Coming Clean - short story
Friday, February 1st, 2008David Lewiston was leaning against the granite-topped, fully stocked mahogany bar separating Layne Collier’s expansive living room from his equally large kitchen. David was looking out the picture window next to Layne’s kitchen table at the scattered lobster boats docked at the Old Port of Portland, Maine, half listening to his mother talk to him on his cell phone.
The reason for his distraction was Nadine Adams’ hand, slowly tracing its way down the center of his back, and then around his waist to his crotch. He turned to her, trying not to laugh and motioned for her to go sit down on the couch.