“One more time.” he’d tell himself, his fingers tightly gripping onto the leather steering wheel of his car. “Just one.” he’d reiterate internally, his jaw tightening. He wasn’t supposed to see you today, he wasn’t supposed to be seeing you at all. He planned to go straight home after leaving the office, his spouse awaiting his arrival. Yet, you messaged him. You had a habit of reappearing into his life every once in a while, cryptically attaching directions to locations that would transpire into meetups. You never added any additional context, why was it necessary? You knew he’d catch on to your plans.

As he pulled into the lot of the motel, he turned the engine off. The large neon signs pointing to the motel illuminated the night sky, his frame bathing in the florescent reds and blues and greens. He intensely gazed at himself through the rearview mirror of his car, his slender fingers sifting through his ash white locks, adjusting his hair. “Cheater.” he’d go on in his mind. The left sole of his black leather dress shoe came into contact with the concrete of the lot beneath him, his steps forming rhythmic sounds as he made his way to the designated room number. It was pouring, his black umbrella shielding him from the onslaught of rain.

He turned the back of his hand to face the door, his knuckles knocking against the door. He’d close his umbrella, shaking off the droplets of water as they were fated to soak into the firm wood. With the door creaking open, he was greeted with a familiar sight. Your presence beginning to wash away traces of guilt stemming from his infidelity. You took his hand, the tips of your fingers brushing over the silver band that rested on his ring finger. Tugging him into the room, you had him isolated. He was yours.

It never bothered you, the fact that he is married that is. The moment that ring of commitment encircled your skin, it lost all its meaning. You could tell by the way he touched you that he accepted that fact. He was wrapped around your finger.