Marshal
After scanning my membership card, I make my way from the front desk toward the treadmills. The gym is filling fast, not unusual for early on Friday morning. As I walk to the locker room, I’m not thinking about the chick with the tits and ass. To be totally honest, my mind is filled with Sami. I woke this past Sunday morning in her apartment and in her new bed. My body was wrapped around hers. She was sound asleep and snoring. Okay, not snoring. She was breathing in rhythm, and it was adorable. The way her lips were parted, my mind went to all sorts of possibilities.
Instead of acting on any of them, I tucked my arm beneath her and pulled her close. The way she cuddled against my chest was everything I never wanted but found instantly lovable.
With each passing day of this amended agreement, I continue questioning my existence.
I’m Marshal Michaels.
I fuck.
I move on.
Never.
Never ever.
Never have I woke, cuddled, and been happy about it. There was this one time in college. I’ll blame the alcohol and the fact that the chick was a cheerleader and so flexible…but the point was…I woke…she cuddled.
I got my ass out of Dodge.
Sunday morning, I didn’t run. I lingered as the scent of strawberry shampoo tickled my nose and Sami’s curves fit perfectly against my planes. As she slept, I didn’t move. My dick did…because, well...Sami was there.
Cuddling.
Breathing.
And just there.
Unlike the time in that crazy-small bed in the gross off-campus house, this time Sami didn’t have an issue with my morning wood.
Morning sex was nearly as great as nighttime.
Every time with her is off the charts.
In my apartment.
In the boathouse.
At her place.
It is as if in her presence my dick forgets how to be anything but hard.
In the eight days since her discovery of—or awakening to—Jack’s true self, we’ve talked.
That is part of our relationship that hasn’t changed. Sami and I have always talked to one another; even when talking to other people was hard to do, we had each other. Changing our agreement hasn’t changed that tradition.
She and I talked about her parents, about Jack, and about the cancelled wedding.
Despite—or maybe because of—everything, Sami seems to be in a good place…so I did what friends do. I went home.
That was Sunday afternoon.
Today is Friday, and I’m fucking obsessing.
We’ve had dinner twice and I’ve feasted on my favorite honey too, but it’s as if I want to know where she is and what she’s thinking every second we’re apart.
I’ve never checked my phone every ten minutes.