11. 2:00 p.m. - 2:30 p.m.

The maddest she ever got at me made her do the only thing she's ever regretted and the thing I most regret.

"I don't understand you. I don't want a lover I don't have to love.[mp3]º How does that satisfy?"

It doesn't.

Until last fall, we'd only had one break. Four days; three years ago.

She craved a "mental touch". (Who was it that said "If you truly only have once vice... get rid of it."?)º

It was her one vice, stirred with our time apart, that made her do just that. She went alone to the Red Room. Inside of an hour she'd ordered three drinks, grabbed one hand, and dialed ten digits.

"I'm hungry," she said. I was stupid enough to think I'd been forgiven and we agreed on 8:00, her house.

I had always demanded access but never wanted a key, so she threaded one with string and hid it behind the mail slot. It gave the phrase "had her through the mail"º a whole different meaning and it made me laugh every time this occured to me.

On this particular night, I arrived about five minutes late. I yanked the string, opened the lock, and made my way to the back of the house.

Laur used the bedroom as a living room and vice versa. A queen bed sat in the middle of the large space. Her and her guest sat on the edge, drinks in hand. The wrap skirt covered her bottom and she only had a bra up top. Her glare said, "You're late," and I knew that had I been on time she'd have been fully clothed.

She feigned surprise. The boy showed true shock.

"Oh, no." She looked at him. "I'm sorry, but he's gonna kick your ass."

I put up my hand to stop his explanation. He cringed, then wilted as I stepped forward. I took his glass, swallowed his bourbon, and left.

I'd taken maybe five steps when she started screaming: "You've got a dirty cock, you son of a bitch! You hear me, Dobbs?"

She later told me that the boy tried to leave but she wouldn't let him. She told him it was okay, that I wouldn't be back. That we were through.

Two days later we were in each others arms again. How? Even boxers hug after a fight.º

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