“I don’t remember that I ever was. Remember, Marshal and I have a few agreements and understandings. He’s not allowed to date my friends.”
“Hmm,” Ashley says. “You called him...?”
“I did. He’s been great. Very supportive.” I take a sip of the still-hot coffee. "Like he's always been."
“Like, jock-strap supportive?” Marcy asks.
I nearly spit out my coffee and look at her. “Jock strap?”
“Supportive in the nether regions,” she confirms as she wiggles her eyebrows.
I take a deep breath, trying to hold back my smile. “Maybe.”
“Anything more?” Ashley asks.
I shake my head again. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. We've been friends forever. That’s all it will ever be.”
Ashley stands. “Eric and I were friends long before we were lovers. Two kids later, I think there’s something to be said about dependability and reliability. Has Marshal always been that person for you?”
“Yes,” I reply sheepishly.
“And have you been that for him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love him?”
I don’t have to think about my answer. “Yes.”
“Like a brother?” Linda asks.
I take a sip of my coffee. “I don’t know how to define it anymore.”
“I think you can safely answer that you’re not setting me up with him,” Linda says with a grin. “And here I was willing to give you up for him.”
“No, you weren’t.”
A smile spreads across her face. “Never. I think you should see where this goes.”
“I think I want that.”
“And I’m not even mad about your present,” Ashley says. “I’m going to keep it.”
“Well,” I say, “I’m getting a new bed. I’m not keeping one where Jack screwed a bimbo.”
“Burn that baby,” Marcy says.
“That was my first thought.”
“Bonfire at Sami’s,” Linda says.
Marshal
After scanning my membership card, I make my way from the front desk toward the treadmills. The gym is filling fast, not unusual for early on Friday morning. As I walk to the locker room, I’m not thinking about the chick with the tits and ass. To be totally honest, my mind is filled with Sami. I woke this past Sunday morning in her apartment and in her new bed. My body was wrapped around hers. She was sound asleep and snoring. Okay, not snoring. She was breathing in rhythm, and it was adorable. The way her lips were parted, my mind went to all sorts of possibilities.
Instead of acting on any of them, I tucked my arm beneath her and pulled her close. The way she cuddled against my chest was everything I never wanted but found instantly lovable.
With each passing day of this amended agreement, I continue questioning my existence.
I’m Marshal Michaels.
I fuck.
I move on.
Never.
Never ever.
Never have I woke, cuddled, and been happy about it. There was this one time in college. I’ll blame the alcohol and the fact that the chick was a cheerleader and so flexible…but the point was…I woke…she cuddled.
I got my ass out of Dodge.
Sunday morning, I didn’t run. I lingered as the scent of strawberry shampoo tickled my nose and Sami’s curves fit perfectly against my planes. As she slept, I didn’t move. My dick did…because, well...Sami was there.
Cuddling.
Breathing.
And just there.
Unlike the time in that crazy-small bed in the gross off-campus house, this time Sami didn’t have an issue with my morning wood.
Morning sex was nearly as great as nighttime.
Every time with her is off the charts.
In my apartment.
In the boathouse.
At her place.
It is as if in her presence my dick forgets how to be anything but hard.
In the eight days since her discovery of—or awakening to—Jack’s true self, we’ve talked.
That is part of our relationship that hasn’t changed. Sami and I have always talked to one another; even when talking to other people was hard to do, we had each other. Changing our agreement hasn’t changed that tradition.
She and I talked about her parents, about Jack, and about the cancelled wedding.
Despite—or maybe because of—everything, Sami seems to be in a good place…so I did what friends do. I went home.
That was Sunday afternoon.
Today is Friday, and I’m fucking obsessing.
We’ve had dinner twice and I’ve feasted on my favorite honey too, but it’s as if I want to know where she is and what she’s thinking every second we’re apart.
I’ve never checked my phone every ten minutes.
Until now.
If she wasn’t Sami, I’d be calling her.
But this is virgin ground.
The friendship zone.
The benefits zone.
Otherwise referred to as hell.
I step onto the treadmill and hit enter. I go through the steps, entering my age, my weight, and choosing the course I want to run. My fingers push without my thoughts engaging. It isn’t until I’m partway through my warm-up that I notice Miss Tits and Ass beside me. Every few steps, she side-glances my way.
You know…not turning her head. Not really looking, just eying me with a frown.
I recall my previous plan. Lift my shirt, wipe my brow, claim my friend’s distress, but the truth is that I no longer give a shit about her.
The realization is one of those epiphany moments—the proverbial sky opening and a chorus of angels singing.
“Marshal Michaels" —their voices come together in a melody of chords— “isn’t noticing a fine piece of ass.”
Okay. Angels most likely don’t say ass.
Nevertheless, it is an epiphany.
I don’t care about Miss Tits and Ass.
I don’t give a shit whether she is upset or forgives me. Even my body isn’t interested.
Maybe I’m broken.
No, it’s that after what my body and I have experienced with Sami over the last eight days, all either one of us wants is to go back to her place and...
Stay.
Hibernate.
Fucking cuddle.
I run faster on my treadmill, increasing the incline, and hoping that maybe I’ll care about the woman beside me or that my desire will change.
I don’t and it doesn’t.
I pick up my phone while wiping the sweat from my eyes.
I haven't spoken to Sami since last night. It feels like it’s been a year.
I'm Marshal Michaels—chicks call me.
Blinking away the sweat, I squint toward my phone, hoping, praying for...
One message.
One call.
It’s all I want.
But there's nothing.
"Marshal? Are you going to explain yourself?" Miss Tits and Ass asks.
For only a split second, my body reminds me of a saying: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
I fight the urge to grin. I'm thinking one in the hand is definitely not worth one in Sami's neatly trimmed bush.
"Sorry," I manage. "We didn't exchange numbers and an emergency came up."
She narrows her eyes as she picks up her pace. Her tits sway as her feet pound the treadmill. "So let me give you my number."