“She couldn’t say what got into her, she just did it. Something about the way they sat, the two of them, so smugly comfortable in their lives. Their clothes the right color, their shoes new. Their way of being with each other so perfectly, blandly domestic. It was an incitement.

She walked all the way around  so that the wife would see her first. Would notice her hips, her youth, the absence of a wedding ring. She walked right up to their table.

“Why haven’t you called?”

They both looked up at her, dumbly. Though he with a mite more interest, or different interest, than she expected.

“I still have marks on my back from you. I still can feel you on top of me. I’ve missed you. That weekend we had in Dallas, was the best of my life. And you haven’t called me all week.”

He looked at her, breathed in, breathed out. She looked at her, then at her husband, then at her and then again at her husband. The question was on her lips but before she could say anything he turned to her,

“She’s right. I’m sorry. It’s over.”

And stood up, kissed her once, hard, on the mouth and then walked right out. For a panicked second she wasn’t sure what to do then common sense turned her on her heel and sent her chasing him out the door.

On the street, he was gone.

She turned left, ran to the corner and headed for the subway.

“Wow.” She thought to herself, “Who would have expected that.”