“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Lola says, a little out of breath as she takes a seat across from me.
I drag my eyes from the old couple huddled in the corner of the café. They would probably wonder why I keep staring at them if they’d bothered to look away from one another.
“Don’t worry about it. Here”—I nudge her latte toward her—“I ordered for you.”
She smiles. “Oh, I knew I dubbed you my best friend for a reason.” She picks it up and takes a sip, closing her eyes and sighing contentedly as she visibly relaxes in her chair.
“So”—she puts her mug down, rubbing her palms together—“what’s up? Your text had me worried.”
I take a sip of my half-finished coffee, wondering if I should even say anything about it. A part of me thinks that maybe it’s not a big deal and I shouldn’t open myself up for judgment. But the other part of me knows better, and Lola won’t judge—hopefully.
“The day before yesterday, I agreed to have coffee with Jared after our shift at the shelter.” The words rush out of me in a whisper.
Her eyes widen. “Holy shit. How did that happen?”
I shift my mug around, staring down at it. “Um, well … he got under my skin a bit. Saying how I need a friend or whatever and that I reeked of heartbreak.” I smirk, shaking my head at the memory. “He asked, and I said yes.” I raise my eyes to hers.
“So what’s the problem? It was just coffee, right?” She pauses. “Though I’d be pissed as hell if Trey had coffee with another woman, it could be worse.”
“I …” I blow out a big breath. “But I enjoyed myself. I laughed. God, I laughed like I hadn’t in months.”
She smiles softly, and I see the pity in her eyes. Jesus, what has become of my life, that people feel the need to look at me like that? She reaches across the table to grab my hand with hers. “That’s a good thing. But I’m sensing he did more than just make you laugh if we’re here, talking about it …?”
I swallow, feeling tears sting my eyes and nod.
“Lia …” Her voice is quiet. “Did you …?”
I shake my head. “No. No, nothing like that. But I have thought about it.” I sniff. “That’s just as bad, right?”
She lifts a shoulder. “It’s not good, no, but you’ve been a wreck and for so long now. So if you’re looking for anger or a slap on the wrist from me, you won’t get it, honey.”
That has me sputtering out a laugh and swiping underneath my eyes as a few tears escape.
I lower my voice. “He said that maybe he’d make me come so hard I’d forget I even had a husband.”
Lola’s eyes bug out. She sits back, fanning her face dramatically.
“Oh, my God.”
“You see what I’m dealing with here?”
“He said this over coffee?” she asks with clear disbelief.
I nod. “Yep.”
“Sweet Mary, mother of …” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Keep ignoring his advances?” I ask meekly.
“Oh, nuh-uh. If you were ignoring them, you’d have gone straight home instead of having coffee with him.”
The guilt hits again. “I know. It just feels good, you know? To have someone look at me again, want me again. I’m so sick of feeling invisible.”
“I get that. But Lia, he sounds like bad news. The sexy but toxic kind, and if you think there’s ever a chance of you and Leo working through whatever this is, then you need to stay away.”
I bite my lip, knowing she’s right.
“He kissed me,” I admit.
“What?” she hisses, glancing around to make sure no one is suddenly staring at us.
“Yeah, just on the side of my mouth. He’s … damn it, he’s sneaky and calculating. It caught me completely off guard.”
Lola eyes me as she sits back in her chair and rubs a hand over her cheek. “Shit, wow. Maybe you should stop volunteering for a while, just until he’s finished his community service hours.”
Again, she’s right. I should, but I know I won’t.
“Maybe,” I mumble into my coffee mug and take a sip.
“Dahlia …” she warns with a frown.
“How’re things with Trey? You mentioned that he was working hard with all the orders at the shop.”
She grudgingly lets me change the subject. “Yeah, he’s stressed out to the max at the moment. But he’s hired someone to help him, finally, so the grouchiness should stop soon.” She takes a sip of her coffee, lowering her voice. “It’d better. But shit, the sex is amazing when he needs to de-stress. He becomes an animal.” Her cheeks turn a little flushed as she obviously thinks about it.
I laugh, but it’s kind of forced. I miss sex with my husband, but most of all, I just miss him. I miss feeling close to him.
We chat about the party we dragged our kids to over the weekend, and how elaborate all the shit there was as we finish our drinks before saying our goodbyes.
“Make sure you call me, especially if you feel like doing something you might regret.” She eyes me pointedly as we stop at my car.
I give her a weak smile. “Thank you. I’ll make sure I do if I need to.”
And I have an alarming feeling that I might just need to.
“You okay?” he asks, slowly thrusting in and out of me from behind. We’re on our sides; his head is leaning down over mine, kissing and licking every inch of my shoulder and neck.
“Yes,” I breathe. “You need to stop asking that. I’m pregnant, not sick.” I pant.
He chuckles roughly against my skin, his scruff tickling. “I can’t help it.” His hand drifts down to rest over my eight-month pregnant stomach, continuing until he finds where we’re connected between my legs. I lift my leg higher as he gently circles my clit and fucks me with slow, lazy strokes. My eyes close as I feel myself hurtle toward pure bliss, breathing heavier and moaning as he stays rooted to the hilt inside me, then grinding.
“Leo …” I whimper.
“Come, beautiful. Let go.”
And I do, as delicious, spine-tingling pleasure washes over me in waves down my entire body, making my toes curl as I moan long and loud.
He’s right behind me. Thrusting and picking up speed until he stills, emptying himself inside me and biting my shoulder as he groans deep in his throat.
“I love you. Only ever, always you,” he whispers hoarsely into my skin as he drags his teeth over it, evoking another shiver from me.
“I know,” I whisper. He shows me all the time. I’ve been a hormonal mess for most of this pregnancy, but he’s taken it. He’s taken it all with a smile on his face and love in his eyes. “I hope our boy is just like you,” I say, reaching down to rub a hand over my swollen stomach.
“Yeah?” he asks quietly.
I nod. “Yeah. You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”
He withdraws from inside me, turning me onto my back to gaze down at my face. His blue eyes glaze over with something other than lust. No, it looks like tears. And it’s then I realize that I’ve never seen him cry before.
He cups my cheek, rubbing his thumb over the apple of it.
“Some days … I can’t believe how fucking lucky I am.”
I give him a watery smile, nuzzling into his hand.
“You most certainly are,” I joke with a laugh.
He grins, and I stare at his straight white teeth, reaching out to run my finger around the outside of his lips.
“I need to feed you,” he murmurs.
I roll my eyes. “Soon. Stay here with me.” I grab the back of his head, my fingers sinking into the disarray of his sandy blond hair.
He rests his lips over mine as we just stare at each other.
“Why can’t we just stay in bed forever?” I whisper.
He sucks on my lip, releasing it before saying, “Because we’re not in college anymore and real life awaits. But … you can.” He moves away, and I reach for him. “No, come back.”
He chuckles. “I know you, wife. You may be happy now, but if I don’t feed you soon, you’ll turn grumpy, or you’ll start crying at TV commercials again.”
He has a point.
I shamelessly stare at his taut ass. Muscles bunch on his back and arms as he bends, picking up his basketball shorts and walking off into the bathroom. He returns a moment later, shorts on and a washcloth in his hand that he uses to gently wipe between my legs.
It makes me giggle. “You’re taking this whole caveman thing way too far.”
He finishes cleaning me, his brows lowering as he looks down at me. “Lia, you’re my heart and soul, and you’re carrying my child. And shit, you have no idea what that does to me. So just let me do what I need to, okay?” He leans down to kiss my nose, and I melt into a puddle of hormones as he deposits the washcloth in the hamper before leaving our bedroom.
“Ice cream. I need ice cream!” I call out as I slowly sit up to get dressed.
“You’ll get ice cream after you’ve eaten a decent meal.”
I huff, smiling to myself as I stand, sliding my dress over my head and tugging it down over my stomach.
I pull into the driveway and turn the car off, taking a moment to collect myself as I stare, unseeing, at the garage doors in front of me.
Memories are funny things. Some are so palpable that you feel as if you’re right there, experiencing everything all over again. The scents, tastes, the weather, the sliding of skin on skin, and the feelings that made your heart swell double in size.
Whereas others flit away, like cast off threads in your mind, feeling forever out of reach. Forgotten. Until one day, they decide to unravel from your conscience and knock you sideways by taking you back. Back to someplace you’d give anything to forget, or that you’d sell a piece of your soul to revisit just one more time.
This pain in my heart feels physical. Like I could march into my doctor’s office and demand that they fix it. But I know there’s no cure for this. There’s nothing anyone else can do besides him. And maybe that’s why I’ve allowed myself to sink even further inside myself, becoming someone I hardly recognize when I look in the mirror.
I can’t keep waiting on him.
I can’t keep hanging on by a frayed thread.
I think it needs to snap, once and for all. Let the pieces fall where they may.
Because if he won’t do it, then the only person who can fix this pain and make me happy again is me.