“Oh, Diz. Oh, yeah,” he’s chanting, between kisses, face pressed to mine. “I missed you, I missed you.”
It’s too easy to fall back into his arms, to move the way we’ve learned to move together. The familiarity of his body, his smell, everything about him promises I don’t have to be scared anymore.
If I just fall back into this pattern.
“Stop, Tobe. No sex. I have to not do this.”
My vagina is furious at me right now.
We’re silent and stock-still in each other’s arms. I need this moment with my body against his. It’s reckless and risky; the flex of his thighs, that extra pressure where it counts, douses my parched libido in gasoline and throws a match at it.
We were always hot together, patching the cracks in our relationship with orgasms and optimism. Sometimes a patch absorbs the shock of a rough spot, getting you through. And sometimes it lets the cracks grow into chasms that might be uncrossable.
He takes a shaky breath, forehead against my collarbone, then exhales with purpose as he lifts me up and away, high enough to get my feet under me. His strength is infuriatingly hot. Does hehaveto show me how easy it would be for him to put me right where I’m dying to be?
Tobin rolls to his feet, covered in mud. “As you wish.”
Icannotwith this man. “I knew it. I knew you were the Dread Pirate Roberts.”
He shrugs. “Like I said. I thought you’d like it.”
“That’s… that’s…” Cheating is what it is. Now that I think about it, the other two scenarios looked suspiciously like scenes fromYou’ve Got MailandSleepless in Seattle. He’s using romantic comedies against me, like insider information.
“That’s it. From now on,Ichoose the scenes.”
“Fine,” he says, the dangerous spark in his eyes flying right at me.
“I assign the roles.”
“Fine.”The repetition deepens the rumble in his voice.
“I’ll… I’ll see you next week!” I shout, backing away, shaking my finger so he doesn’t follow.
His satisfied laugh is not at all like my safe and gentle husband. I know I’ll replay the husky, knowing sound tonight—alone, and wishing I weren’t.
Chapter Thirteen
Don’t be afraid of your scenes. Fear and discomfort can stop you from discovering the truth your scenes will reveal, if you let them.
—The Second Chances Handbook
Stellar’s texting from work again. Rural medicine—herdreamjob, yay me for thinking those words without needing a blood transfusion—was supposed to be challenging, but she’s finding a lot of time to send memes, somehow.
Sneaked onto the supply plane to Calgary. Got a new lipstick. Vicious Pink. WAY too expensive.Stellar sends a picture of her gorgeous lips, which aren’t a pop of color so much as a punch.
LOVE IT. SO PINK. AM JEALOUS.I press my own neutral-shaded lips together, imagining.
Feels AMAZING. It’s got peptides, or whatever.
What do those do?I add scientist and laugh emojis, but I’m worried. That’s a hell of a trip for a tube of lipstick.
They can reinvent your lips. VERY powerful.
Stellar is my person. We’ve shared every milestone, every heartbreak. And we’re talking about lipstick, when there’s clearly something deeper going on.
How’s the clinic?
Long pause. No dots.
