The Wives Club, Erotica for the Average Woman

(Book Two) The Running Man

Kat drank coffee on the deck of her new place every morning as she watched her neighbors start their day.

She didn't know anyone's names yet, but she had her own for them.

There was Grey T-Shirt Guy who lived across the street, and wore nothing but grey t-shirts.

Karen who spent her miserable days monitoring the neighbor kids, none of which were her own.

Carl The Car Guy, the neighborhood mechanic, always tinkering with some car in his driveway. He too got a fair amount of wrinkle-nosed stares from Karen who seems to not only hate kids, but also nice guys who spend their time helping others.

Plain Jane drove a tan sedan, wore matching khakis, and did everything at the same time, every day.

These were people she watched come and go with mild interest, something to pass the time and soothe the heartbreaking loneliness she had been trying to keep at arms length since her divorce six months ago.

But the one who really had her attention was The Running Man.

He lived in the space directly below Kat, the bottom half of a tall and narrow townhouse built into the side of a hill near the turn of the century. It was an odd yet quaint place, with long rows of crooked stairs and a shared yard and laundry. Kat wasn't fond of the shared spaces, she tried to keep to herself.

People asked questions she didn't yet know how to answer. Or maybe she did, she just didn't know how to answer them without rage or tears, or both.

"Where did you come from?"

A different life of stability, ownership, and lively family, she'd want to answer. "Across town" is the answer she usually gives though.

"You live here alone?" They'd ask, looking at her bare ring finger. She wondered if they could see the imprint of the band that sat there for so many years, a beacon of a different life, or if it was just her that could see the echoes of what once was.

"Family nearby?" Yes. And no. She once had a family. Now she just had children. Which is family, but not quite the same. Nor what they meant. Because they'd ask that question next, "Do you have children?"

Kat's mind was brought back to the present by The Running Man rounding the corner at the front of the house, running out onto the street — in nothing but shoes and shorts. Short silky shorts.

She knew a little more about him than the rest of the neighbors because of the thin walls that separated their apartments.

She knew his kids visited several times a week and always seemed to have fun — a loud and happy bunch, full of laughter and good natured arguments. She knew he had at least one friend he'd talk to on the phone until late at night, talking life and spilling tea like school girls.

She knew he had a lot of lovers.

Kat didn't try to hear, but thin walls and all. And, if she were to be honest, she didn't mind. She missed what sounded like very passionate sex and didn't begrudge anyone else for getting it, even if she wasn't.

She'd watch his lovers leave in the morning, hair a little rumpled, sometimes last night's shoes in hand, often smiling. No walk of shame for these ladies. No, theirs was a walk of victory. He'd walk them to their car, kiss them goodbye — regulars and one-nighters alike — and send them on their way. He'd head back up the stairs and soon return in his running shoes and shorts, heading off up the street with what looked like ease.

He was fit. Strong and well sculpted with tattoos covering his shoulders and arms, but only one she could make out from her perch above.

The Running Man had a snake tattooed on his rib cage. A thick swirl of snake that ran from just under his right nipple, down to the curve of his hip.