Yes. I said it.
Only it wasn’t just sex, we loved each other. Still love each other, and always will. But it was a mistake. And we should’ve talked it out back then, like mature adults, which we’re not, clearly.
David shifts beneath me, pulling my attention back into the moment. “Kate, you’re hurting me,” he groans.
I look down, startled. Sure enough, there are a few tiny red marks where my nails bore into his skin. I rub vigorously at the spots.
“You’re not in the ideal position for this, you know.”
It’s Sunday morning, and he’s in bed with me, which is a story in and of itself. I’ve been massaging his shoulders while he works on the laptop. Between his squirming and my daydreaming, it’s not my best effort. That, and the obvious distraction of his exquisite, nearly naked body. Boxer briefs and a smile. Lord help me. I’ve missed him so much these last few weeks, it hurts to breathe. I bend forward and rest my chin on his shoulder.
Gosh, he smells good.
He swings his head around. “Do I want to know why you’re sniffing me?”
I inhale deeply. “Fried chicken?”
“Yes, Kate. Fried chicken, and biscuits, potato fries, and gravy, lots of gravy. I thought about you the entire time.”
“Liar.” I reach over him to scroll through his music. “You couldn’t have brought me some?”
“It was a chicken joint in Virginia. At a rest stop of all places. I could throw up in my mouth thinking about it.”
He got in long after I’d gone to sleep—some band competition with Blake and a bunch of middle school kids. I’m not sure how David got roped in, but he knows how I LOVE fried chicken. It irks the boys to no end I have a stomach of steel and can eat them both under the table. And I’m barely over a hundred pounds. I’m sure it will catch up with me eventually.
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