F*ck Marriage(42)

“And that’s when?”

“Mondays and Fridays.”

“Why those two days?”

“Because I need something to get through the worst day of the week and to celebrate the best day of the week.”

“Oh!” I say, genuinely amused. “I guess I have something like that too.” I lift a cigar to my nose and inhale the chocolatey smell.

“What is it?”

I smile at Satcher, shrugging my shoulders. “I guess you’ll have to hang out with me on one of those days to see.”

He looks at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. It’s nice to be looked at like that. Like I’m something to be intrigued by.

On one of the nights I sleep over, I wake to find Satcher in the kitchen sitting at the island and staring into an empty coffee mug.

“What’s going on with you?” I ask, sliding into the seat next to him.

His smile is dim and I watch his face in concern.

“Insomnia.” He shrugs. “It’s always been with me.”

I’m still half asleep and I process his words quietly for a moment.

“Do you want me to leave or is company okay?” I rub my arms, suddenly realizing how cold it is in here.

Satcher stands up and walks to the thermostat, raising the temperature a few degrees.

“Your company is always okay.”

I walk over to where he stands and take his face between my hands. There are dark circles under his eyes. Why have I never noticed?

“Has it been worse than normal lately?”

“No, actually, it’s been better.”

When I look at him quizzically, he smiles. “Sex ... sex puts me to sleep.”

“Oh my God!” I say. “You’re a manwhore for a reason!”

The rumble of his laugh comes from deep within his chest. He pulls me against him in a tight hug and I reciprocate, my own laughter pressed up against his skin.

“Come on,” I say, taking his hand and leading him toward the bedroom. “I’ll help you sleep.”

My intent was to lay him on his back and prove my riding skills, but as soon as we reach the bed I see that he has other plans. He pushes me down and climbs on top of me instead, spreading my legs and resting between them. I can feel his hardness pressed against the crack of my pussy and I writhe, impatient. He kisses me, taking his time. When I’m frantic, he lifts himself off of me and pulls me on top of him. Finally! But before I can lower myself onto his very hard dick, he moves me upward until I’m straddling his face.

“No,” I say, blushing. “I’ve never—”

His mouth reaches me before my words reach him.

“Oh my fuck,” I say, tensing. I stare down at him in shock and awe.

“What were you saying?” he asks, his tongue stilling.

I lace my hands in his hair. “Nothing. Please resume…”

He laughs that deep throaty laugh before his tongue flicks and rolls slow, slow circles toward my very loud end.





Chapter Twenty-One





When I open the door, the first thing I notice are the shoes: tennis, immaculate white. Not mine. Leaving the door wide open, I take a few cautious steps inside. What type of thief takes their shoes off before robbing you? I round the corner and step into the living room, and that’s when I see a suitcase. It’s a practical hard shell, slick black like seal skin. I glance furtively around the apartment, my heart galloping. I hear her voice before I see her.

“Billie! Oh my God, Billie.” She comes from the bedroom launching herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck in a hug so tight it’s choking.

“Jules? What are you doing here?”

When she pulls away her eyes are glossy. “I hated it there.”

“But ... your job!”

“I know,” she says. “But I missed New York, and I’d been seeing someone when I just up and left, and I kept wondering if I’d just walked away from the best thing that ever happened to me.”

I stare at her not knowing what to say. I’m still processing the fact that Jules is back, while also trying to understand what this means for me.

“You never told me that. About a guy...”

Just like with everyone else, my friendship with Jules had taken a backseat during my divorce. But something as big as meeting the man of your dreams and then breaking up seemed worthy of an email at least.

“You’ve been ... busy,” she says, and I immediately feel guilty. Busy with my own self-pity. Sooooo busy. I bite my lip.

“Tell me,” I say.

Jules’ cheeks flush when she talks about him.

“Er ... well, we were seeing each other on the down-low. We hadn’t made it official yet, but we’d said I love yous and then I got the job offer...”

“Okay, okay,” I say, pushing her toward the living room. “Tell me everything.”



We settle on the couch after Jules insists on making us drinks.

“I can’t tell you my whole sob story without alcohol.” She sighs, plopping down next to me.

She tells me about the guy she’s known forever through friends. They started seeing each other a year ago and things got pretty serious. Then she was offered the job and chose to leave even when he asked her to stay.