, Tommy nudged me with his elbow and asked, "So, you and Donna?" with quirked eyebrow, accusatory stare and all.

I rolled my eyes. "There isn't a me and Donna."

"You're..." his eyes darted to Decker, and Decker made eye contact with him, then Tommy lowered his voice to a whisper "You're fucking — that makes you a "you and Donna.""

Okay, so maybe he was right. There was a me and Donna... kind of.

A few weeks ago, in an hour of restless self-loathing, I dug up the crumpled scrap of paper with Donna's number on it and dialed her up.

"You finally called..." I could practically hear her swoon over the phone, and I started having second thoughts about calling.

"Just taking you up on your offer... to talk." Although I had no intention of talking.

"Oh, I see... you want to "talk"" she said suggestively.

She readily gave me what I thought I needed — quick fucks, an ego boost, control, distraction — and she did a hell of a good job, I will admit.

Donna liked it rough, Fuck me hard, she'd beg and I'd give to her. The sex was primal and devoid of intimacy, which was the exact thing I wanted.

"It's just casual man... we —" I paused and covered Decker's ears even though I knew he had no idea what we were talking about. "— fucked a few times. Nothing more than that."

Which was the truth. I was in no shape to try to strike up anything serious, and initially I felt slightly guilty for using her. Donna, however, insisted that she felt the same way, I don't want anything serious Nikki, I promise... and just like that, we had become fuck buddies.

I knew it was a risky game to play with the divorce still going through — midday rendezvous while Marci watched the kids, avoiding paparazzi — for some reason, the thought of Marci finding out gave me a weird taste in my mouth; she'd think I was a sleaze (the irony lied in the fact that 15 years ago, I was proud to wear the title of sleaziest mother fucker).

I never told Marci about the details of my divorce, but I knew if she found out I was messing around with Donna, she'd have no trouble painting a vivid picture of the "why," assuming I was an asshole husband that couldn't keep it in his pants.

My "infidelity" didn't kill my marriage. My marriage died, and I cheated to cope.

"And why would it be so bad if it was a something?" Tommy asked, pulling me out of my head.

I could probably list a hundred and one reasons why it was a bad idea, but I settled on, "I'm in the middle of getting divorced, T."

"Well, you got me there."

I knew it would be in everyone's best interest if I just stayed single for awhile, plain and simple... but that also didn't mean I had to sprain my hand to keep myself satisfied.