Chapter Seventeen.

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HARRY'S POV

The heaving of my chest seemed to be in synch with the loud music blaring through the small apartment. Some blonde had her head laying intently against my shoulder as we both tried to catch our breath from the previous climax we both just shared.

"God, you're insane in bed. What the hell," she mutters lowly, grunting as she slowly removes herself from the bed. My entire body is covered in sweat and my legs feel tingly as I try to sit up as well.

Me leaving Rosie Sunday night was tough and I planned to come home Monday night, but we didn't talk at all during the day and I decided to prolong it another day. The following day we didn't talk again and I pushed off coming home until Wednesday evening when I had all of my things packed up to go home, until I got a call from some girl I had met earlier in the day and ended up taking her out to dinner. I spent the night at her place afterwards and Thursday night seemed to play out in a similar fashion.

As the end of the week slowly crept up I began feeling guilty about being gone for six days, but it didn't make me want to come home.

Instead, I'm finding myself on my lunch break from work and in the apartment of some girl that I met last week at a coffee shop. Being away from Rosie for so many days while still being in the same city has taken a toll on my mood and I've noticed my need for aggression in bed to take out all of my anger some other way than yelling-- hence the blonde across the room that can barely stand long enough to slip her panties on.

"That was... Fun." She giggles softly, tossing me my boxers from the end of the bed. I scoot away from where I'm laying and grimace at the damp spot on the sheets left over from our sweaty bodies.

"Yeah, it was. I feel like a dick but I've really got to go, actually." I say back. My boxers slip easily up my legs, followed by my pants. The girl who's name I barely even remember watches intently as I tuck my shirt in my slacks and fix the buckle of my belt, then reach for my suit coat. I smell like shit from sweating so much and my hair is noticeably greasy, but I choose to ignore it all. I've got no one to impress and all of the middle-aged pervy men that I call my business partners would probably find amusement in my post-sex appearance.

"No worries. I figured you couldn't stay." The woman grabs my phone and wallet from her nightstand and walks them over to me with a sweet smile. I take the items and stuff them into the pockets of my slacks, then glance back down at the girl. She giggles and rolls her eyes at me, then leans up to press her lips swiftly against mine.

"I think you use the same chapstick as my wife." I comment mindlessly while admiring the familiar strawberry taste on my lips that I've grown accustomed to from kissing Rosie's lips.

When I look back down at the girl again, her eyes are wide and her mouth is agape in surprise.

"You're..." She grabs my hand from my side and looks down at my wedding band, then gasps.

"You're fucking married? What the hell?" She steps back and looks up at me with blazing eyes.

"You can't just fuck me like that then mention that you're married like it's no big deal!" She swats at my chest and I huff in annoyance, suddenly wishing I could turn back time to a minute ago when I still could have made a clean get away.

"I'm sorry, I- my wife and I sleep around with other people besides each other but it probably wouldn't make much sense to you..."

"Get out." She rolls her eyes at me and I nod obediently, then begin making my way towards the door.

"Sorry." I mutter again. She doesn't respond as I leave the apartment and head down the stairs, muttering curse words under my breath. I don't mind that I'll probably never be able to see her again- even though she was a great shag- but I hate throwing my marriage around like it's no big deal when I have to explain it to the women I sleep with. Rosie is far more than what I make her out to be when these women automatically assume that a wife who let's her husband sleep around must be psychotic.

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