I met her back at the lot the night after she bought the car because she said there was something rattling under the hood that she wanted me to look at, but the rattle never actually came up when we met up. We just went into the office and she pulled out a cheap bottle of white wine that looked to already have a couple of pours missing.

I stopped Tarah’s progress a pour and-a-half into our little happy hour and asked her straight-up why she was going after a pot-bellied guy with a head of hair which was more salt than pepper. I felt the only way this fairly-good-looking 20-something woman would be moving on me was if she had some sinister ulterior motive. Possibly administered by my wife, considering the two of us were three weeks into a separation. The timing was just too perfect. I sensed a trap.

Tarah launched into something about loving “experienced” men who had their lives figured out and set up. I failed to stop her and say that I was unsure about every single thing in my life, particularly my failing car lot that was in six figures of debt, and let her lead me into an embrace which eventually took us into the nicest car on my lot, a 2015 BMW, where we consummated our bizarre affair.

Tarah and I quickly developed a routine. I stayed at the office until everyone was gone and she drove over when she got off work. We drank a couple glasses of wine before we moved to whichever car we decided would be our hotel for the night. I would laugh to myself whenever I would test drive one of the luxury cars for some poor schmuck knowing I had been intimate in the thing less than 24 hours before.

I knew the thing was a horrible idea. I knew there was almost no way Becca wouldn’t eventually find out and be crushed. Plus, Tarah was certifiably insane. Like should have been in an asylum insane, but probably just skated because she was a good-looking young woman.