I’d like that. Honestly.
I’ll text you…
Looking forward to it.
Good night, Cam.
Night, Austen.
I can’t say that I feelbetter, but I guess I feel a little relief. Maybe it’s possible things between us can be okay. At least, okay enough that I won’t be angry for the rest of my life. I can make peace with what happened between us, maybe even be happy for him that he has the life he wanted. I mean, if he and Savannah have stayed married this long, I doubt anything will break them apart. Maybe he really does have a good life. Maybe she’s grown up and matured. Maybe she does treat him the way he deserves. Or maybe Austen is exactly the same way he always was, and is still living his life for other people. What I need to remember is it isn’t my problem, nor is it my business. I have my own life to worry about.
I put my phone down and it takes hours to fall back asleep. But at least when I wake up, it’s just time to leave for the airport.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Austen
I wake up on the dot at six, like usual, and reach for my phone.
One text from Savannah sits unread, but it’s only one word.
Landed.
At least she made it to Italy okay. I’d call, or check in with her, but she hates that sort of thing.
I thought most women loved attentive boyfriends and husbands, but I learned after that first year, it’s notmyattention she craves. It’s everyone else’s.
When I show any sort of interest, I’mcontrolling.
As if wanting to have an actual relationship with your spouse beyond one word texts and public appearances is something crazy.
I swipe across the screen, dismissing the notification, and ignore the impulse to text her back. She won’t leave Italy until Wednesday night, getting into New York on Thursday. I’ll text her then, that way she has no clue, and I can work on surprising her atSecheaheadquarters after I look at my properties on Saturday. She’s always mentioned wanting to go see Cirque De Soleil, and with her birthday being Sunday, I made a last minute decision and bought us tickets. But honestly, I think I did it to make myself go to New York more than anything. Knowing I’d be less likely to back out of going and seeing the properties if I had an obligation.
Surprising your wife for her birthday is not an obligation, I tell myself. It’s what agood husbandwould do.
I turn off the screen and I focus on my morning routine. I hop in the shower, but instead of hurrying through as I normally do, I take my time.
I let myself get lost under the hot spray and enjoy the feel of the warmth on my skin, the sweet and spicy cinnamony-cedar scent of my body wash perfuming the air. When my hand wraps around my cock, I don’t rush my orgasm. I take my time, edge myself just a little bit. I’ve never done that before, but I’ve read about it.
Watched a couple videos to get the feel for how to do it, even though I usually talked myself out of it.
But today feels like a good day to just… let go a little bit. I slept well, probably better than I have in a long time. I’ve got the house to myself, and I am a one-man show when it comes to my job, so really, I don’t have to answer to anyone.
Anyone but myself, and for once that feels strangely freeing.
Unfortunately, after the second buildup, I can’t hold off and I come hard and fast.
I’ll have to try that again in the future. Fuck, that felt good.
When I get out of the shower, I dry off. I don’t bother wrapping a towel around myself, like I normally would if my wife were home.
Instead, I take my time at the sink, running all the products through my hair and lathering up my face and body with moisturizer.
I stop for a moment, my reflection staring back at me. Sometimes it's hard to rationalize that the man in the mirror is me. I’ve always been in shape, thanks to a long life spent in sports, but I’ve always felt strangely self-conscious about my body, which isn’t typical of most men who look like me. I knew it then, in high school, I knew it in college. Which is probably why I spent so much extra time at the gym. Still, it wasn’t like any of my girlfriends or even Savannah said anything negative. But they didn’t say anything, period. I’m not stupid, I know they wouldn’t have messed around with me if they thought I wasn’t attractive, I know how attraction works.
My hands slide over my defined pectorals, rubbing the lotion along my abs and hips, fingers tracing the outline of my definition. I’m no body builder by any means, but I’ve put on some pounds and the muscle to go along with it.
Savannah doesn’t blink an eye anymore, completely desensitized to my walking around shirtless, or dripping in sweat from an intense workout. She’ll roll her eyes and make some quip about how I need to cover up what I’ve worked so hard for.
