There is a lover in this relationship. I often notice my significant other with that telling, distant look in his eye. I catch snatches of their conversations from the other room, and I see the sheepish look on his face when they’ve just been together. Sometimes he tries to hide it, but if I confront him, he admits it, hoping that’ll count for something. Sometimes he even offers to invite me along, a threesome, which I endure and pretend to enjoy for his sake. The lover’s name? I don’t even want to know. Looks? Hard to tell, but most often dressed in red and white. Strange as it might seem, I accept the lover’s presence in our lives because I know, deep inside, that if I forced him to choose, he wouldn’t pick me. They’ve known each other since he was little; you could even say the lover is a friend of the family. And because I don’t to lose him, it sounds crazy, but I have grown accustomed to sharing my man with his lover. But when the lover is away, believe me, I take advantage of every second.
The futbol season is over for the summer, and hay que aprovechar.