Twice Between The Sheets (2 Nights A Week)

Chapter 10: Chopsticks, Pho & Pandemonium

Arabella reclined on the edge of the absurdly bouncy waterbed, her patience wearing thin. The cleaning crew had been thorough, as always, but their recent addition to the condo—the second waterbed this month—was pushing her limits. She pressed a hand to the undulating mattress with a grimace. Why does he even like this ridiculous thing?

Her stomach growled audibly, pulling her attention from the aquatic disaster beneath her. She padded to the sleek stainless-steel refrigerator, her silk robe rustling against her legs. With a sharp tug, she opened it to find...nothing. Well, nothing worth eating. A lone bottle of water stood sentinel beside a pint of strawberries.

Arabella frowned, pulling the strawberries out. "Does the fool even eat?" she muttered, inspecting the berries like they might answer her. She'd left the house without cash, her phone battery was dead, and desperation was beginning to outweigh pride. She popped one into her mouth, then another, until she'd polished off the pint.

Back in the living room, her gaze wandered to the stack of DVDs beside the entertainment console. She thumbed through the cases until one title caught her eye: Wonder Woman XXX.

Her lips curled into a wry smile. "Interesting taste in cinema," she murmured, sliding the disc into the player. She settled into the plush sofa, remote in hand, as the TV flickered to life.

At first, it seemed harmless enough: a curvy woman in a two-piece bikini, a tiny red cape fluttering behind her as she posed heroically. Arabella chuckled, charmed by the campiness. But then the scene took a sharp turn. The heroine began a slow, seductive dance, her tan lines gleaming on-screen, and Arabella's amusement turned to horror.

It took a full minute before the realization hit her like a freight train. "This isn't PG," she whispered, eyes wide. She let out a shriek and flung the remote to the floor. "Sicko!" she spat at the TV. "I'm living with a pervert!"

As if on cue, the lock clicked, and Rafael stepped into the condo, his tie loosened, his demeanor relaxed. "Baby, I'm home!" he called, oblivious to the chaos he was walking into.

Arabella shot up from the couch, fury lighting up her face. "You pervert!"

Rafael froze, his gaze darting to the TV. On-screen, the heroine was entangled with a mailman, his pants halfway down. His brow arched, but instead of looking away, he studied the scene with amused disbelief.

Arabella snatched the remote and turned off the TV. "How dare you! You enjoy watching nasty things like that?"

Rafael blinked, his expression unreadable. Then, with an innocent shrug, he replied, "You were watching it first."

"I thought it was a superhero movie, you maniac!" she hissed, her cheeks flushing.

Rafael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't own that DVD. It's not mine. A friend left it here ages ago."

"Oh, sure. Blame it on your friend," she snapped, crossing her arms.

Rafael chuckled, albeit nervously. "I swear. Look, I'll toss it out, okay?"

Before Arabella could respond, the door burst open. Vivian, dressed to kill in a designer jumpsuit, marched in, her heels clacking against the hardwood.

"You!" she barked, her perfectly lined eyes narrowing on Arabella. "What are you doing in my boyfriend's condo?"

Arabella blinked, then laughed—a deep, rich sound that only seemed to infuriate Vivian further. "Boyfriend?" she repeated. "You must be joking. Still chasing rich men, I see."

"At least I don't steal husbands," Vivian shot back, her arms crossing in triumph.

Arabella's amusement vanished, replaced by cool disdain. "With my standards? If you want him, take him. I'd rather choke on a banana." She turned on her heel, snatching her bag. "Enjoy your drama, darling. I'm leaving."