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  Think Again

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2016 Isabel Lucero

  Cover Design:

  Robin Harper from Wicked by Design

  Interior Design and Formatting:

  Christine Borgford from Perfectly Publishable

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  If you have obtained a copy of this book without purchasing it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete the file and purchase a copy legally. This novel is for your enjoyment only and may not be resold or given to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Think Again

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Titles by Isabel Lucero

  About The Author

  Resurrecting Phoenix Excerpt

  With a curvy body and long, red hair, she’s my complete opposite. I watch from a chair in the lobby as she makes her way to the hotel elevator. The dress she wears hugs her body in all the right places, and I can't help but wonder if I could pull off the same outfit. Unfortunately, probably not. She has a slight smile as the brass doors close, taking her to a room upstairs. Something about the way she holds herself screams confidence, and her little smirk tells me she’s looking forward to going upstairs and having some fun. With a sigh, I begin flipping through an interior design magazine that was left on the table in front of me.

  I’ve been sitting here people watching for a little while now. Earlier, I had a drink with my friend, Carmen, who works at the bar in this hotel. Considering she spends most of her time here, I understood when she wanted to leave after one drink. Since I wasn’t ready to go home, I found a secluded place in the lobby to sit and relax, not wanting to sit alone at the bar.

  I browse through the magazine for a while before my phone vibrates, alerting me of an email from my boss.

  Aria,

  This time next week I need you to pick somebody up from the airport. This is an important person to me, and one who will hopefully be working with us soon. Once I have flight information, I'll pass it on, but clear your schedule for next Friday.

  Scott A. Monroe

  M.D.

  Great. I get to play chauffeur to the newbie. I don't bother sending a response, choosing to drop my phone in my purse instead. Scott already knows I'll do it, because I don't exactly have a choice since he’s my boss, and honestly, I really like the man. I'm sure he'll confirm with me on Monday, anyway.

  Having a new person in the office isn't a bad thing, though. With JoAnn quitting like she did last week, we need help at the receptionist desk of the private practice we work in. I wonder why this person is so special though, and why they're flying in for this job. I’m sure there are plenty of people in Anchorage who could work as a receptionist.

  I don't have time to think about it further, because the redheaded woman is back, catching my attention once again. She exits the elevator, looking almost exactly the way she did when she went in. I expected messed up hair and smeared makeup, but I guess even though she's only been gone for nearly thirty minutes, she had time to freshen up before leaving the room. She either didn’t have sex or it wasn’t that good and didn’t last too long. My gaze stays on her as she walks towards me.

  When she sits down on the couch across from me, I go back to pretending to read my magazine. The scent of her perfume invades my nostrils, and based on the strength of it, it would appear she bathed herself in it. The scent is floral and sweet, smelling like one of those Victoria Secret body sprays. I glance over my magazine at her and notice she’s keeping her eye on the elevators. Waiting. Her thick, red hair falls over her shoulders, covering up some of the major cleavage she’s sporting.

  I place the magazine back on the table and gather my purse, figuring it’s time to go. She gives me a friendly smile as our eyes meet, and I return it with a quick, tight grin before walking to the other side of the lobby where they sell refreshments. I buy a bottle of water and a muffin, and while I’m waiting for the cashier to give me my change, I look back at the redhead.

  The elevator door dings, and I watch as she stands and begins to walk in that direction, her hips swaying with every step. A man comes strutting out, his bright blue tie is loose around his neck, and his black suit jacket looks a little wrinkled. It appears that the dirty blonde hair on his head has been pulled on, evidence of a romp in the sack. Almost as if he can hear my thoughts, he runs his hands through it, trying to get each hair in place.

  The woman approaches him, and he looks a little surprised to see her, but she smiles and shimmies her body up next to him. He smirks down at her and says something that makes her laugh fill the lobby.

  “Here you go,” the cashier says, grabbing my attention.

  “Thanks,” I respond distractedly, getting my change.

  When I look back in the direction of the couple, I find that they’re already stepping outside. I put my change in my purse, take a few bites of my muffin before deciding I don’t really want it after all. After tossing it in the trash and taking a few sips of my water, I exit the hotel and take a deep breath of the fresh air. I need to get home before it gets too late, so I hurry to my car and begin my journey.

  The drive from the Embassy Suites to my house takes between fifteen and twenty minutes depending on traffic. At the end of July in Anchorage, the weather is just about as perfect as you can ask for. On some days it’s sixty-seven degrees, on others it’s seventy-five. Believe me when I tell you, sixty anything degrees is extremely warm in Alaska. When you hit negative temps in the winter, anything above forty is pretty good.

  Right now, even at six-thirty at night, the sun is shining like it’s midday. It won’t begin to go down until sometime between ten-thirty and eleven. Gotta love Alaska.

  When I pull up to my two-story home and into the garage, I’m not surprised to see that my husband isn’t home yet. He’s always late coming home from work, telling me his job as an architectural and engineering manager is never done. Aaron is constantly having to finish up plans before certain deadlines, and when he comes home, he’s usua
lly back to work in his office soon after.

  As soon as I enter the house, I take off my shoes and leave them in the mudroom before walking straight upstairs. The large and numerous windows in the house let in the natural sunlight, and give you a beautiful view of mountains and trees in every room.

  My achy feet take me to my dresser where I pull out something to change into. As I strip out of my work clothes, I take a minute to look over my reflection in the mirror. My blonde hair is tied up into a ponytail, and my nurse’s scrubs are the least flattering things I can wear. Once everything is off, my green eyes look over every inch of my body.

  I like to think I’m still in pretty good shape. I’m not curvy like the lady at the hotel, but I’m happy with my body. I don’t have huge boobs or a lot of ass, but I think I’m well-proportioned.

  I often have to tell myself I’m good enough, but you know, self-doubt always creeps in. I try not to compare myself to other women. There were times where I’d see one woman and think to myself, “Oh, I wish I had her toned legs.” Then another woman would walk by and I’d think, “Oh, I’d love to have her boobs.” Now my thought process is: Fuck it. I am who I am. There are still times when I think I’m not good enough, but I’ll get to the why of that later.

  I put on some yoga pants and a tank top, opting to take a bubble bath later, and choosing to eat dinner first. I’m not in the kitchen too long before I have a large bowl of grilled chicken salad prepared. As I’m scooping the mixture onto make my plate, I hear the garage door open.

  Aaron strolls into the kitchen a minute later and drops his briefcase on the island.

  “Hey. Want some food?” I ask him.

  He eyes the bowl of salad and makes a face. “No. I’m gonna grab a shower real quick.”

  “Okay. How was work?”

  “Work was,” he pauses and lets out a long sigh, “work.”

  I give him a small smile and nod.

  I’ve been married to Aaron for three years, but we’ve been together for nearly seven. I was just twenty-one when we began dating, and he was twenty-five. Aaron was charming, handsome, funny, and a romantic. He was so easy to fall for.

  I was working at a coffee shop while going to college, and he was one of my regulars. Every time he came in, he flirted with me, and eventually began bringing me a single flower with each visit. He didn’t ask me out right away, though.

  Every day I anticipated his visit, hoping that that day would be the day he’d ask me out. One of my co-workers kept telling me to just ask him out, but my pride wouldn’t let me do that. I thought I was giving him enough signals without throwing myself at him completely.

  Aaron looked like he stepped straight out of a magazine every time he walked into the shop. His perfect smile melted me, his dazzling hazel eyes hypnotized me, his blonde hair was strategically in place, and he was always dressed immaculately.

  After about a month and a half, he finally asked me out. I fell hard and fast. We were the happiest, most affectionate couple, and our friends gave us shit about it all time. Sickeningly sweet is what they called us. My girlfriends were mad that at such a young age, I was already “tied down” and not wanting to go out with them anymore. I didn’t even care. I didn’t miss the single lifestyle. I had Aaron, and we were happy.

  Janna would always tell me I should think twice about settling down so fast, and reminded me constantly that I had only had one boyfriend before him. My co-worker, Mel, would always try to convince me to stay single like her so we could go out together.

  I figured they were jealous. Everybody wanted an Aaron, if not Aaron himself, and I had him. I wasn’t going to let my happily ever after slip through my fingers.

  Perhaps, I should have thought twice, because like the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.

  I walk around the kitchen island and towards my husband. I remove his already loose, bright blue tie, and then his wrinkled black suit jacket.

  “I’ll put these in the laundry room,” I tell him. “Bring me the rest after your shower.”

  He gives me a hasty kiss on my cheek. “Thanks.”

  I watch him disappear upstairs and I’m left alone with the smell of the redheaded woman’s perfume on his clothes.

  I finish eating my salad alone at the table, with only the silence and my thoughts to keep me company. My husband stays upstairs well after the shower turns off, so who knows what he’s doing. His office is up there, so maybe he went straight to work. Maybe he’s talking to another woman on the phone. Neither would be a surprise to me. I’ve been suspicious of him for a while.

  Before you start calling me an idiot, let me explain. Aaron cheated on me early on in our relationship. When I found out, I went through all of your typical emotions.

  Anger.

  Disbelief.

  Sorrow.

  I felt stupid and embarrassed. I felt like I wasn’t good enough. Maybe I had done something wrong. I was, after all, a new wife with no knowledge of how things worked. My own parents divorced when I was a kid, so I didn’t see what marriage was all about. I was utterly heartbroken and had no idea how to handle something like this.

  When I was a teenager, my friends and I would talk about other girls and how they were so stupid for staying with their boyfriend after he cheated. We vowed we’d never allow someone to treat us like that. If our boyfriends or future husbands cheated on us once, we would be out of there.

  Easier said than done. I realize that now. It’s easy to have an opinion about something when you’ve never actually had to go through it. People are so quick to say, “If it were me,” or “I’d never allow that,” or “I’d do this,” but you don’t know what you’d do or how you’d react until you’re in that position.

  I loved Aaron. I love him even now. We’re only human, and everyone deserves a second chance, right? When I confronted him about it, he admitted it. It wasn’t as easy as that, however. I had been suspicious for a little while before finding out. Women’s intuition or whatever it may have been, but I knew something was off. He was acting different. He was no longer my Aaron.

  When I would question certain things, he would laugh it off, making me feel stupid for even thinking something like that. He’d always have an excuse for leaving at random times, or needing to make “private” phone calls.

  I began to question myself. Maybe I was crazy. Maybe I was just an irrational, insecure woman who needed to let her husband have some space.

  My best friend, Janna, had a friend who told her that she saw Aaron with another woman. I didn’t know Janna’s friend that well, but she knew me and Aaron through Janna, having been around each other a couple of times. Janna, of course, passed the information along to me, and after setting it up, I was able to talk to her friend and find out more information. Turns out, she knew the woman she saw Aaron with, and gave her phone number to me.

  That night, I called the woman my husband was sleeping with.

  Something I never imagined I’d do.

  I thought I’d scream and cuss and tell her off, but I didn’t. I questioned whether she knew about me. I asked how many times they’d been together. I gathered all the information I could so he couldn’t talk himself out of it.

  When I laid everything out on the table, he had no choice but to admit it. He apologized, because of course they’re always sorry afterwards. I think they’re only sorry about getting caught, but that’s neither here nor there. Of course she meant nothing. He only loved me. At the time, that appeased me a little bit. It wasn’t until later that I thought, why risk what we have for somebody who meant nothing?

  We decided to work through it. It took time for things to go back to normal. Well, if I’m being honest, things have never been the way they used to be. Not for me anyway. When at any given time you imagine the man you love being with someone else the way he’s been with you, it can both hurt your heart and piss you off all over again. It’s not easy to get over, but I wanted us to work.

  The next year and a ha
lf went by and everything was pretty good. He was feeling guilty for a good while, so I got a lot of extra attention, but eventually all of that wore off.

  And now, here we are once again. The late nights at work, the mysterious phone calls, the odd behavior, the obvious lies, the lack of affection towards me. Whatever the typical signs are, he’s showing them.

  When it started again, I didn’t have proof, just my own gut instinct. He, of course, wouldn’t admit to anything. He became angry, trying to shift everything on me. I’m the one causing problems because of my own insecurities. Right.

  I just recently came to the decision that I was going to stop asking questions. I would no longer let him think I was suspicious. My only plan now is to gather evidence, and maybe, just maybe, give him a taste of his own medicine while I’m at it. I want him to hurt the way I hurt. I want him to feel those feelings of insecurity and jealousy.

  My plan to get evidence is already in motion. I followed him to that hotel today, because I found a piece of mail he had thrown in the trash in his office. What caught my eye was that it was from a different bank than the one we use. When I looked at the statement, I saw charges for a hotel room amongst some dinners that I know I didn’t attend.

  There are visits to that hotel several times a month. Since then, I’ve been trying to do more digging. I was on his computer once and an email alert came up. The only thing I was able to see was that it said something about his account at Have an Affair had been paid for. It was some sort of confirmation, but I didn’t get the chance to read it, because he came in saying he needed to do something for work.

  I plan on getting into his email account to see what else he’s been paying for, and to see if he’s actually met someone on one of those sites.

  Men think women are vindictive bitches, and maybe they’re right. But when we get to the point of being cold, calculating, and vindictive, it’s because they pushed us there. For years I’ve been supportive of him. The loving woman by his side. I’ve never been a nagger, getting on his case about every little thing. I never withheld sex from him. If anything, I feel like I want it more than he does, or perhaps he just prefers getting it elsewhere.