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I press my thighs together.
“He is. And he’s into it. But she has to get it started.”
“He wants more than just sex from her.”
“So, he’s just taking it slow?”
He nods.
I go back to my phone faster than my hands are ready for, fumbling with the damn thing in my haste.
I don’t look back at Jameson, but I have zero doubt he knows exactly what’s happening right now.
Adeline: You and me are in a war. Never ask me to ask MA about sex again.
Natalie: What did he say? And for the record, you don’t have it in you to stay in a war with me. I complete you. You can’t be in a war with your person.
Adeline: He said Ryan wants more than sex. He’s taking it slow.
Natalie: Oh.
Adeline: I mean, it makes sense.
Natalie: Yes. I think MA might be right. I can’t believe I didn’t put that together.
Natalie: Okay, I’m gonna go and beg for some sex. You should think about doing the same xx
Adeline: I have one word for you. War.
I put my phone on the nightstand, push the bed covers off, and walk into the bathroom. I need some space from all the muscles and bare skin sitting next to me in bed. Not to mention the desire vibrating off both of us.
I moisturize my body. For the second time tonight.
I brush my teeth. Again.
I contemplate running away.
Jameson is nowhere to be seen when I go back to the bed twenty minutes later.
It’s disturbing how disappointed I am by this.
I’m only further disturbed when I’m lying in the dark an hour later, still thinking about how I wish he was here.
When he slips under the covers fifteen minutes later, I level up to a whole new status of disturbed.
Sleeping next to Jameson for the last couple of weeks has been difficult. There have been some nights where I’ve had less than a few hours of sleep. I’ve gone to bed angry with him some nights. Frustrated with him, others. But mostly, since the first time we had sex, I’ve spent the night desperate for his touch. Tonight, I want it more than I’ve ever wanted it.
I lie quietly for many long minutes. Probably ten, but it feels like a thousand.
I don’t move.
I’m not even sure that I breathe.
And then, unable to stop myself, because I need to do something to escape the images of sex with him that are on repeat in my head, I say, “Thank you for saying what you said to my mother about my weight tonight. I know you were doing it for the marriage, but I appreciate you choosing to say that.”
A few moments pass before his deep voice moves over me. “I didn’t say that for the marriage.”
I still.
