Nice Mugs - Part IV

“Well... that was interesting.” I looked at Micayla with an inquisitive look on my face.  “He is just an asshole” she grimaced.  Her hands seemed to be shaking a bit as she raised her mug to her lips.  She swallowed her coffee and took a deep breath.   “Mikey was my nickname in high school, but I am definitely not Mikey anymore.  I have moved on but clearly Nick has not.”  “That’s  cool.”  I grinned at her.  “So how is it that you can hang out at the coffee shop?  Don’t you work” Micayla asked.  “Yes, I  work very hard.  Fortunately I work for myself so I can come and go as I please.  Plus, I work in IT so we keep rather odd hours.”  Micayla suddenly stood up and  looked towards the front counter.  “I am getting a refill.  You want anything?”  “No, thanks.  I am good.”  She turned and walked towards the counter.  I stared at her ass shamelessly as she walked away.  Round and firm, she kept herself in excellent shape.  I wondered if she went to the gym.  Perhaps even the one I belonged to.  I spent at least two hours a day either lifting weights or doing some type of cardio.  I was inspired to pump iron after watching the movie “American Beauty” and realizing  that my life was pathetically similar to the film’s protagonist, Lester Burnham, a middle-aged loser with a dead-end job at an advertising company.  In the movie, Lester realizes that he has lost his zest for life and experiences a life-altering transformation that includes whipping his pot-bellied body back into shape.  My phone began to vibrate and I retrieved it from my coat pocket.  I looked down and the large LCD displayed my wife’s picture.  “Hey Donna.” I spoke softly into the little device. “Hey Dirk, are you at work yet?”   “No, I am still at the coffee shop.”  “Your running  late today...”.  Her voice had a questioning tone to it.  “Yeah, I, uh... met  a friend.  We are just chatting a bit.’”  “Ok.  Well, call me later.  We need to talk about going to see Will tonight.”  “Ok, I will call or text you when I get to work.  We planned to drive over to Amherst to see our youngest son at college later in the evening.  Micayla was walking back  towards me and I furtively ran my eyes up and down her body trying not to be obvious.  She had a very small chest, but an athletic, almost boyish figure.  As she sat down in her chair I began to think about how Donna would feel about me talking with Micayla.  After almost thirty years together, we trust each other completely and other then one stupid affair twenty years ago, I have never violated the sanctity of our marriage.  But, like many other men following their primeval instincts, I still relish the hunt and love to think that I can “get the girl” and bring her back to my cave.  “Was that your wife of twenty four years on the phone?”  “Yes.”  “Did you tell her that you were hitting on some strange girl in the coffee shop?”  “Not exactly” I replied.  I grinned at her swiping some crumbs off of the table.