The clanging of weights echo throughout the small mini-gym I created in one of the penthouse’s extra bedrooms, the sound competing with my steady grunts as I slowly make my way through my workout.

The physical strain of moving the heavy weights, of going through one repetition after another is supposed to clear my mind. Supposed to make me forget everything, even if it’s just for a little while, but tonight that’s not working.

No matter how hard I push myself, I can’t stop thinking about that damned text I sent to Erin.

What the hell was I thinking? I haven’t done anything like that … ever.

And truthfully, the fact that I did something I’ve never imagined myself doing is just one issue.

The other is that, ever since I sent that text, I haven’t been able to get thoughts of Erin, and what she’d look like naked and spread out on my bed, out of my head.

The mental image is enough to make my cock swell and beg for attention.

I rub the pad of my thumb along my wedding band.

I fell in love. I took vows. I swore I’d never again imagine being with a woman other than my wife, whom I loved more than anything in the world.

I return the weight I’m working with to its holder and glance up at the wall and the large photo of my wife, Madeline, that I hung there the day I moved into this apartment. It was snapped two days before we officially wed. We’d been visiting her relatives in Washington State and they’d taken us to pick apples. That was more than ten years ago, but I still remember the way the dried leaves felt as I’d picked them out of her hair, can still taste the lingering flavor of the spiced apple cider on her lips when I kissed her.

Love and grief batter my heart, making it ache.

When Maddy and I started dating, no one gave us a snowball’s chance in hell of working out. From the very beginning, I was the kid who had too many visible tats, who rode a beat-up motorcycle and seemed destined for a life of crime, while Maddie was a good girl, one with a bright future. She’d worked hard to become a psychologist. We’d been too different from one another, we were too young to know what we really wanted, we had no idea what we were getting into.

But all those people who spoke out against us were wrong. From day one, Maddie and I weathered our fair share of differences, and we’d made it through each one with our relationship not only intact, but stronger than ever.

Just like the Dean Koontz’s Odd Thomas and Stormy, we were destined to be together forever.

And just like those characters, tragedy shattered a promising life. My whole world came crashing down around me when Maddie’s car was struck by a drunk driver. The impact pushed her into a guard rail. Maddie had lived for two days before she finally succumbed to her injuries.

Life as I knew it ended that day. I would have done anything to have left this world with her. The only reason I didn’t was because I knew that my giving up would have broken her heart.

Probably, the only thing that would have surprised people even more than our staying together was if they’d known that it was Maddie, not me, who was the aggressor in the relationship. She’d made the first move, actively pursuing me and wearing down my defenses until the next thing I knew we were dating. She’d been the one who’d sent naughty texts, suggested wild sex in public places, and was always looking for something new, exciting, and often risky to do.

I’d just been along for the ride.

So why had I sent a text to Erin offering to coach her? It’s completely out of character for me. And it’s not like I’m actually qualified to help with her problem. Sure, I’m the owner of the No O website, but Maddie created it. Maddie was the one who offered one-on-one counseling sessions, only getting me involved when she needed a male perspective.

Since her death, I’ve barely thought about No O. I certainly never had any intention of becoming actively involved with it. I figured I’d just leave the content that was already available on to help women who made their way to the site.

So why had I done something so out of character and sent that text to Erin? Just thinking about it made my palms sweat, jeopardizing my grip on the bar bell.

Not only was it out of character, it was downright stupid. Boarderline stalkerish.

Maddie never, ever approached any of the women she’d helped through the website; she’d let them come to her.

My phone chirps, alerting me to an incoming text.

Doing my best to ignore the hollow sensation eating at my gut, I hang up the barbell and stand. I get lots of texts from business associates, it could be any one of them, I tell myself as I pick up the slim phone. Despite the logic of my thought process, I know even before looking at the notification bar that it’s Erin’s response.

Trepidation grips my intestines as my thumb hovers over the screen. This is going to go one of two ways: she’s going to tell me to go to hell, or she’s going to be intrigued by my offer.

I don’t know which one worries me more.

Feeling ridiculous for not being so hesitant about something as simple as opening a damn text, I tap the screen and force myself to read it. It doesn’t take long. The text message consists of a single word.