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Marjorie snatched the last olive from her glass and ate it. “Don’t be so sure. I hide the good lube in the same box as the tax returns. You’ve never found either.”

Greg didn’t look up. “Hilarious. Did you remember to tip the valet?”

Marjorie had been married to Greg for twenty-two years, which meant she had mastered the art of the silent bet. Tonight’s wager: how many minutes into their “romantic” Thursday dinner before he checked his fantasy football scores. adult comedy

The waiter arrived with dessert. A single, luridly red velvet cake, shaped like a heart. Greg picked up his fork. “You know,” he said, finally smiling, “this is why I never had an affair.”

“I tipped him your dignity. He said it was fine, but it had a small stain.” Marjorie snatched the last olive from her glass and ate it

Across the restaurant, a twenty-something couple broke up via Instagram DM. Marjorie felt a strange, competitive pang. She leaned forward, letting the candlelight do nefarious things to her cleavage. “I’m serious, Greg. I want the house, the dog, and the good toaster.”

The answer was four.

“Because I’m cheaper than a private investigator?”