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Afterward, once she makes a brief trip to my bathroom and I use the opportunity to take care of the condom, she slips back into bed with me and drifts off as I spoon her from behind.
In the morning, we need another condom because sleeping next to her sans clothing awakens my libido to full strength. Once I’ve taken her and heard her cries of rapture again—there’s no better sound in the universe—I lay there with her, realizing something after the blood has returned to my brain.
I still don’t want her to go. Which means I’m in some major trouble here. I haven’t allowed a woman to be this important to me since my ex left Georgia. I’m over her, but Amanda’s the first woman I want to stay with in what feels like forever. So, yes, I’m in big trouble.
Six
Sam
I watch Amanda sleep for at least another hour after our second round, but my whirring thoughts won’t let me get any more shuteye. I’m conflicted by what I’m feeling for this woman. Already I’m afraid I know what this is because I’ve been here before.
Yet even then, I didn’t feel it so fast, so strongly. It took a long time for me to fall for my ex-wife Mimi—and even then, while I cared about her, I only wound up telling her I loved her because she said it to me. We’d been together for nearly eight months at that point, and not saying it back likely would’ve split us up.
So, I’d reciprocated.
And it isn’t that our relationship and marriage had been bad, really. We’d been good for another couple of years after walking down the aisle. But we’d been busy. She had her business selling real estate, and I had mine at our in-home studio. I’d get so caught up in the act of creation that I’d lose track of time and miss things. Appointments. Dates. Dinners. It wasn’t intentional, but over time, it eroded the intimacy between us.
One morning, I woke to find Mimi dressed and regarding me with a frown.
“Sam, I’m not happy. Either we fix this, or I want a divorce.”
“Let’s fix it, then.”
We did the counseling thing and I made sure I wouldn’t miss anything on our schedule by having my phone alert me ahead of time. But we discovered something essential as we spoke to our marriage therapist.
Any real passion we might’ve had was gone. I cared about Mimi. I even loved her. But I wasn’tin lovewith her.
It astounds me to lay here with Amanda right now and concede that we shared more ardor and heat in one night than Mimi and I did during our marriage. Hell, during our entire relationship spanning five years. Mimi claimed to not like small-town living and insisted that Oak Valley cramped her style. She did return to New York to prove that, but deep down, I have my doubts.
I think the thing she quit liking wasme.
Amanda stirs and bestows me with an incandescent smile, and that might’ve caused me to forget my worries if I hadn’t already been down the hellish road of divorce. Despite it being amicable, it had still been horrible—energy-sapping and spirit-draining.
Divorce seems to be part of my family history, too. My parents are divorced and so are my paternal grandparents. Two of my three sets of aunts and uncles are divorced. Maybe the Baldwins need to steer clear of making vows at an altar.
In addition, the dissolution of my marriage sapped me of my creativity for the space of a year. I’d been so scared that my muse had permanently left me along with my ex-wife that when I’d at last felt capable of putting paintbrush to canvas again, I’d nearly wept with the removal of that weight from my shoulders.
“Tell me about yourself,” I encourage Amanda, whipping myself back to the present. I need to know more about this woman in my bed.
“Like what? You want my elevator speech?”
I chuckled. “Like whatever you want to share. I want to hear everything you want to tell me.”
So, she explains about her upbringing in Connecticut. How her mother and grandparents are from Georgia and how much she delights in her job as a teacher. I share about my own background and how it feels to be able to say that I’ve achieved my dream of creating for a living.
Over the next month, we see one another every weekend, and usually at some point during the week. We make time for each other, and the naked time together is something we can’t get enough of. But it’s rapidly turned into so much more than sex for me. I feel more and more drawn to her. I like her. Genuinely. I want to know everything about her. And even though I keep telling myself it’s too soon, I can’t deny what I feel for her. Still, I haven’t said anything to her about it yet.
Sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning, I’ll admit things to Amanda that I never spoke of to Mimi. The sense of loss I feel not for my ex-wife as a person, but for failing to make my marriage work. I even once confess to fearing that I’m not cut out for the institution itself. And somehow, Amanda always knows how to soothe me. She really gets me and that means the world.
“I’ve never been in such a serious long-term relationship, but I don’t think you should blame yourself. Sometimes, things aren’t meant to be. It’s been a difficult lesson for me to learn…” She pauses, and it takes a moment for her to go on. “Okay, it’s been more than difficult. Losing the WNBA, going to Europe to try to keep that dream alive and still not attaining it, it’s been awful. But I think things happen for a reason.
“We might not understand the reason until we can look backward at it—hindsight is twenty-twenty—but my mom always says she doesn’t believe in coincidences. And now, I feel content. I’m doing good, particularly now that I have you. So, I think she might be onto something. Also, the more I think about it, the more I like the concept of coaching. Once I have my master’s, I can apply for such a position at Valley College.”
She kisses me, long and languorously. “So don’t discount yourself. The sky’s the limit for both of us.”
“You’re amazing, you know that?”
I tell her this frequently because it’s the truth. Her presence brings so much sunshine into my life. I even enjoy painting more.
