I wasn’t even that honest with my girlfriends, but with Marshal it has always been easy.
Even now.
With Marshal, it isn't a matter of telling him about my past. I don't have to. He knows it all.
As I lie in Marshal's arms, in his bed, and with his steady breathing in my ear, I force my thoughts to go to my ex-fiancé. I'm still upset about Jack.
And hurt.
And mad.
And surprisingly calm.
It’s as if a weight I didn’t realize I was carrying is gone.
There’s no doubt that the thought of telling my parents the wedding is off fills me with dread; however, I’m also shocked to realize that having that complete thought, coming to terms with canceling the wedding, leaves me relieved.
There is still shock and pain—I think that’s normal—but there’s also liberation.
I'm not sure if this feeling of freedom will last, but while it’s within me, I decide to savor it, to lie in Marshal's cocoon and enjoy the liberty.
Maybe I was rushing the whole marriage thing.
Maybe I'm not ready for that.
Those thoughts and more move in and out of my mind as I finally ease myself from Marshal's bed.
He's still sound asleep, his broad bare chest moving with his breaths.
I hold back a giggle. He should be asleep for a week after last night.
Holy shit!
I never knew a guy could keep going on and on like that. And I never knew that I could come more than once, more than twice—shit, somewhere around five, I lost count.
Over the years, I've listened to Marshal's stories of sexual expertise. It isn't that I thought he was lying. I just figured he'd embellished—exaggerated.
Stifling a groan as I take a few steps and feeling the fantastic stiffness in my legs and tenderness in my core, I make a mental note never to doubt him again. And...I add sexual stamina to my list of things Marshal Michaels has never lied to me about.
After cleaning myself and getting dressed, I check one more time on Marshal. He needs to get up for work, but it's still early, only a little after six. After what he did last night, he deserves to sleep until his alarm rings.
Quietly, I grab my phone and purse and leave him be.
For only a moment, I consider giving him a goodbye kiss, but I don't. After all, he's my best friend, not my lover nor my fiancé. I'll let him sleep.
In the car, I finally turn on my phone.
Fifteen voicemails and thirty-seven text messages. All but one from Jack.
The other voicemail is from my mother.
One message is what normal people leave.
Fourteen voicemails and thirty-seven text messages isn’t normal.
It’s pathetic.
Without listening or reading, I hit the call button.