Epilogue 1 - Phoenix
I’d doanything for my wife.
Fucking anything.
But this… fuck, I’ll be spending a lot of time inside her to get over what I’m currently having to endure.
It’s almost our first anniversary, and I asked her what she wanted, hoping she was gonna ask me to put a baby in her.
I wanted nine months of watching her body soften and swell. I wanted to rub lotion into her belly at night, feeling our child kick against my palm. I wanted her in nothing but my shirts, waddling around the apartment, all hormonal and mean, with tits so heavy she’d let me hold them just to give her back a break after a long day at the office.
But no.
She wants this.
“Here,” Greg says,fucking Greg, pushing a bottle across the glossy table. “Got you a beer.”
Even his voice makes me wanna break his nose and feed him his own molars.
“Thanks, but I don’t drink.”
“You don’t?” I shake my head, leaning back in my chair, manspreading for dominance.
Manspreading for Greg.
“So you’re just always sober?”
“Yeah, you should try it, man. Really clears the head.”
Tonight I’m wearing the mask of Phoenix Cassidy, the quarterback, the version of me Greg thinks he knew back in school, and it’s killing me. But I’d rip the sun out of the sky for my wife. So here I am, smiling, nodding, and entertaining this asshole while planning exactly how many orgasms it’s gonna take to fix this shit when I get her home.
My current count is seven, minimum.
Possibly eight if this asshat keeps looking down at my dick.
Greg chugs half his beer in three gulps, his eyes darting around the bar like he’s afraid we’re gonna be seen together.
“You seem nervous, Greg.”
“I’m not. It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen anyone from school.”
“But we were friends, right? Friends catch up with friends?”
He’s staring at me like he’s imagining all the ways he could fuck me, which is hilarious because if I liked dick, I’d absolutely be doing the fucking.
“Really? You’re gonna throw theold friendcard at me right now?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I ask, already regretting my entire existence.
“Because you’re looking at me like I’m gonna know what your dick tastes like by the end of the night.”
Jesus, I need to fix my fucking face if that’s what he’s reading off it because no, I am absolutely the fuck not.
“I’ve got a room here… You wanna see it?”
Fuck me. I can’t flirt for shit.
My idea of flirting right now would be telling him I’ve imagined shoving his balls down his throat so he’d choke on them.
