Page 163 of Devil’s Disciples

I gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, and then cocked my head to the side. “Wait. You’ve been divorced for how long?”

“Four years.”

“How long have you had this bed?”

“Four years.”

I was sure of the answer, but felt the need to ask, nonetheless. “But, you’ve had sex with someone, right? Just not in this bed?”

“I haven’t.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d been wrong. In complete shock, I sat up, bringing her with me when I did.

“You haven’t had sex since the divorce?” I asked.

She seemed embarrassed. “No.”

I gasped. “Holy shit.”

“What?”

I swallowed heavily. “Nothing. That’s pretty cool.”

“Do I even want to know?” she asked.

I immediately regretted asking and preferred not to respond. I gave a response that wasn’t too revealing but wasn’t a complete lie, either. “That’s not something I talk about.”

“Fair enough,” she said.

I never would have guessed it, but at that moment, I couldn’t see myself having sex with anyone but Kimberly. Our bodies seemed to fit together perfectly, whether we were having sex or not.

“All that matters is from this day forward,” I said.

She pressed her hands against my chest, forcing me down onto the mattress. “I’ll only listen to you if you’re laying down.”

I relaxed onto my back and waited. Like my mother’s cat finding the perfect spot on the couch, she wiggled around until her head was right back where it was. Then, she rested her knee against my thigh.

I shifted my eyes to the digital clock on the night stand. It was ten am. I hadn’t been to the clubhouse in the past week for anything other than attending the weekly meeting. My time had been spent fucking, eating, showering, and sleeping.

I doubted the fellas would understand, no matter how I tried to spin it. How Kimberly made me feel was proof enough that I was in the right place, doing the right thing.

And, that was all that mattered.

63

Kimberly

“That was crazy how you jumped out of bed last night. Scared the shit out of me,” he said. “Is that a common thing?”

I had no idea why the nightmares of going to the morgue and identifying my parents returned. It was something that happened repeatedly when I first lost them. After a few years it stopped. Since I started seeing Cash, I had two of the nightmares.

All I could think of was that I subconsciously feared losing him, and that fear brought back the horrible dreams.

“Must have been a weird dream. I don’t even remember it,” I lied. “I don’t know what that was about.”

“Crazy,” he said.

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Who knows.”