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I can’t stand to witness the apathy in his eyes when he sees it’s me, and not his ex-girlfriend, Alicia, jerking him off. I yank open the door and slam it shut behind, resting my back against it as I try and recollect my thoughts.
Rapping my head against the wood grain, I hold back my tears. He doesn’t remember anything about me. Not my touch, my love, my entire being—nothing. I’m a stranger to him. A stranger he’d rather imagine was his ex-girlfriend.
Pushing off the door, I take a steadying breath and sigh when I see Thunder trotting down the hallway. Samuel has hardly acknowledged him, and I know the feeling all too well.
“Hey boy,” I coo, rubbing his head. “How about we get you something to eat?” He barks in consensus.
We both amble into the kitchen where I grab Thunder’s food and make my way out the backdoor. As I serve up his tinned food, I feel inadvertent tears approaching. I can’t remember a time when I’ve been more miserable. My childhood feels like a walk in the park compared to what I’m currently going through.
Thunder happily eats his breakfast, while I’m seconds away from losing it. I knew this would be hard, but I feel like I’m being torn to bits. I’m treading with caution, afraid I’ll hurt Sam and his progress, but what about me? He doesn’t seem to care that he’s hurting me time and time again.
A tear slips past my crumbling walls, and I angrily wipe it away, frustrated at how hopeless I feel. When Thunder yaps excitedly, I lift my head to see Saxon jog up the driveway. He’s topless and in black running shorts, which sit low on his slender waist. Images from last night flood my brain, and my cheeks heat hotter than the flames of hell.
His broad chest is tattooed with what appears to be an hour glass sitting over his heart with two huge wings extending up across his collarbones. Gazing down, I see he has cursive writing coiled around his ripped flank. I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t help it. He is pure masculinity—raw, ripped, and ruling.
His upper body is commanding, unyielding, and ordering total control. His pectorals are firm, a featherlike dusting of sleek dark hair running down between the dip of his collarbones, coiling all the way to his navel. His abdominals are an eight pack and his obliques pop, not an ounce of fat on him. His V muscle, my most favorite part on a guy, is like an arrow pointing to what I know is an incredibly impressive package. His shorts don’t leave much to the imagination, either.
When I make no secret of my staring, Saxon comes to a slow stop before placing his hands on his narrow waist and gulping in mouthfuls of air. The action has me shamefully averting my eyes, horrified by my gawking. I did enough of that last night. Thunder drops a ball at my feet, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
As Saxon strolls over to me, I see that he’s slipped on a t-shirt. I’ve probably made him feel extremely uncomfortable. If he were staring at me the way I was just staring at him, I would feel objectified, too. I need to pull it together, as Saxon being here is the only thing keeping me sane.
“Good morning,” he pants, still breathless from his early morning run.
“Morning,” I reply, feeling my cheeks blister.
“Why are you up so early?” The moment he stops in front of me, his signature, robust fragrance catches on the light breeze. My sense of smell cartwheels in delight.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I finally answer. I leave out the fact I was too afraid to sleep in case my very vivid imagination conjured up how his shower session ended.
He grins, the sight brightening up my morning. “Are you hungry?” My stomach growls, replying for me. I place my hand over it, blushing. “C’mon, I’ll make you pancakes. One thing Kellie taught me which stuck was that pancakes make everyone happy.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Well, in that case, you better make double.” He frowns.
I need to put a lid on my woes because I know I’m sick of hearing myself complain. I can only imagine how annoyed Saxon is.
Painting my face with a staged smile, I say, “So, are we going to eat, or what?” But Saxon reads through my façade instantly.
He captures my forearm within his warm palm and shakes his head. I choose to ignore the very vivid memory of his hand on something else. “Don’t do that, Lucy. Don’t pretend with me. Your honesty and the fact you wear your heart on your sleeve is a refreshing change from the bullshit I’ve been surrounded with. No one expects you to be holding it together.” He loosens his grip from around my arm and brushes his fingertip along the apple of my cheek. “Just be you, okay? I don’t want you to be anyone else but you.”
I don’t even know what to say, so I nod. He smiles, a smile which I’ve come to rely on to get me through the long days. We walk towards the house, Thunder following closely behind in comfortable silence. That’s one of the many things I like about Saxon. We don’t have to fill the silence with nonsense. I’m going to try and forget what I saw because I value our friendship too much.
As he opens the door for me, I beam, feeling a sheet of calm envelope me, unlike five minutes ago. That calm gets trampled on, however, when I almost bump into Samuel. He looks incredible in blue jeans, a checkered shirt, and boots.
“Shit, sorry,” he quickly apologizes, steadying me as he plants his hands on my upper arms.
I look down at his fingers, then back up at him, wondering if he’s okay, as he just said sorry and saved me from falling. When a grin touches his cheeks, I’m certain he’s running a fever.
Saxon’s huge frame shadows me, and for some unexplained reason, I subtly shift out of Sam’s hold. I’m still burned from this morning and I’m not comfortable with him touching me as all I can hear on repeat is being called Alicia.
“I was going to make coffee,” he declares, that weird thing called a smile still hugging his cheeks. “Would you like some?”
My mouth hinges open. Is he actually being nice to me? His moodiness is giving me emotional whiplash. I don’t know how much more of it I can take.
My non-receptive disposition must translate into a yes because he moves behind the counter and opens the pantry door to retrieve the coffee. Without thinking, he opens the cupboard above the stove-top and reaches for three mugs.
My attempt at being subtle is downright laughable as I spin to look at Saxon. He’s a lot better being shrewd than I am and nods once, confirming that he saw Samuel reach for the cups of his own accord. Did he remember? Or was it innate? Whatever it was, I can’t deny I’m excited.
“So, I was thinking, how about you show me what you—what I usually do around here?”
