Cheating

When she pointed me out in the sea of people, I knew that night was going to break something I’d spent years trying to keep intact.

My boyfriend used to call the electrician who fixed the wiring “Mustache.” That afternoon, when everyone left, I was the one who asked him for forgiveness in the living room.

It was seven in the morning, I’d just broken up with my girlfriend by text, and my neighbor was still face down in my bed. I wasn’t about to waste the morning.

When I looked up from the sofa, Bruno and Damián were standing in front of me with their cocks out. I didn’t make it to the door.

Mateo tipped his head at me and went up the stairs. I followed him without thinking, knowing his girlfriend was my best friend and that nothing could stop us now.

I arrived at the concert expecting him to take me to bed. It never crossed my mind that it would be his girlfriend who would drag me into the bathroom after the third song.

When I saw them come out of the elevator together, I knew that afternoon was going to be very different from all the others I’d had with him.

When Sofía walked into the living room and found the loan shark tied up and her husband holding a shotgun, she knew her lie had reached its end.

When Inés pulled back the tent flap, her girlfriend was already on top of another girl, still panting from an orgasm that wasn’t hers.

I told myself it was just curiosity. I uploaded four photos, used my fake name, and waited to see if anyone still looked at me. That same week, Matías appeared.

I climbed into a van full of foreign guys without thinking twice. My boyfriend would be back from the supermarket in ten minutes. I only needed one.

He was forty, with rough hands and a mustache I’d never liked. Until I found him lying in the bed in my son’s empty room.

When her fingers brushed mine across the table, I knew that night I was going to recover something my girlfriend had been making me forget little by little.

When the referee blew the final whistle, I knew there was no turning back: I’d have to pay up on the bet in front of my friend, right at the bar.

Tomorrow marks eight years since that last night with him, and I still wonder whether I was brave or just selfish to ask him for that.

The doorbell rang after midnight and I opened it expecting pizza. It was a stranger with a bottle in his hand and the truth about my wife on his lips.

I was her assistant. We worked twelve hours a day. That night, barefoot on her sofa, she looked at me like never before, and I knew something had changed forever.

When we got there that night, my wife was already wearing the plug. What we didn’t expect was to run into a nineteen-year-old who would change the routine.

He’d asked that no one in the building see him. When she locked the door and pressed her back to the wood, she was already trembling in his hands.

I swear that when I got on that plane all I could think about was closing the deal. I never imagined that night would be the one where I lost myself and us.