My nipples are so hard, they nearly slice through my bra and t-shirt.
When he finally sets me down, we’re both breathing hard.
Why did I want to go slow? I wonder as I pant. I almost ask him if he’s as turned on as I am, but I bite my tongue.
Once he’s out of the house, I rub one out in the shower, which makes me so drowsy, I almost head back to bed, but I manage to make my appointment with Dottie in town.
“Thanks again for these invitations, Maggie. My daughter is going to love them!” She claps her hands excitedly.
“Happy to help.” Dottie waits tables at the Farmhouse, a restaurant downtown. I ran into her last week at the stationery shop, and she said she wanted some baby shower invitations and thank-you cards made. She couldn’t afford the prices the shop wanted, so we worked out a trade.
“Are you sure you won’t let me pay you? This doesn’t feel right.”
I motion toward the dusty pile of workout equipment in her back bedroom. “I’m sure all of that is worth more than the work I did for you.”
“When my son moved to Dallas two years ago, he said he’d take this with him. I’ve given him plenty of chances to get it.”
“He won’t be upset when he visits and finds it gone?”
“I told him what I was doing. He said it’s fine. His apartment has a lovely workout room.”
Like Olly’s old place, I think guiltily. Olly now has to hoof it to campus or meet up with the guys at the football house to get in his daily workouts. “Too bad you don’t have a treadmill you want to get rid of.”
Dottie pauses with her Diet Coke in the air. “But you know who does have one? Bob Pearson.”
That name sounds familiar. “The guy in overalls? Always walking around town with a goat?”
“You’ve met Elsie? He’s obsessed with that damn animal. He’d bring her into the restaurant if I let him. But yes, he has a treadmill he wants to get rid of. I’ll give you his address.”
“Could I just call him?”
“The old geezer doesn’t have a phone.”
That’s how I land weights and a treadmill for Olly all in the same day, but I have to find someone with a truck before I can pick up the treadmill because it’ll never fit in my Ford Focus.
Half of our friends just moved away, and the only person I can think of with a truck isn’t particularly fond of me.
This isn’t about you, Magnolia. This is about Olly. You can eat a little humble pie to do something nice for him.
After I load up the weights, talk to Mr. Pearson, pet his goat, and pull up to the Stallion Station, I’m exhausted. I never should’ve masturbated this morning. I feel like all of my energy deserted me through my clit.
I take a deep breath and knock on the front door. Cameron answers. “Hey, Maggie. What’s up? Olly’s not here right now.”
“I’m actually trying to track down Billy. That’s his truck, right?”
“Yeah, he’s here,” Cameron says hesitantly. I’m sure he didn’t miss my animosity toward his teammate when they moved in Olly.
“I have a favor to ask.” Wincing, I add, “I might need your help too.” It’s tempting to use the pregnancy card, but I remind myself we said we’d wait to tell more people.
Two hours later, Billy and Cam are dripping in sweat and straining to squeeze the treadmill up the stairs. “Will you hate me if I yell ‘Pivot?’”
Neither of them laugh. So much for my Friends joke.
“You promised pizza, right?” Billy grunts out.
“Yes! I put in the order on our way here.”
I make several trips from my car to the house and haul the weights and bars and athletic-looking stuff I don’t understand. The doctor said I could carry a bag or two of groceries, which means I have to watch how much I lug around. I’m definitely testing the limits today, but I’d rather get this done myself than beg the guys to help me again.
