Only Once

Chapter 3

"Do you want to go out tonight?" Michael asked as they entered their apartment.
"Not tonight," Isabelle smiled, squeezing his hand. "Let's just stay in, I'm exhausted from the plane ride."
"Want me to order pizza?" Michael asked. He traveled through the small apartment to their bedroom to put away Isabelle's suitcase before returning back to the open concept kitchen and living room.
"That sounds great."
Isabelle examined the room, so familiar but so forgettable because of her trip. Running a hand across the white leather couch, she walked into the kitchen. She grabbed two wine glasses from the black cabinet set.
"Red or white tonight?" She called down the hall. She could hear the faint sound of Michael ordering the pizza.
"Whichever you want," he replied.
Red it is then.
She poured two glasses half full, then decided to fill hers all the way. She had a feeling she'd end up drinking a majority, if not all of the bottle tonight.
Isabelle took her glass with her to the bedroom, taking a few sips as she went. Placing her glass on the nightstand on her side of the bed, she began to unpack as Michael ordered the pizza. Typically, she always put off unpacking. However, she found herself anxious to put the trip behind her.
She refolded and rehung her clothes, stuffing bras and underwear into drawers. Her hands paused when she pulled out a pair of grey boxer briefs.
Great.
She had thought she'd left them at the resort before leaving. She could pass them off as Michael's underwear and just throw them in his drawer, but that didn't sit right with her. None of her choices recently seemed to.
Frustrated, Isabelle ran a hand through her hair. She couldn't just throw them out, that would be suspicious.
She could think of the conversation it would bring already, 'Honey, why are there men's underwear, that are not mine in the garbage?' Which would be followed with the response of, 'Oh, I just forgot to leave the underwear I stole from the man I slept with at the hotel, no big deal.'
Yeah, that was not going to happen.
Frantic, she stuffed the underwear in one of her boots. There was no reason for Michael to look there. She'd have to get rid of them soon anyways.
Finished unpacking, she grabbed her wine glass, gulping down the rest of the glass, and returned to the other room.
Returning, she filled her glass again, and joined Michael on the couch. She sat the bottle down in front of them on the small wooden coffee table.
He smiled up at her. His blonde hair was perfectly styled, as usual. It was almost a shock that his attire was casual at all, he wore jeans and a T-shirt. Usually, he went everywhere in a suit. That made sense though, he was at his law firm almost every day. Isabelle was at work just as often, although her hours at the hospital weren't as much as they once had been. Also, the scrubs she often walked the halls in were far from fancy.
She pulled her legs beneath her, resting against Michael, he rapped an arm around her shoulder.
"Pizza's on its way." Michael said, placing a soft kiss to her lips.
"You're the best."
"Hey, do you have work off next Tuesday night? I was thinking we could go out for dinner, do something special."
She peered up at him, curious about his motives.
"I think I do, yes. If anything I might be on call."
"Great," Michael smiled, squeezing her shoulder.
"So tell me about your trip, anything exciting happen?"
Isabelle coughed, choking on her wine. He has to time those types of questions for when I'm not mid sip, she thought.
"Nothing that would interest you," she told him, lying through her teeth.
"It was very educational though, lots of doctors talked about new technics they had for surgeries. Some talked about new discoveries they had made. I wish you had been able to come. How have your interviews went?"
"I'm sure it was more fun than you're letting on," he smiled, oblivious. "They were good, I finished sending out the last few confirmations. Five new people hired to represent the firm. I'm really looking forward to talking with the one, Wolfe. I think he could help a lot with the face of the company. He's already got a handful of successful cases behind him."
"That's great!" Isabelle responded. She truly was happy for him. Hiring someone who was bound to be successful was good for the company's image and income.

They ate their pizza while watching a movie, casual conversation was made throughout.
Michael seemed to not notice, or at least ignored the numerous amounts of refills to Isabelle's wine; she only stopped refilling her drink after she found the bottle empty.
Her brain continued to blur as she watched the movie. Before she knew it the glasses and plates had been put away.
She stared up at Michael, the man she loved. His eyes were a shade of green, for some reason this disappointed her. A little part of her wished for the green-blue-brown mix of the stranger's. She pushed the thought down almost as soon as it appeared in her mind.
Instead, she clung on to Michael. Kissing him.
"I missed you," she whispered against his lips. He hummed in response.
Standing abruptly from the couch, she grabbed his hand, leading him to the bedroom.

Scott landed in San Francisco in the early morning. It was the place he would now refer to as home. He was excited to see the new scenery, and hoped he would grow to love the city just add much as he had loved New York. He had applied to jobs all over the country, and had been accepted to more than one. However, something about this job, this city, it had called to him. So, as soon as he heard he got the job, he jumped at the chance and accepted it right away.
He just had to get through customs and then all would be set.
"Passport, please." He handed his information to the woman on the other side of the glass through the small circular opening at the bottom of the counter. He noticed her eyes were too close together as he waited. She was pretty though, blonde hair, blue eyes. Late thirties he guessed, stereotypically pretty. Not pretty like Isabelle had been. He shook his head, he was going to see her again, and he needed to stop thinking about her and her tanned skin.
"I just need you to confirm a few things with me," he nodded at the woman, Belinda her name tag read.
"Date of birth?" She questioned, looking down at the passport as he spoke.
"July seventh, nineteen eighty-eight." Belinda nodded silently.
"Name?" She asked, clearly uninterested.
"Scott Wolfe."