“I’m not sure it qualified as sexting, to be honest, it didn’t get very far. But I, sort of, insinuated what I’d like to do together later, and it didn’t get the response I hoped.” I’m sure my face looks as dejected as I feel right now, and I try to stay hopeful that she’ll have some idea to share with me that I haven’t considered, especially since she and Chance just came out of a rut themselves.
“Oh, boo thang, David issooblivious, you’re going to have to really spell it out for him. What about getting a new lingerie set and spreading yourself out on the bed for him like his own personal smorgasbord when he comes home one night?”
I’m pretty sure he would ask me why I’m not wearing any clothes, and ask if our cleaner needs to make a special trip to do more laundry, not piece together that I’m looking to get railed, hard, but that’s too depressing to voice aloud.
It’s that thought that hits it home for me. We really are on totally different pages in the bedroom. Our appetites are just…not the same.
Instead of sharing that thought, I say in a hopeful tone, “I could try that…”
“I’m just saying, I had to fight to put the time in with Chance, we had to talk a lot of stuff out, and then put in the work to make that shit what we wanted it to be. But let. Me. Tell. You,” she says, enunciating each word with an intentional pause between each syllable and a playful gleam in her eyes. “Things havenever, and I mean, never, been better between us in that regard. There’s no reason you can’t do the same with David! If he’s not aware of what you need, make it impossible for him to miss. And if it’s not as good for you as you want it to be, talk it over with him! That’s what my best friend would tell you to do.” Chrissy smirks over at me when I laugh. “You guys have been solid for years, I’m sure he’s willing to put in some extra work to keep you satisfied ineveryway.” She gives me a playful wiggle of her eyebrows. “It’s either that or you finally let me punch him in the dick.”
We both burst into laughter right as someone arrives to clear the empty plate from our demolished appetizer, and our waitress arrives with our two brunch dishes. I guess our levity is contagious.Five smiles.I feel ready to devour the plate itself, I’m so hungry, and considering I’ve literally never had a bad meal in all the years we’ve been coming here, my hopes are incredibly high for what’s been set down in front of me. We both thank the staff as they step away, and look eagerly at the spread in front of us.
I grab my utensils and slice into the brunch flatbread I ordered, using my knife to cut open the burrata and letting the creamy cheese choose its own path across the top of my plate, while stewing over all she’s shared with me.
Why can’t I make our sex life into what I want it to be? It’s certainly worth trying at some more, at least. Even if a small voice in the back of my head insists that it’s not going to amount to any real change, that David and I are just…different in that regard, in what we want out of a sexual partner. I tell that voice to keep its pessimism to itself, that I owe it to him, to me, tousto work at it harder than I have been. The payoff will be worth it. For both of us.
It seems almost selfish to me to put so much attention on my own pleasure in that one single aspect when there are so many things that he does to give us a good life. He’s kind, he’s thoughtful, he’s…well, okay, he might beboringby some people’s standards—a lot of people’s, Chrissy would probably correct me—but I view him as dependable, reliable, andsteadfast, even when work gets a little insane and I struggle to keep my composure. He’s always there for me, calm, reassuring, polite. I know I’m luckier than most when it comes to how I’m treated by my partner, and it’s weird to expect more from him on top of all that, right?
I can’t help but wish things were more…adventurous, orrewarding, between us physically, and I decide here and now to put more effort into making our love life how I want it to be, rather than giving up on that aspect of our relationship and settling for the plain old same.
Surely he’ll enjoy what I have in mind. What guy wouldn’t?
I take my first bite of my flatbread.
Fresh.
Exciting.
New.
Stimulating.
Yummy.
Satisfying.
It’s everything I wish my sex life were, too.
FOUR
ELLIE
Muffled footsteps against the carpeted floor and the high trill of Shelby’s voice make their way closer to my open door. Instinctively, I look up as I hear them approach, and it’s the source of those footsteps that my eyes find first.
Distressed, dark brown leather boots, with stitching that lines each panel, every section of the shoe, making it stand out even from twenty feet away. Close-fitting, laced up tight, they’re a shoe only a man with a surplus of confidence can pull off.
My eyes continue to roam. Slim-fit pants, a dark umber; stylish, without being overly trendy to the point of attention-seeking. Long-sleeved, close-fitting maroon sweater. Dressed for the fall, even though this is Florida, where our only seasons are Satan’s ass crack (usually present at least ten months of the year), and slight reprieve (this one doesn’t visit on a standard schedule, but sometimes shows up between October and April for a few weeks here and there, then fucks right off again). As they come to a halt in my doorway, I vaguely wonder if it’s already cool in Oklahoma, if he’s new to the area in that outfit.
Immediately, I see the relation between Shelby and her son. He’s taller than she is, leaner, with a bit of muscle, where she’s shorter and softer with time, but their coloring, the resemblance, it’s all there. Dark brown hair with this russet undertone that seeps through in every strand. Creamy skin, probably paler than even mine, and I’m the butt of alotof jokes as a native Floridian who hasn’t had a tan since spring break of junior year of high school.
Angular face, fine bones but hard lines; on the spectrum of youthful to masculine, my guess is it’s just crossed that line. Jawline R-Patz might be jealous of. Eyes the color of fresh tilled dirt, warmer than I expected, softer somehow.
And most notably? His entire face glows with a lazy, casual mirth. It underlies every quiet word he’s speaking out of the corner of his mouth, the way his eyes watch his mother for her response, where she grabs his biceps and laughs at whatever he just shared.
Effortless masculine charm oozes from his pores, as his eyes finally meet mine.
Whatever I expected, this man isn’t it.
