Love Triangle: Three Sides To The Story

By Brenda Barrett

There are always three sides to a story when there is a love triangle, the why's and the how's are best answered when the individuals involved tell the stories through their eyes and experiences.

George was a faithful church goer and bank manager. He had an affair with Karen, a young woman who worked at his bank and who knowingly got involved with him, even though he was married to Marie. A glimpse into the world of cheating, the story is told through the eyes of the wife, the mistress and the husband. Someone will get hurt, who will it be?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brenda Barrett
• Release date: Jun 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9789769548602

Brenda Barrett

Books have always been a big part of life for Jamaican born Brenda Barrett, she reports that she gets withdrawal symptoms if she does not consume at least two books per week. That is all she can manage these days, as her days are filled with writing, a natural progression from her love of reading. Currently, Brenda has several novels on the market, she writes predominantly in the historical fiction, Christian fiction, comedy and romance genres.Apart from writing fictional books, Brenda writes for her blogs blackhair101.com; where she gives hair care tips and fiwibooks.com, where she shares about her writing life.

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Love Triangle: Three Sides To The Story

By

Brenda Barrett

Published by Jamaica Treasures at Smashwords:

Copyright 2011 by Brenda Barrett

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Chapter One

Karen

The rain fell steadily as I stood under the eave of a bar at a bus park in Mandeville. My suede work shoes were squishy, and I was feeling uncomfortably cold and wet. I was jostled between a fat lady and a young schoolgirl who was peering at her face through a rain-splattered mirror; the fat lady had a scale in her hands and smelled decidedly fishy.

I glanced behind me at a mirror towards the rear of the bar and shuddered at the state of my hair. Not only would it be frizzy tomorrow, but I was looking positively frightening. I involuntarily shuddered when I thought about George seeing me so drowned-looking. He should have been here by now—he was probably dropping his children home.

My pulse quickened as I thought about George. I was fighting my attraction to him, but it felt like I was losing the battle.

I was going to cook for him this evening. Earlier in the week I had coyly promised to cook a meal for him—he had accepted with a sultry smile on his face. Until that moment I had been uncertain about him, but it was good to know that his kind gestures and gentle smile were not just a figment of my fertile imagination and that he actually liked me too.

He is the manager at the bank where I work as a teller. My first impression of him was that he was a tall and handsome man who had warm brown eyes and a smiling mouth. He wasn’t the hot-guy type like the man my housemate, Shauna, had. He looked solid and dependable and was everything I wanted in a man.

Unfortunately, he is married and so my initial interest was firmly thrust onto the back-burner of my mind. I had to constantly tell myself that I don’t date married men, and I definitely don’t date married men who have children, and a married man who has three children was absolutely out of the question.

But my attraction to George would not go away—what started out as a kindling of interest was a now full-fledged obsession. I anticipate seeing him in the mornings when he picks me up for work. I even endure the baleful stares of his children until they are dropped off at school. I anticipate the times I can be alone with him and he’ll tell me something witty or glance at me sideways—his warm brown eyes melting me from head to toe. He never blatantly flirts, but there was something under the surface that filled me with anticipation.

I must have been smiling to myself because the schoolgirl with the mirror was smirking at me with a knowing look in her eyes. I shuffled closer to the bar entrance and gazed out at the grey skies. It didn’t take long for my thoughts to wander back to George—I can’t stop thinking about him.

Today was his birthday. Everyone at the office was happy for him and had thrown him a surprise party at lunchtime. I waited patiently until I could get him to myself to invite him to dinner. I wanted him to taste my cooking and to impart to him, in some small way, that I wasn’t just another pretty face but that I was domesticated too. He hesitated at first, for so long that I was squirming with embarrassment. Then he smiled, that lopsided smile of his that turns his dark brown eyes to burnished honey—my heart skipped extra beats when he acquiesced and said he would come.

I had boldly gone after a married man, and the part of me that was still thinking logically had been appalled at my daring, but I squelched the voice. Now here I was, waiting for him to pick me up and take me home.

Every time a white Honda Accord passed, I strained to see if it was George’s. The rain began to ease, and I checked my cellular phone for my balance, but as usual, I had zero call credit on my account.

Then I saw George driving into the park, his windshield wipers working frantically against the pouring rain, he was cruising slowly in order to see me.

I waved from the bar and he stepped out with an umbrella. He was always prepared for an emergency. He smiled as he led me inside the car, his hand brushing my breast, but he didn’t seem to realize it.

How was your day? George asked smiling, his teeth white against his dark skin.

Fine until now. I must look like such a mess, I said while peering into a mirror I had in my bag." My naturally curly hair was now switching to frizz mode.

You are fishing for compliments, Karen. You look fine. Beautiful as usual, but you don't need me to tell you that, you must have scores of admirers. He glanced at me, but I pretended as if I wasn't flattered.

Do you Karen? he asked as he turned onto Flowerfield Avenue.

Do I what?

Do you have many admirers? he asked patiently as he drove up to my rented two-bedroom house, which I shared with my best friend, Shauna.

Not that I know of, I said, as I hurriedly exited the car and ran toward the shelter of the veranda.

The truth was, I knew where the conversation was going. He was going to say he admired me or something like that. But being in his presence suddenly jolted me back to reality. George Cameron had a Mrs. Cameron waiting for him at home, and I was setting up myself for a fall.

I'm a stupid romantic girl and I should’ve known that my life isn’t like the movies. I fumbled for my keys and gave myself a lecture. At thirty-nine, George was practically twice my age, more experienced and bore a big red flag that said married! —not to mention the fact that he has three children.

I let myself into the house and held the door open for him. Suddenly I was acting gauche and jerky, unlike the confident woman who had invited him to dinner. George must have noticed because he was looking at me curiously.

Nice place, George said, looking around. It doesn't seem spacious from the outside.

Well, let me give you the grand tour, I said nervously clasping my hands in front of me. I wasn’t used to George in any other setting but work, and now he was in my house looking at my things.

May I take off my jacket first? George asked, I am a bit hot.

Oh sure, I said, heading for the French windows and opening them to let in air. Shauna must have closed them before leaving for work.

George had taken off his jacket by the time I had turned again to face him; his lean body was fit and sturdy. I swallowed convulsively as I realized that he was looking at me. He had that intensely serious look on his face.

Well… I cleared my throat, this is the hall. Shauna made all the cushions in the settee, I chose the colors though.

He wandered over to the cabinet and began looking at the pictures of Shauna that were being proudly displayed.

Is this Shauna? he asked, as he stared at a picture my friend had taken while dressed in her