Weekends can be pretty lonely. My husband seems to always be on the clock, and when he's not, he's drunk. Tonight is the same song and dance we do every weekend.

"You said that this weekend we would have a date night," I remind him.

"I don't know what to tell you, Haze. We're short-staffed staffed with Carson out on maternity leave and Smith out on disability. Besides, I already volunteered for a double shift, and we could use the money."

"It's always about money with you," I mutter and pinch the bridge of my nose with a sigh. This man loves his job more than me, I swear.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He finishes sliding on his jacket and adjusts the collar with a flick.

"Nothing..." I shake my head and begin to walk away.

"No. Don't do that." He grabs my elbow and reels me back in, his face inches from mine. I have to turn my head away since I can smell the vodka mixed with chewing gum on his breath. "I save lives every day while putting mine on the line, and you have zero appreciation for it. You with your Black Lives Matter."

"Excuse me?" I gasp, yanking my arm away, and step back. "Have you forgotten that my father was a detective for years until he passed away from lung cancer? So don't come at me with that, I don't care about law enforcement nonsense!"

"Well, you don't. I bet you're just waiting for the day you get a call that I died on the job."

My jaw drops. "How can you say that?"

"You don't even look at me the way you used to anymore."

"Me?" My brows skyrocket toward my hairline. "I'm the one always begging for your attention. It's like you don't want to be around me, ever, and when you are, you can't stomach being sober."

"Here we go with that drinking bullshit!" He rolls his eyes.

Meanwhile, tears accumulate in mine. Normally, I would keep my thoughts to myself, but a glass of wine has loosened my lips. Booze and Mario's job has taken over our marriage. For once, I would like to have a peaceful night without him being hammered.

"It's getting worse, Mario." I wipe my eyes.

"There's nothing wrong with winding down with some beers after work," he barks. "I have a very stressful job!"

"Which is why you should cut back on your hours. Why can't you just work your regular shift? A person can only withstand so much in a high-stress job. We all need breaks. Even I do, and I get entire summers off since I'm a teacher."

"You think I do it for fun, Haze?" he laughs and motions around us. "I work doubles so I can provide us the carefree life and beautiful home that we have. Don't be selfish."

"I'm not selfish," I say.

Mario seems to think possessions are important to me.

However, when I look around our high-rise condo, sure it's nice, but it's empty. For the last two years, I've wanted to get pregnant, but now I'm not so sure if I want to bring children into this environment. I miss the days when things were simple. When we used to pack up the car and take day trips down the coast to sightsee. We had little money back then, yet we had the best times, and... I could feel that Mario loved me. Truly loved me.

"Mario..." I sniffle. "Sometimes I wonder if you hate me."

He rolls his eyes again. "Don't be dramatic, Haze. Of course, I love you. You're my wife."

"But-"

"I have to go. I'm already running late!"

Mario is out the door, and it slams shut behind him before I can even shout, I love you. Wiping my eyes, I turn around and spot the uncorked bottle of wine that sits in an ice bucket on the coffee table.

I guess it's a lonely party of one, tonight.

A few hours later, my glass is running low, but I'm already on bottle number two, so I should slow down. Although, I suppose I don't need to. Everyone is busy tonight, except for me. I'm alone on a Saturday. So, why not get drunk? No one is here to witness it.

In fact, why even bother with a glass? Grabbing the bottle, I drag my feet to the wall of windows that provide a gorgeous view of the bay. Moonlight shimmers across water and I would give anything to be camping in the Redwoods under a sea of stars right now. I press the bottle to my lips and take a long sip. The chardonnay is like ice as it slides down my throat, but a welcomed chill.

Especially because I keep thinking about that bartender who returned my necklace.

Lucas Santiago...

It's not often I meet men with genuine kindness in their eyes. He stared back at me with a curiosity that held zero expectations. Most men size me up as if they want to eat me for lunch. Even my husband's coworkers look at me that way. I've talked to Mario about it, but he just rolls his eyes and says I'm paranoid.

I'm not, though.

I know damn well what it looks like when a man is imagining me naked.

Lucas, on the other hand, with his deep brown eyes, only had kindness in them. When he told me that he helped his sister get out of a bad situation, my thoughts about him were confirmed. He's the kind of man who will go out of his way to help the people he cares about. That says a lot about a person. But what does it say about me? Why did he go out of his way for me?

I take another swig of wine straight from the bottle to avoid the tickle that goes through my stomach.

"Argh..." I facepalm myself. "You're way too married to even care about what Mr. Bartender thinks."

I'm also way too horny, which is why I was looking forward to date night with Mario. We haven't had sex in three weeks and I was hoping for some intimacy. Instead, I was blown off so he could work a double.

But this is why vibrators were invented!

I set the wine bottle on the table and go dig up one of my toys. Lately, my favorite is the self-thrusting vibrating dildo I ordered online. I showed it to Mario, hoping it would pique his interest, but he didn't seem affected by it all. Instead, he told me to have fun.

And that's precisely what I plan to do!

I plop myself onto the couch, pull down my sweats and panties, lube up the dildo, and get to work. It doesn't take long before my toes are curling and I'm gripping the armrest with moans catching in my throat. No matter how many times I've used this toy, it still shocks me with how powerfully I come. I'll probably pass out from bliss afterward.

Except, my phone keeps going off...

"Damn it." I groan. "Who the hell!"

Then I bolt upright. My phone only blows up when it's an emergency. What if something happened to Mario? With wide eyes, I toss the vibrator aside and it dances across the carpet, still buzzing. I snatch my phone from the coffee table and hold the screen up to my face to unlock it, but it doesn't work. I try my thumbprint, but unfortunately, it has lube on it and the screen can't read my print. Shit. I jab the passcode with my index finger, but get it wrong.

"Fuck you!"

Taking a deep breath, I type the passcode more calmly and the screen finally unlocks.

"Instagram?" I furrow my brows. "Why are my IG notifs blowing up?"

Then I see it.

Username: LuSanti415 liked your photo.

Not once.

Not twice.

Multiple times!

There are at least twenty notifications as if this person went on a liking spree. Who the hell is LuSanti415? I glance up from my phone as the blood in my veins avalanches down to my feet in a cold sweep. Holy shit. I slap a hand to my mouth. It better not be Mr. Bartender. To make sure, I tap on the username and it brings me to his page.

"No..."

It is him. Right there in the bio, it says: Lucas Santiago, lead bartender at Penthouse Nightclub. What is this man doing liking my photos? Was he stalking my socials? My brain is still swirling with wine and the lingering buzz of almost climaxing. So, it's a terrible idea to engage, but I snap a screenshot anyway, and with my mouth angrily puckered, I send it as a message to Lucas, followed by, This isn't ok.

Setting the phone aside, I grab the bottle of wine from the coffee table and begin chugging. I nearly choke while swallowing the hefty gulps and pull away from the bottle gasping for air. Chardonnay dribbles down my chin and I wipe it with my sleeve. Who does this guy think he is liking my photos after I told him not to contact me again?

My panties and sweats are still down by my ankles and my dildo is still vibrating across the carpet like a snake slithering away from me. The moment is ruined. All horniness has evacuated my system, so I adjust my clothes and collect the toy from the floor. For a moment, I stare at it while it vibrates in my palm. I've had more sex with this thing than I have with my husband in the last six months. We used to hump like rabbits, but now work is more important than me, apparently. Sighing, I shut off the dildo and my shoulders sag in defeat.

But then there's another buzzing sound. I whip around and glare at my phone.

"That better not be him!"

I flop onto the couch and open the screen. Sure enough, there's a message.

LuSanti415: I'm so sorry. That was an accident and I don't even have a good explanation for it.

I smirk. I wouldn't believe his excuses anyway.

Wanderlust_Hazel: Stalking is a crime, you know.

LuSanti415: What can I say? I was curious. You take great photos, btw.

Wanderlust_Hazel: Thanks, but I didn't message you to have a conversation. I'm married and this isn't appropriate.

LuSanti415: I know you're married.

I furrow my brows.

Wanderlust_Hazel: Then why did you stalk my Instagram?

LuSanti415: I was curious.

Wanderlust_Hazel: Well, stop. This isn't ok.

LuSanti415: You said that already.

Wanderlust_Hazel: And I mean it.

LuSanti415: Tell me something, Mrs. Married Woman. Why are you alone on a Saturday night? If I had a wife, she wouldn't be spending the evening alone.

Wanderlust_Hazel: Mario is working. It's fine.

Wanderlust_Hazel: I like having time to myself.

LuSanti415: Working, huh?

Wanderlust_Hazel: Yes, working a double. Is that alright with you, stalker?

LuSanti415: Is he working undercover?

I reel back, confused because I don't remember ever telling Lucas that Mario is a police officer.

Wanderlust_Hazel: No.

Wanderlust_Hazel: And how did you know my husband is a cop?

LuSanti415: lol it's in your bio.

Facepalm! Of course, it is. I forgot about that.

Wanderlust_Hazel: Anyway. I've entertained this conversation long enough and I have to go. In fact, I'm going to block you.

However, instead of doing that immediately, I wait for what he's going to say as his typing dots bounce at the bottom of the screen.

"Ugh, what am I doing?" I facepalm myself again. "Just hit the block button, Hazel!"

But then his message comes through.

LuSanti415: What if I told you that I'm at a bachelor party at a burlesque show and your husband is sitting at the table across from me, getting a lap dance?

What? I reel back shaking my head because that is absurd. Mario wouldn't be caught dead at a strip club. He hates that kind of shit. Another message comes through, only this time it's a video.

Of Mario...

There on the screen is his stupid drunk grin and his dumbass Italian head full of hair as some half-naked bimbo grinds on his lap with her tits in his face. My stomach plummets. His hands are all over her ass and he even squeezes it. She feigns a gasp then playfully smacks his chest before turning around and touching her toes. The woman wiggles her butt for him and Mario spanks her, causing the men surrounding them to cheer. I know those men. They're all coworkers from the precinct. Some were even at our wedding, and there's a deep sense of betrayal that summersaults in my stomach as they encourage my husband's vulgar behavior while some floozy rubs herself all over him.

I'm going to be sick.