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The Bed Mate: A Room Mate Novella by Kendall Ryan (2)

Sam

 

It took roughly ten minutes of watching the movie before Maggie curled up in a ball, laid her head in my lap, and went straight to sleep.

Her soft brown curls were splayed across my thigh and I glanced down at her while I nursed my scotch, thinking again about what she’d said earlier.

The idea that she was sex-deprived had instantly sent my brain into overdrive and made my cock twitch with anticipation. Which was why I’d always avoided the topic with her whenever possible. It only made my balls ache and my brain throb with dirty thoughts. Better to steer clear of it altogether with her—and God only knew the last thing I wanted to hear about was what her sex life with Trevor was like.

Fucking Trevor.

I’d never liked the guy, but he’d hung around for years like a vine on a tree that was slowly sucking away its life force. Not that Maggie had changed because of Trevor. She was rock solid. The same awesome person she’d always been and her relationship hadn’t gotten in the way of our friendship. It was just, well, he didn’t make her happy.

Not in the way he should, anyway.

Not the way I could.

Her love of all things Christmas? Trevor hated that. He was a big Halloween guy and refused to acknowledge the season until December twenty-fifth. She wasn’t allowed to watch her Christmas movies around him, either. What was that about? Too much joy in her face for you, Trevor? I’d always wanted to ask him snidely.

But it was more than that. When we were all out together, he was like the fun police, constantly monitoring her. Watching how much she was drinking or giving her a look if she ordered something too heavy off the menu. Maggie took it all in stride, but I noticed. Just like I noticed how he never held the door for her and never got her flowers just because.

It was the little things. And Trevor never paid attention to the little things. But now, if he also wasn’t taking care of business when it came to the bigger things?

That was a serious problem. It was one thing to forget flowers; it was another entirely not to do your damnedest to make sure your woman came until she was hoarse from screaming at least a couple times a week.

Almost as if she could hear my thoughts, Maggie shifted in my lap, opening and closing her full lips in her sleep as she twisted closer to my aching crotch.

Fuck, I had to get out of here and fast—before she woke up and realized exactly what she’d done to me.

Careful not to disturb her, I slipped away from her and propped a pillow beneath her head. I padded quietly to the linen closet and pulled out a fluffy blanket, pausing to shake it gently over her before sneaking out the door, making sure to lock it behind me with my spare key.

My building was only a block away and the snow still wasn’t coming down all that hard, so I opted to walk and leave my truck behind in hopes that the cold air would do me and my wayward dick some good.

Hands in my pockets, I strolled down the sidewalk, trying my hardest not to think about Maggie and Trevor, but I couldn’t help myself.

For all his problems, it was nice that Maggie had someone. Someone stable and long-term. That was what I wanted, too, but for some reason, my taste in women had always left something to be desired.

They always started out normal enough. Like Fiona, the girl I’d dated over the summer. She was beautiful and smart—a kindergarten teacher with a heart of gold. Or, at least, that’s what I’d thought until she’d broken out the whips and asked me to meow like a cat. I liked to get wild as much as the next guy but there was a line for me, and she was way on the other side of it.

Then there was Bethany, the short-lived brunette I’d met during a skydiving excursion. She was funny and easy to talk to, and we even shared a passion for death-defying sports. For a while I thought she might be the one that would make the dreams starring Maggie finally cease and desist. But when a waitress at a diner got a little too friendly with me one day, Bethany slashed her tires and stuffed a banana in her exhaust pipe.

When I’d confronted her about it, she’d looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Now you know not to toy with me. Next time, I’ll cut a bitch.”

I’d walked out of her apartment, called the cops, changed my number, and never looked back.

Which brought us to Melanie.

She’d seemed normal, just like the rest of them. She was a manager at a department store and she loved country music. On our first few dates, she’d tried to get me into the scene and I’d gone along. We had fun, teasing each other and trying new things.

She was the kind of girl that a guy could settle down with. If, of course, it hadn’t been for her sexual hang-ups.

I’d tried to be understanding at first. I knew it was awkward to be with a new person, so when she wanted to have sex with the lights off and under the sheets, I didn’t mind.

But then she’d just lain there, quiet as a mouse, holding her breath like she was waiting for something painful to be over. Like having sex with me was the equivalent of having a root canal. Again, I’d put it off to nerves or insecurities. I’d tried to soothe her of them, tried to show her how to relax and let herself go, but nothing worked. In fact, it only got more difficult. On the rare occasion she wanted to have sex, she left her shirt and underwear on, insisting that I do the same and push her panties to the side. But even that only happened three times before enough was enough.

I wanted to be with someone who wanted to be with me. I didn’t want to beg a woman to have sex with me, didn’t want to convince her. It felt wrong and weird.

When I’d finally called her on it flat out, she admitted that she’d never had a sex drive and didn’t want to pursue any type of alternative to that. She was perfectly happy living a life without sex.

I sure as hell wasn’t.

But the worst part was? I wasn’t even sad. In fact, I felt kind of relieved. Because if I had to sit down and be totally honest with myself, I’d have to admit that it probably didn’t matter much one way or the other. Flawed or not, the reason I hadn’t settled with those women or any of the rest was simple.

They weren’t Maggie.

I reached the door of my apartment and shuffled inside, careful to brush the snow from my shoes and shoulders before glancing around the place.

It was everything Maggie’s place wasn’t. Where her house was warm and cozy, with stacks of magazines and rows of scented candles, mine was sterile and neat. There were no blankets or cupboards full of movies. But then again, that was probably because I hadn’t allowed Maggie to redecorate the thousand times she’d asked.

Trudging into the kitchen, I fixed myself a turkey sandwich and carried it into my living room. Then I plopped onto the sofa and stared down at my sad, lonely meal.

Maybe I had to settle for the fact that, no matter how hard I looked, I would never find anyone that fit with me the way Maggie did. She was just...my person. The puzzle piece that clicked with mine.

She was the person I called when something good happened. And when something terrible happened, too. She was the person I could count on at the end of the day.

People could go their whole lives without finding someone as true and genuine as Maggie.

So whenever I had to entertain the idea of her fucking someone else...

I scrubbed a hand over my face.

I was losing my mind. Or, at least, I was going to if I didn’t get Maggie off the brain.

Maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t going on this trip with me and the guys. It would give me a chance to get my head clear and my priorities straight. They already broke my balls mercilessly when she wasn’t around about how I had two girlfriends, her and Melanie, and how I’d flipped the scripts of the whole “friends with benefits” thing in the lamest way. They called it “Ball and Chain Without Benefits.”

Bunch of fucking geniuses, the lot of them.

I took a bite of my sandwich before noticing my appetite was gone, then threw the rest of it in the trash before making my way to my room and opening my suitcase.

The big snowboarding and skiing trip was only a couple days away and I was going to focus on prepping for that. Grabbing some stuff from my dresser, I threw in a few days’ worth of clothes, my toothbrush, deodorant, and—

I opened the top drawer and stared down at the yellow box of condoms staring back at me.

Maybe better not to bring them. I needed a break, not just from Maggie and Melanie, but from all women. A chance to clear my head and get away from wild one-night stands and the crazy that always found its way to me.

Yep, this trip—and the celibacy that went with it—was exactly what I needed to clear my mind.

So why was it that when I climbed into bed and closed my eyes, all I could see was Maggie’s head in my lap all over again?

 

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