Trish considered herself a lover of people, and her eventful life had borne this out. She’d had affairs with men and women of all ranks and persuasions. She’d had lovers, old and young, rich and poor, good and bad. She’d been in open relationships and in partnerships of convenience, and had dabbled, long distance, over the internet—sometimes as herself and others as a young man named Allan.
She’d had her moments of comfortable monogamy as well. In fact on the night she met Lance she was involved in two such relationships.
One was with Pete. She was waiting for him when he called to say he’d been delayed at work. So she sidled up to Lance. ‘You’re looking lonely. Can I join you?’
Lance probably wasn’t her best target given her somewhat complicated circumstances. Apart from being a detective, he’d just come through a messy divorce. Trish’s love life was about to unravel. Again. Not that that mattered to Lance. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Take a seat. What are you drinking?’
small stories about love 