For Your Love by Candy Caine Read Free Book Online Page B

longer.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
    While Heather was trying to get back into the good graces of her husband, she was putting a crimp in Martin’s nighttime activities forcing him to find other distractions or go home. That night he thought about going to a bar to pick up a woman for a few hours, but his heart just wasn’t in it. Besides, he’d had enough adventure that day with Mata Hari.
    It had also been an unusually busy day at the dealership. Mercedes Benz was running a nationwide promotion and they were short one salesperson due to illness. His throat felt raw from all the talking he had to do. And his feet hurt, as well. Going home didn’t seem so bad. Maybe he’d take Carla out to dinner. They hadn’t been out together for ages, not that he’d cared to be seen with her looking like the spawn of Moby Dick. However, lately she’d been looking more appealing. Had she been dieting?
    He drove his Mercedes into the garage. Carla’s Honda wasn’t in the garage. He hated that silver Honda. It was bad for his image. No matter how hard he’d tried, there was no way he could convince her to drive a Mercedes like him. “Too snooty,” she’d said on more than one occasion.
    Blondie greeted him at the door happily barking and jumping up and down. He let her out into the backyard to relieve herself. He waited for her to return and relocked the door. Since Carla hadn’t expected him home, she hadn’t left a note. He could call her cell, but knew she was either with Lynne or shopping. Where else would she be? Opening the junk drawer near the phone, he shuffled through the fast food menus and ordered a large pizza with the works—except anchovies. He hated that slimy stuff. Orson and Heather couldn’t get enough of it or caviar, which he somehow linked together under the “yuck” column in his mind.
    Okay, he thought looking at his watch, let’s see if they live up to their own hype and deliver it within a half-hour. He hoped they did since he was ravenous, not having had the time to have a decent lunch. He grabbed a cold bottle of beer out of the refrigerator and began to chug it down, not bothering to pour it into a glass.
    He took the bottle into the den and turned on the TV with the remote as he sank down into the overstuffed couch. Surfing through the channels, he wondered how there could be so little to watch with so many different choices. He finally settled on some black and white war movie that was probably made before he was born.
    The doorbell chimed and he looked at his watch again. They’d made it in twenty-three minutes. He opened the door and took a twenty out of his wallet and handed it to the delivery guy who looked like he’d rather be getting a root canal than be there.
    “Thanks,” Martin said as he grabbed the pizza and closed the door a little too quickly to hear the guy reply, “Thanks, yourself.”
    He set the pizza down on the cocktail table in front of the sofa. Forgetting that the pizza was piping hot, he took a healthy bite.
    “Yow!” he howled spitting out the piece. However, the damage to his upper palate was already done and it felt raw and stringy. He took a healthy swig of the beer and finished the bottle. There was no way he’d be able to eat the pizza without more beer, so he went back into the kitchen for another bottle and more napkins.
    Martin polished off most of the pizza. By the time Carla returned home, she found him face down in the pizza box sound asleep. The sight of him made her laugh. Tears soon streaked down her face. When she was able to gain control of herself once more, she shook his shoulder to wake him. He groaned and lifted his head. Mushrooms, sauce and some other unidentifiable stuff clung to his patrician nose and face. That caused her to break out in a fresh gale of laughter.
    “What’s so funny?” Martin asked still sounding half asleep.
    “You are.”
    “Huh?”
    “Here let me wipe some of that stuff off,” she said picking up a