John was standing there, not in his usual shirt and jeans but in a football kit which didn't suit him. Behind him stood 10 or so other men, dressed in the same clothes. Some of them were staring, others were whispering to their mates, making no attempt to cover up what they were saying:
"Woah, why does he get all the good ones?"
"Jenny's not going to be happy about this one, she's a lot prettier than the others."
"Do you reckon I should wait a day or two until I start hitting on her?"
"They've not slept together yet..."
"Nah, she's been playing hard to get."
So much information was hitting Cara at once she wasn't listening to what John was saying, but she could tell by his features and the shrug of his shoulders he was apologizing for something - it wasn't exactly hard to guess what.
Why hadn't she guessed he was married? A clever, confident guy like him - but he hadn't been wearing a ring. Then again, neither had she. They were as deep in sin as each other.
But then, she thought, she hadn't boasted to her friends about him, or claimed tonight was going to be the night. She'd almost felt guilty about cheating on her husband, but this Italian silvertongue clearly didn't feel anything except lust.
Was this really what she wanted?