One
Mila
Is there anything more disappointing than your man finishing before you?
I mean long before you, and then immediately calling it a day.
No, there isn’t.
Tonight, I didn’t even get the usual ‘do you want me to finish you off?’ afterwards, either. Like, fine, don’t worry about my orgasm or anything.
Liam lays back on his bed with a satisfied smile.
He has that post orgasmic glow to his light eyes. You’re welcome, buddy.
I’m tired of arguing with him about this. He doesn’t want us to take our time and work ourselves into a frenzy before having sex. He wants to get in, and then get on with his day. For a man obsessed with cars, he has a very low sex drive. Mine is sky high. I suppose it doesn’t help that I read so many swoony romance novels.
Hello, sexy alpha. Place me in cuffs and take me away.
“You sure you’re okay, babe?” Liam asks.
I never said I was okay, but let’s roll with this.
“Yeah… considering.”
He sighs. “Fuck’s sake. Considering what?”
“You know what. Did you even want sex just then?”
“Give it rest, Mila. We have this same fight over and over.”
“Because you do everything so half-heartedly in bed now!”
“I’m tired. You’re the one who wanted it.”
“I didn’t hear you saying no!” I snap.
“You’d only get bitchy.”
I throw my hands up and get out of bed. “I’m sorry that I want to have sex with my boyfriend. What a monster I am.”
“Don’t turn this in to a big deal. Everything is always a big deal. We had a quickie; so what?”
“We’re supposed to be trying! We both laid down what we wanted six months ago in our last-ditch attempt to save this relationship. I’ve held up my end of the bargain. I spend every Sunday with you so you can fucking see your mates most Saturday evenings. I told you I wanted more affection and intimacy.”
“We fuck every week.”
“Every Sunday, yeah. We have a quick fumble, watch TV, and order a takeaway pizza. That wouldn’t be too bad if we also did something—anything—else at other times. I want you to take your time and at least break a sweat!”
We’re twenty-one. We should be out having fun, not living like a bored married couple. If only he saw it that way. Liam is content. He’s happy to do the same job, go to the same pubs and restaurants, and visit the same destinations.
To be fair, I wish I was like him. I would love to feel like I’m not missing out on something. I see these amazing places all over the world, and I long to pack a bag and chase the high of new experiences.
The only place I can get Liam to commit to is Cornwall. It’s a lovely seaside town, and somewhere I hold amazing memories of, but it’s not quite enough for me for forever.
“I wasn’t in the mood.”
“Then tell me that. Fuck.”
“Calm down.”
“I’m not calming down. I’m going to Wren’s.”
Without getting up, Liam pulls on a pair of boxers. “Whatever. Are you coming back later, or should I order one pizza?”
“I’m not coming back. I’ll eat with Wren and Brody.”
She’s a good hostess; she’ll feed me. Or Brody will take pity on me and order us all a Chinese takeaway.
“All right.” Liam leans over and grabs the TV remote. “Are we still meeting tomorrow for dinner after work?”
“I’ll call you when I get out of uni.”
“Your last class finishes at four, right?”
My scalp prickles in anger, but my rage isn’t going to get me anywhere.
“Three,” I reply. The new uni year has recently started and there’s a lot to do. “I need to find some work experience soon. Everyone else in my class is already set.”
Part of my course is working in the publishing industry. I’m almost certain that I want to write, but I’ve also enjoyed editing. It’s much more fun to pick holes at someone else’s work than to have it done to your own.
“How are you going to handle working?” he teases.
I narrow my eyes. “I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“Sure.”
All right, so my employment track record isn’t anything to write home about. I’ve done a bit of waitressing, but that’s about it. I live with my parents, and although I love it, I’m pretty much still there because I’m scared.
Mum and Dad have good careers, and so do my two brothers. I’ve picked a notoriously tough industry to make it in. My dad worries about that a lot. I think that’s why they suggested I stay home while I study. That, and they can’t let go either.
I’m not scared of hard work. I’m scared of disappointing my parents.
I get out of bed and slip my clothes on, feeling Liam’s eyes on me.
“You want to do something next weekend? We could attempt one of those escape rooms or go to the cinema? Ooh, or to that new bar in town—the one to replace that shady place where they didn’t check IDs,” I suggest.
Anything. Let’s just do anything. Although, I know the answer before he opens his mouth, and I know that means we’re doomed.
Liam shrugs a shoulder, half listening and half watching the grid line up on F1. “Yeah, maybe.”
Maybe means yes when my mum says it. Unfortunately, it means no when Liam says it.
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say.
“Drive careful.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” He turns back to the TV, and I know he won’t bother getting dressed until he’s ordered his pizza.
Sometimes I want to shake him. Liam has crazy potential but, for whatever reason, he’s wasting it. If I wasn’t part of his routine, I wonder if he’d want me back at all.
I leave his apartment with a heavy feeling in my stomach, and I get into my cute yellow Beetle—the proper bubble shape. The first remake—and I drive to Wren’s.
She had better be home.
We don’t have plans but I had to get out. I can’t spend another Sunday wishing he would take me out and then tear my clothes off. Things were hot, once upon a time. We were teenagers who couldn’t make it through a movie without getting naked.
I’m still searching for that. Wren and Indie keep telling me that it’s gone. I’m holding onto the hope that it’s not. Maybe we can get over this hump and get back to how it used to be.
Maybe I’m a fucking fool.
I pull up outside Wren’s place and park in the drive. They have a lovely house now with three bedrooms and a big garden. Wren has currently brought home three old dogs from her job at the local rehoming centre. She can’t bear it when the elderly dogs don’t get adopted.
They’ll end up with about ten, despite Brody initially insisting on a maximum of two.
Brody answers the door after I knock. His dark hair is messy, and I don’t want to know what they’ve just been doing. My hair is still pristine.
“Brody, my brother from another mother.”
“Wren, your weird mate’s here!” he shouts over his shoulder.