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I expect the man to grin and spout off some bullshit about acting like a woman, but his face grows serious.
“Of course you can.”
“I can’t imagine hooking up with anyone but her. Just the thought makes my skin crawl.”
He doesn’t call me out on my confession. He doesn’t bounce up and down and scream that he knew something happened between the two of us.
“Is it because of your injury?”
I swallow as I consider the question.
“Yes,” I tell him, hoping it’s the truth.
I’m in a vulnerable place with my amputation. When I spoke with Dr. Ackerman about it, he was quick to tell me that any woman worth having wouldn’t have a problem with my missing limb. I wanted to let that sink down into me far enough until I started believing it myself, but I’ve struggled with it.
I know I wouldn’t discount a sexual relationship with a woman because of how her body looked. In the past, I’ve discovered that every woman has something to offer that I like. Thick thighs and a juicy ass come with sex sounding feral and fucking sloppy, and I love that shit. Tits in any size are fucking perfect. Long hair, short hair, it doesn’t fucking matter to me. Shaved pussy, full jungle, I enjoy myself either way.
Granted, I’ve never slept with a woman with an amputation, but even before I became an amputee myself, I knew that wouldn’t be a fucking game changer for me.
It hits me what I said to Slick right after the first time we slept together. I told her she was fucked up for sleeping with a man missing more than half his leg. I know that was more about me and my own hatred for my new body than it ever had to do with her. I never even talked to her about it afterward. We both acted like I never said it, and I don’t know if that was the healthiest thing on either of our parts.
“I told her she was fucked up for sleeping with me.”
“Because you work together?”
I shake my head.
“Tell me you didn’t,” he says, disappointment in me clear in his tone.
“I did. I told her she was disgusting for being okay with it.”
“That’s fucked up and wrong. Please tell me you don’t truly feel that way.”
“I did at the time. She disgusted me because I was disgusted with myself.”
“And now?”
I shake my head. “Now, I just can’t see why she’d want to in the first place. I was a total ass to her for a long time after I got hurt. Any chance I got, I jabbed at her to try and get her to leave.”
“Slick isn’t the type of woman to walk away when someone needs her.”
I nod, knowing this to be true long before I got hurt. She’s loyal to a fucking fault, and that makes me want to consider that the sex we had was something I pushed on her, something she didn’t want to say no to because she was worried about how I would take that rejection.
I feel like an even bigger asshole considering she never wanted it in the first place, despite her saying I was the best lover she ever had. I’ve read this situation completely wrong. She hasn’t moved on. She was never affected by what we did in the first place.
“I’m not trying to come off any certain kind of way, but you’re a fucking catch, man.”
I look up at my friend. He has no idea the realization I made, and there’s no way I’m going to admit any of that shit out loud. I feel like I coerced one of my teammates into bed, and I’m not fucking okay with it at all. It makes me feel slimy and filthy, like a real fucking dirtbag, like one of the men we kill on a regular basis.
It changes everything.
“Why would a woman want a man with one leg when there are so many out there with two perfectly good ones?” I ask instead.
Ugly stares down at me, but I’m not surprised when he doesn’t come up with a list of reasons why. Hell, it seems he can’t even come up with one.
Chapter 35
Slick
He’s been back a week.
The time since he walked back into the clubhouse feels ten times longer than the time back in Albuquerque.
He has attended every single yoga session I’ve done, but he never lingers like he did that first day. It became clear the first time he rushed out even faster than some of the couples that he was avoiding me.
I’ve sworn to myself that I won’t become a hermit. I’ve always been the type of person to need socialization, and I refuse to change that about myself even though I’d like nothing better than to be alone.
He, on the other hand, has been visibly absent, spending a lot of his time in the garage. No one is talking about him, and I doubt they know that that is more suspicious than if every conversation started with his name.
