Other, more familiar women have tried to be my next missus since Sara’s passing. A good chunk of them were her sorority sisters, unfortunately. They were all so supportive in the first few weeks of her passing. I’d thought they’d be good friends or an extended family of sorts. A few, not all of them, showed their true objective eventually. The first came six months after her death; she’d showed up with wine and the sexiest outfit I’d ever seen her wear. I had warning bells in my head, but I allowed her entry anyway. Sia lamented on how much she was so concerned about my emotional well-being. She was willing to offer her body as some ‘comfort’ to me.
I made her spell it out for me. I needed her to be specific since I don’t like overreacting or jumping to conclusions. I kicked her out the moment I was sure she was offering what I thought she was offering. Erin followed about eight months after Sia. She had a softer approach. She was the “I’m here if you need to talk,” “I care about you”, “I miss her, too,” person. Then one day in the middle of a co-cry, she leaned in and kissed me. I pushed away from her, shocked, and sent her on her way.
The third, Corrine, just texted me a month or two after Erin’s failed attempt and said she was down to fuck whenever. Blocked. I don’t know if they kept tabs with each other trying to find the magical time to test me, but I’d considered it callous on all their parts. I’d thought about it as objectively as I could at the time. They wouldn’t be bad women for trying to tempt me if their feelings were real; none of them had feelings for me. They cared about what I could do for them. It all felt like they’d thought one of them should take Sara’s place as the pampered society wife. It’s like they were brainwashed to attend an Ivy League school and attach themselves to someone who would be successful or comes from old money. I am both.
Sara didn’t care about that. She’d been at my private high school on a scholarship and worked her ass off to stay. She wasn’t impressed by my money or the other snooty assholes at the school. We enrolled in the same college to stay together. She joined a sorority only because I pledged a fraternity. She was down to earth and sweet, and that’s why I loved her. She was a lawyer as well—sort of, she only took pro bono work that allowed her to fill the gaps where public defenders failed due to their workloads. She advocated for people comfortably because I was more than capable of supporting us financially. She was a true crusader. Those women didn’t see that. All they saw was her lifestyle and the material items she owned but didn’t request. I’d vowed to spoil her rotten when we got married, and I did.
I saw through them all. Sara’s death just meant there was an opening for her position as my wife. I consider myself attractive, but I’m not so damn sexy that all of these women were secretly holding a torch for me and waiting for the right time to confess their unrequited love. Of the four attempts from women who knew me before Sara’s death, only one woman fit that category.
Emma, my heart hurts for her. She was one of Sara’s closest friends from senior year of high school. Emma comes from money. In fact, her parents are richer than mine. She’s a sweet woman with chestnut hair and big, warm brown eyes, but she does nothing for me. It hurts me to know my lack of interest hurts her. I didn’t always know. I found out a few months prior.
Emma’s approach was a combination of Sia and that of a best friend. Emma would call just to check on me, find ways to make me laugh, take me to sporting events that bored her, and make me go on crazy food excursions. She’d even talked me into a weekend trip where I spent most of my time laughing at her antics. During that trip, our easy friendship tripped, stumbled, and never recovered. It was the last night in wine country; we were sampling wine and talking about life and how the absence of the right person could change it. She took her questions down a more personal path. I answered them since we were bonding.
She wanted to know if I thought I could love again. I told her how unsure and foggy that prospect seemed almost three years later. Her eyes clouded, and the clues I’d so foolishly missed started to fall into place. There was a hint of desperation in her voice when she asked me about my thoughts on being in a sexual relationship with another woman, just the physical and none of the mental. I’d told her they’re one and the same to me. They go together; no one truly has the physical without leaving some of themselves behind.
I stare out the window at the calm, blue ocean as I remember the last part.
Emma’s glassy eyes bored into mine. “Is your reluctance to love again—physically or mentally—foggy in general or just with me?”
I flinched at her question. It wasn’t fair because my answer—if answered with complete and brutal honesty—would hurt her soul.
Foggy in general, a crystal clear no for you.
I didn’t see her romantically, and I tried—really tried because I was aware that she was the best non-relative in my life. She would be an amazing life partner; I just didn’t feel any sexual zings when I looked at her. I didn’t feel anything but genuinely glad to see her. That’s it. I had not one romantic thought or feeling toward her. I’d even tried to pretend we were on a date during our last outing—nothing. I can’t make myself feel for her the way she wants.
The words were stuck in my throat. She leaned in and kissed me. Her lips were warm and soft, but I couldn’t shake how uncomfortable I was with the kiss. It was as if she was a relative testing out incest. I couldn’t do it.
I’d jumped to my feet. “Both,” I croaked the word while running a shaky hand through my hair.
Her tears wounded me. I kneeled in front of her until we made eye contact. I needed her to see I’m not selling her a lie.
“Emma, you’re wonderful, always have been a delightful person, but my heart just doesn’t beat for you in that way.” I grabbed her hands. “I tried so fucking hard to like you in the way you want. I did, I really tried, but I can’t. I refuse to just go through the motions just because people expect us to be the next power couple. I love you. Just—”
“Not romantically,” she cried.
“You deserve to know what it’s like for your husband to lust after you, delight in your body, and love everything about you. I could give you the title, but that would be locking you in a loveless marriage, where we would begin to resent each other. I don’t want that life for you. You deserve all the fucking happiness in the world.”
I held her as she cried as I mumbled what felt like a thousand apologies. I truly was sorry.
Fast-forward to the present, and I watch a stranger emerge from the ocean, then fuck her like I’ve been craving her for years. It makes no sense. I pass on pretty women who are familiar and dive in head-first with a complete stranger. It’s official. I’ve completely lost my mind.
What in the hell was I thinking?
The kitchen comes into view. I see her. She’s staring at something on the counter where I keep the stationary. Her wild curls, light brown with golden tips, are coiffed in a bun on top of her head. Her tawny, brown skin is exposed, due to a lack of clothing. It appears she found one of my muscle shirts and pulled it over her body. It clings to her curves like a body contouring dress. I start at her bare feet and allow my eyes to roam up her shapely legs, perfectly rounded ass, and toned back and arms. My dick stirs again. That’s what I was thinking. My body seems to think hers is irresistible. I notice a slight smattering of freckles on her right shoulder. I want to kiss them.
“Good afternoon.” My voice is a deep rumble.
My apprehension fades and replaces with a calm I seem to always feel in her presence. She’s not crazy. At least I thought so until she spins around, her beautiful face glowers, and her hazel eyes blaze. A yellow square whips past my face and smacks against the wall next to me.
Celeste
“Are you crazy?”
Even incredulous, his voice has a sexy rumble that makes me want to jump him again. This is all too much in twenty-four hours. My life was normal this time yesterday. No. It was better than normal. I’d received the call I’ve been anticipating for over a year—freedom. I was flying high the rest of the day until my life turned into shit. I shudder internally. That bastard…I almost died.
I shake the memory away for now because I’m currently in a new bastard’s house. Worse. I have no idea where I am. I know that I’m on a beach, but where? What part? How close is the nearest highway? Will I get arrested for having no clothes? I found a landline, but I don’t remember any phone numbers. If I had access to the internet, I could locate my parents’ new number since my dad is a firm believer in email correspondences.
I look for something else that wouldn’t harm him if it accidentally connects. I know I’m childish for throwing shit at him, but I’m raging, and my emotions are out of whack. Happy, I’m alive, mad that I am stranded, pissed about how I became stranded, scared of the terrifying moments I’d experienced in recent history—aroused by the stranger with the deep green eyes and a talented penis.
