Until now.
If she wasn’t Sami, I’d be calling her.
But this is virgin ground.
The friendship zone.
The benefits zone.
Otherwise referred to as hell.
I step onto the treadmill and hit enter. I go through the steps, entering my age, my weight, and choosing the course I want to run. My fingers push without my thoughts engaging. It isn’t until I’m partway through my warm-up that I notice Miss Tits and Ass beside me. Every few steps, she side-glances my way.
You know…not turning her head. Notreallylooking, just eying me with a frown.
I recall my previous plan. Lift my shirt, wipe my brow, claim my friend’s distress, but the truth is that I no longer give a shit about her.
The realization is one of those epiphany moments—the proverbial sky opening and a chorus of angels singing.
“Marshal Michaels" —their voices come together in a melody of chords— “isn’t noticing a fine piece of ass.”
Okay. Angels most likely don’t sayass.
Nevertheless, it is an epiphany.
I don’t care about Miss Tits and Ass.
I don’t give a shit whether she is upset or forgives me. Even my body isn’t interested.
Maybe I’m broken.
No, it’s that after what my body and I have experienced with Sami over the last eight days, all either one of us wants is to go back to her place and...
Stay.
Hibernate.
Fucking cuddle.
I run faster on my treadmill, increasing the incline, and hoping that maybe I’ll care about the woman beside me or that my desire will change.
I don’t and it doesn’t.
I pick up my phone while wiping the sweat from my eyes.
I haven't spoken to Sami since last night. It feels like it’s been a year.
I'm Marshal Michaels—chicks call me.
Blinking away the sweat, I squint toward my phone, hoping, praying for...
One message.
One call.
It’s all I want.
But there's nothing.