My Ex-Boss’s Wife Was Waiting for Me in the Parking Lot

Ever since I retired, my life had taken an unexpected turn. I felt clear-headed, the stress of three decades had evaporated overnight, and I began to enjoy even the most insignificant things: a quiet coffee, a morning without an alarm, a walk with no destination.

But the strangest change, the one I couldn’t even explain to myself, had happened to my body. It was as if I’d gone back twenty years. I returned to the gym with a consistency I’d never had, I regained an energy I’d thought buried, and my wife, Nuria, seemed to have caught the same appetite. Not a day went by without us ending up tangled in bed, on the sofa, or wherever we happened to be caught.

Over the years we’d learned not to set ourselves stupid limits. We had our encounters with Pilar, a lifelong friend, and the occasional night with her partner. Nothing to be ashamed of: two adult couples who understood each other without recriminations or drama. Nuria enjoyed herself like nobody else, and I enjoyed watching her enjoy herself.

The only thing I missed was Irene.

Sleeping with my boss’s wife right before I retired had left me with a taste that wouldn’t go away.

It had happened on a trip to Valencia, almost without planning, one of those things that happen when two people have been looking at each other sideways for too long. Since then we’d barely spoken. An occasional call, messages that never quite made it. In a small town like ours, she lived in constant fear that someone would put two and two together. Nuria encouraged me not to lose hope, but I felt like it was dying out on its own.

***

We’d had an intense week. On Wednesday afternoon we spent time with Pilar; on Friday Nuria had made plans with her gym friends to have a drink and catch up on the town gossip. The rest of the days we filled in our own way, without warning, stealing moments from each other.

That Friday I had the afternoon to myself. I had no plans at all, so I took the car and went to the shopping center to browse, more to kill time than to buy anything. I went down to the underground parking lot, that place with the cold lights and low ceiling, and while I was looking for a spot in a secluded corner I recognized a car.

It was Irene’s.

My heart did an absurd, teenage lurch. I parked right next to it, with the foolish hope that she was alone and that I’d run into her, even if only for a minute. I went upstairs, walked through the aisles looking left and right, and saw her before she saw me.

She was gorgeous, as always. For anyone who doesn’t know her: tall, thirty-eight, blonde hair, clear eyes, and a figure that stopped traffic. She was pushing a small cart, checking the shelves with that elegant calm she had even for the most banal things. She wore a black blazer and trousers, a spotless white shirt, and heels that made her walk as if she were floating.

I stood there watching her for a while, not daring to go over, running through in my head what to say to her, until she looked up and found me. There was no pretended surprise. Just a slow smile and a shift in her gaze that said everything.

For that instant I remembered Valencia in surprising detail: the way she had pinned her hair up that night, the way she let her heels fall to the floor of the room, how long it took us to go from words to action. I’d been reliving it silently for a month, and seeing her now among shelves and shopping carts made everything feel both more unreal and more urgent.

She came over.

—Look who’s here —she said, and kissed me on both cheeks.

Her perfume hit me just like it had the first time. I was flustered, she was nervous; what a pair of fools. We talked about the usual things: the children, our partners, how boring the town was, the sort of things people say when what they really want to say is something else entirely.

—I miss you —I blurted out at last, without really thinking.

She held my gaze a second longer than was decent.

—If only you knew how much I need to have you close —she murmured, lowering her voice—. What I really need.

Nothing more was necessary.

—My car’s next to yours, in the back corner —I told her—. I’ll wait for you there.

Irene went straight to the checkout to pay for the few things in her cart. I went down first, my pulse racing, feeling ridiculous and alive in equal measure.

***

My car is a minivan with tinted windows, and I’d left it in a corner where the light barely reached. I moved to the back seats and waited, listening to my own heartbeat. A minute later I saw her appear between the columns, put the bags in her trunk, and look both ways before opening my door and slipping inside.

There was no preamble. There wasn’t time, and no desire to waste any. As soon as she shut the door, we found each other’s mouths with an urgency that had been building for a month. I took off her jacket, she fought with the buttons of her own shirt, I struggled with my belt. We stripped each other in jerks in that tiny space, laughing under our breath at how clumsy we were.

I sat in the seat and she climbed on top, one knee on each side of my hips. I felt the heat of her skin even before I’d touched her properly. She kissed my neck, my jaw, and I ran my hands down her back until I buried them in her waist.

—Slowly —I asked, even though neither of us wanted to go slowly.

She settled over me, found her position, and took me in tight, centimeter by centimeter, all the way to the hilt. She let out the air in a held-back sigh, her forehead resting against mine. She stayed still for a moment, getting used to it, and then she started moving.

She rode me with a deep rhythm, unhurried at first, gripping my shoulders. I held her hips, setting the pace, lifting her down with every drop. I kissed her breasts, heard her bite her lip to keep quiet. The parking lot was empty, but the idea that anyone might pass by had us both on a knife edge that made everything more intense.

—You can’t imagine how many times I thought about this —she told me in my ear, without stopping.

Each of her movements hit me like an electric shock. I felt her hot and tense at the same time, setting a rhythm that slowly climbed, letting the pressure build between us. I brushed a strand of hair away from her face so I could see her better, and she parted her lips without making a sound, holding herself back, which made every gesture feel even more electric. The friction of her skin against mine, the heat trapped in that compartment, and the silence of the parking lot created something unlike anything we’d lived through in Valencia.

I didn’t answer her. I pulled her against me, kissed her until she was breathless, and she sped up. The car moved with us, the windows began to fog, and that dark corner became the only place in the world.

I felt her tense all at once. Her whole body trembled, she clung to me, digging her nails into my back, and buried a stifled moan in my shoulder.

—There, don’t stop —she whispered—. Don’t stop.

She was the one who didn’t stop, really. Rather than slowing down, she moved harder, looking for more, dragging me with her. I was so comfortable, so lost in the heat and her scent, that I wasn’t in any hurry to get there. But Irene gave no quarter.

—Give it to me —she asked, her voice broken—. I want to feel it.

It was she who pushed me over the edge. I grabbed her with both hands, held her firmly against me, and drove upward, sinking in as deep as I could. The orgasm shook me in a way I didn’t remember, long and overwhelming, while she trembled on top of me, her breathing ragged and her eyes closed.

We stayed still, holding each other, listening to our breathing. The car smelled of us, of skin and desire.

—I’m crazy —she kept saying softly, with a smile that proved the opposite—. I’m completely crazy.

***

It took us a while to separate. She sat up, looked for something to clean herself with, and I handed her some tissues from the glove compartment. She started getting dressed quickly, attentive to every noise, checking that she hadn’t left a trace on the seat or any stains on the floor mat. She was once again the impeccable woman from the aisles, straightening her shirt and running her fingers through her hair.

—I have to leave before someone sees me getting out of here —she said.

She gave me one last kiss, slow, different from the others. One of those that leave more questions than answers. Then she opened the door, looked both ways, and disappeared between the columns with the same elegance with which she had arrived.

I stayed alone for a few minutes, getting my head back together, still with her perfume clinging to my clothes. When I finally got dressed and started the car, I dialed Nuria’s number.

—How was your afternoon? —she asked.

I told her what had happened, without embellishment. There was a brief silence on the other end, and then she gave a low laugh.

—I knew it would happen as soon as you saw each other again —she said, without a trace of reproach—. Come home. I want you to tell me every detail.

I drove back with a smile that barely fit on my face. Sometimes life, when you think it has already given you everything, still keeps one more surprise in the darkest corner of a parking lot.