Sarah eyed me suspiciously from across the table. Her blue eyes narrowed shrewdly, and I willed my heated cheeks to die down. Sarah and Diane didn't know I was seeing other women. It would invite conversations I wasn't yet comfortable to entertain.
How did you tell two women who were practically family that you missed physical intimacy? In other words, I missed sex.
They didn't know I took women out—at least, I hoped they didn't. I knew they would disapprove even though the women I passed time with were casual bed warmers who knew the score. I was careful not to see anyone from New Haven, and they rarely went out into town, so it wasn't like I would bump into them.
My only exception had been Sofia. And the only reason we connected was because I misread her location on my dating app. I was too mesmerized by her gorgeous smile and warm, pale brown eyes. As far as fuck buddies went, Sofia was perfect. Yet, despite our initial chemistry and ease, I hadn’t been ready to consider dating her seriously.
Two years on from Hannah's passing, the grief had still been raw. Still visceral. I was relieved when she felt the same—there was sexual chemistry but nothing more on her part, either. Now that I was considering stepping my toe into genuine dating, Imight have been open to something more with Sofia. The sex had been explosive, and we got on well. Unfortunately, she was now engaged and had slid firmly into the "good platonic friend" column.
"So, Di, how's things at the shop? Must be getting busy with the holidays coming up."
Luckily, Diane hadn't picked up on my Freudian slip as she launched into regaling me with tales of her charity shop that sponsored a children's hospice. Her store was popular and saw a regular stream of shoppers and donations. Hannah had inherited her mom's generous spirit. It was one of the qualities I’d loved about her. Even at our wedding, she’d put a list of local charities to donate to in lieu of gifts.
"We recently had a ton of women and young girls' clothing dropped off, which is great," Sarah piped in. She helped her mom run the store occasionally. "But it leaves a gap in the men's department. You wouldn't happen to have any old clothes lying around that you could donate, would you?"
"Ahh…sure." I didn't. All I had were old work clothes that I would sooner shred than donate to people. Everything else I wore regularly. "I'm sure I can find some things."
Sarah beamed at me. "Great! Maybe I can come by sometime and pick them up. Save you from coming into town to drop them off."
I felt a tug of annoyance at her insistence, but at least she wasn't eyeing me with suspicion anymore. I made a mental note to do a Walmart run to pick up some men's clothes.
After dinner, Sarah carried the cake out, and I held my breath in apprehension for what was to come. Diane sniffled as she watched Sarah light the candles with a shaky hand. And then the saddest rendition of"Happy Birthday"started. I remained silent, drowning out their voices as I stared a hole in Hannah's name on the cake, written in cursive blue icing. Hannahwould've hated this. I could picture her face scrunched up in disbelief at the spectacle she was witnessing. I let out a choked laugh at the vision before covering it up with a cough.
After the cake, which I reluctantly swallowed down, I went upstairs to use the bathroom. While I was there, I couldn't resist the urge to peek into Hannah's room. Sometimes, when the memories of her overwhelmed me, I would go out of my way to avoid this room. And other times, I just needed to be close to her.
Her room had been redecorated as a guest bedroom when Hannah had been alive. But after she passed, Diane tried to recreate her bedroom before she left for college. She filled it with all sorts of memorabilia. School awards, photos from her youth, and soccer trophies from when she played at college. She tried giving me a few things, but I declined. It was hard enough living with little reminders of her throughout the house—the kettle she picked, the monogrammed towels, and the shaggy rug she loved. Everything was hers. I didn't need any more reminders.
I picked up a framed photo of us on our wedding day. We were walking back up the aisle, laughing at each other as white confetti blew in our faces. Without realizing it, a tear slid down my cheek.
I rubbed Hannah's face with my thumb. "Miss you, Hans."
Chapter 4
Maria
Igrunted as Logan worked his dick into my slick ass. I squeezed my eyes shut and curled my hands in the comforter, trying harder than usual to relax my back-end muscles. I turned my head to the side, breathing in and out slowly. Wetness gathered behind my lids, but I knew it wasn't from the intensity of the act.
"Fuck, how are you always so tight back here? You'd think I would've loosened you up by now," Logan panted as his hand pushed painfully against my right shoulder.
I bit my lip until I tasted a metallic tang. He probably thought he was complimenting me, but all it did was remind me how many times I'd allowed him to fuck my ass.
Logan grabbed my hair and pulled my head back roughly. I cried out and tightened my grip on the bedding. I'm sure he thought I was in the throes of ecstasy.
I should never have responded to his text. It was a spur-of-the-moment action born from an emotional response. When Loganasked to meet him at Malley's, I stupidly thought he wanted to hang out. Yes, eventually, we would have ended up where we were right now, but my imagination had gotten away with me.
I envisioned us sharing a drink. Talking. Laughing. And then we'd stumble onto the street because Theo would've kicked us out after last call. And he'd take me home and make sweet, gentle love to me.
But as soon as I arrived, Logan downed his drink and stood. My heart sunk to my stomach, and considering how close to the surface my emotions were, I was surprised I hadn’t burst into tears.
I wished I had. Logan would've run a mile, and I would've been saved from the bitter taste of regret and disgust that climbed up my throat.
He shoved my head back down on the bed and held onto the back of my neck. His fingers squeezed, and a few female slurs grunted out of his mouth. He was close to completing, and I was close to bucking him off and kicking him out. I knew I wasn't going to come. Usually, I would stuff my fingers up my pussy or rub at my clit; eager not to hurt my bed partner's ego by not orgasming. This time, I didn't care. I just wanted it to end.
I made a few drawn-out moans to let him think I was enjoying myself until I closed my eyes in relief when I felt him pull out. I heard a few fast strokes before a wetness rained down my ass and back.
I breathed deeply, rolling my lips in, trying to keep the tears at bay.
He slapped my ass. "Thanks, babe," he panted before I felt a dip in my mattress and his footsteps padding into the bathroom.
