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I point to the silver refrigerator. “I’m not too sure. You can check, though.” I hate that I’m giving him permission to look inside his own refrigerator.
He nods and walks over to the fridge while I continue my search for the bottle opener. When I find it, I practically saw off the cork, desperate to drown my woes. I pour myself a decent splash of the sweetness and take a desperate sip.
Thunder comes tearing into the room, jumping up on Sam, ecstatic to see him. Sadly, the same can’t be said about Sam. “Get down,” he snaps, pushing Thunder away and wiping down his clothes. Looks like Thunder fell through one of Sam’s memory mines.
“That’s our dog, Thunder,” I explain, as Thunder sits at his feet, his tail swishing along the tiles.
“What happened to King?” he asks, referring to his childhood pet. He looks down at Thunder, uninterested.
Sighing, I take an even bigger sip of wine. “King passed away, just before we got Thunder.”
“Oh.” His face falls and my heart goes out to him. His sadness turns to query. “So, where’s my room?”
This time, I toss back the contents of the glass in one long gulp. His room ismyroom, but looks like he has no interest in knowing where my room is.
When I think I can speak without crying, I place the glass onto the marbled counter and try my best to smile. “Saxon’s taken the guest bedroom, but there are another three rooms for you to choose from.” Feeling brass, I add, “But you’re most welcome to stay in my room—well, our room,” I amend.
Sam raises the Budweiser to his lips and takes a sip. The action reveals he’s thinking before he answers.
“But if you feel uncomfortable, then I totally understand. I understand how hard this—”
“I’m happy to stay with you,” he says, interrupting my nervous babble. “I just didn’t want to presume, that’s all. I don’t wantyouto feel uncomfortable.”
“I’m not!” I answer a little too eagerly. Oh god, this is so awkward. Why the sudden change of heart? I feel like I’m sixteen again as I say, “I meant, I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable at all. It’s your bed as much as it is mine. I think it would be good to try to do things that we normally would do.”
“Do what things?” he asks, his tone turning husky.
My cheeks begin to blister when he makes no secret that he’s checking me out. Is he still attracted to me in that way? The thought hasn’t crossed my mind as I’ve been too preoccupied wondering if he hates me or not. The way his gaze is lingering on my chest, I dare say today he doesn’t hate me as much as I believed he did.
Now I really feel like I’m sixteen.
Sam and I have never been overly adventurous in the bedroom. We both liked sex, but it never stemmed into the kinky stuff. By all accounts, it was relatively tame. But after being with the one person your entire life, the sex part, it fades, and you’re content with companionship because at the end of the day, sex isn’t everything. That emotional connection to another being is far more important and meaningful than having wild, sweaty monkey sex daily.
Well, that’s what I thought until five seconds ago. I suddenly feel hot and bothered and incredibly…turned on. But I quickly quash down those thoughts as I don’t want Sam thinking I’m an inappropriate pervert.
“Do you want to see the bedroom?” Sam cocks an eyebrow, while I almost die of embarrassment. “I mean, do you want me to show you to the b-bedroom so you can put away your things?” I quickly amend, tripping over my words.
My mind and the gutter are apparently best friends today.
Sam appears to like my trash talking however because he smirks. “Sure.” He takes a long sip of beer, licking his lips once he’s done.
Smothering the urge to take the bottle of wine with me, I turn on my heel and scurry out the door. Sam’s heavy footsteps reveal he’s following, and following close behind. The entire walk down the hallway all I can think is,are we going to have sex? Do I want to have sex? I’m not sure. I definitely have missed having Sam in my bed, but having sex now would feel like having sex with a stranger. Sam doesn’t know me, and I certainly don’t know Sam. On the flipside, maybe we need to have sex to reconnect on that personal level? Maybe it’ll help Sam remember?Scoffing, I doubt my genitals hold that kind of power.
Stopping at our door, I step to the side, deciding not to enter, as I don’t want to give Sam the wrong idea. “So, this is our bedroom.” I sweep my hand out, while Sam pulls in his lips, confused. He understands a moment later.
Peering inside, I observe him taking in the views of our large bedroom. Our king size bed is draped with a black duvet, which accents the dark gray throw cushions and the polished timber floors. Bedside tables sit on either side of the bed, and the huge stack of journals resting on the left side reveals which side I sleep on.
“I might take a shower and have a lie down.” Sam’s statement lingers in the air, a trail of innuendo following. Does he want me to shower with him? I’ve never been good with this sort of stuff. I’m completely oblivious when it comes to flirting. Not that I’ve had to worry, seeing as Sam and I got together when I was relatively young. But he was always the one who made the first moves, and I was more than happy to comply.
But right now, I want to run in the opposite direction as this feels forced and…wrong. “Okay, I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” I don’t give him time to respond as I dash down the corridor, hoping to leave my gutlessness behind.
I detour and run into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. This is ridiculous. Having sex with my fiancé is absolutely normal. So why does the thought leave me an uneasy mess? I know the answer. It’s because Samuel is as much of a stranger to me as I am to him. Sex is about celebrating your love, your reckless bond to be crazily in love forever. And at the moment, I don’t feel that. Of course I love Sam, but the feelings, the butterflies, they’ve gone into hibernation. When he looks at me, there is no love behind his eyes, only confusion. And that confusion has tainted our innocent love.
It appears I too need to remember what the old Sam was like because this new Sam is nothing like the man I fell in love with. Sam may be in a good mood now, but I don’t know when he’ll change back into the cranky, impatient Sam—the Sam I’ve been dealing with since he woke up.
Needing to get that Sam back, I push off the door and splash some cold water onto my cheeks. Peering at my crazed reflection in the mirror above the basin, I tell myself I wasn’t raised a quitter and I’ve lived through experiences far worse than this. Maybe rekindling our physical connection will help with the emotional blockage? It’s worth a shot.
The mini pep talk is exactly what I needed. I apply a coat of lip gloss before opening up the door and charging down the hall. I’m going to show my fiancé that I fight for what I want, and I want him. Regardless of the fact that he doesn’t remember me or us, I’ll love him no matter what.
