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Right next to it is a crystal unicorn, which I know is her prized possession. She has been fascinated by unicorns since she was younger, and this crystal one her mom bought for her on her sweet sixteenth birthday. And I remember Nat explaining it to me once what her mom told her—that she should never settle in life for any man unless they are her unicorn, someone who is her happiness and her perfect partner, a rare find and hard to catch.
So why is it sitting right here with this photo of us?
“Why do you send me so many mixed messages, Nat? There are days I hate the way you pull at me. But even then, I still can’t seem to let you go,” I whisper to myself, to make sure she doesn’t hear me even though she is still snoring away nicely next to me.
I can stand in a packed stadium with thousands of fans, be the center of attention and the cocky quarterback who thrives on being praised for my talent. Yet standing in the stillness of her room while she sleeps, I still feel weak for never being able to be that man she needed.
As if she knows what I’m thinking, a loud sigh comes from her as she rolls on to her side, obviously looking for a comfortable position. Snapping out of my thoughts, I know I’m running out of time to get her into a sleep shirt and tucked into bed. I certainly don’t want her waking up in the middle of it and dying of embarrassment. Pulling open the top drawer under the photo gives me an unexpected surprise.
Now my logical brain tells me that the magazine in this drawer open on the page that has my new full-page jeans advertisement is just a coincidence. Until I pick it up and see the four different-shaped velvet bags underneath it, which look suspiciously shaped like vibrators. I know what those bags are because Sasha has them. Fuck, don’t even think about her in this room. That’s just so wrong.
Looking back at Natalie on the bed, my heart hurts for what could have been if it weren’t too late.
A lock of her hair falls in her face and her nose now twitches in her sleep at the itching. Not even thinking, I reach out with my right arm to tuck the hair behind her ear and the sharp pain racing up into my shoulder makes my breathing stop.
“Come on, asshole, don’t do this to me now. I can’t afford an injury with our rookie breathing down my neck.” Pulling my arm back by my side and rubbing my shoulder, it starts subsiding again. “Get her dressed and sleep, and it will feel normal again in the morning. Keep saying it. Make it happen.” By saying it out loud, I’m telling the universe that my shoulder is not hurt, and everything will be fine. Including Nat. Tomorrow, part of me just wants to walk away before I make a fucking big mess of things. I have Sasha to consider and the promise I made to her. But living a lie for the rest of my life is not healthy either.
Walking into her closet I finally spot what I’m after. A night shirt lying on the footstool near the mirror.
Now if I can only get through stripping her down and not getting a massive hard-on in the process. One that won’t go any better when I’m sleeping next to her all night.
Her FM boots as we call them—or fuck-me boots for the lay person—are easy to get off. All the guys call them that because they make women’s legs look sensational, and you can’t help but say the words, “Fuck me, she looks hot in those,” when a date shows up in them.
Carefully placing hers on the floor next to the wall so it’s not something else for me to trip over, I consider the clothes all spread out. Staring at her, I try to come up with a plan as to how I can get her dress up over her head and then the sleep shirt on her with either my eyes closed or looking up at the ceiling while I do it. Neither plan sounds like a bright idea.
My arm starting to throb a bit, and I know I’m running out of time.
“Man up and get on with it. You are looking after a friend.” I keep trying to tell myself that as I slip her dress up her legs and see the first peek of lace.
“Fuck,” I mumble to myself.
“Mmhmm, yes please.” Oh Christ, she picks now to start talking in her drunken state. Can she at least say things that make no sense and don’t fit in the conversation? Otherwise, this is going to go south really quickly. Well, let’s just say I’d love for it to go south, but there are two big things stopping that. I would never take advantage of anyone in this drunken state and I’m not one to cheat and break the promise I made to Sasha. She doesn’t deserve that and neither does Nat. What I want doesn’t even really come into the equation.
“It’s just like ripping a band-aid off. Do it fast and the pain will be quick.” I almost laugh at myself as I spout the bullshit out loud.
Trying not to use my right arm too much, I rock her from side to side as I scrunch the dress up her body and hold my breath.
If she took my breath away at eighteen, ten years has me wondering if I’ll ever be able to breathe again.
The curves of her body are like one of those perfect marble sculptures you see. Not a mark on her flawless skin and breasts that I can only imagine sitting up beautifully with a dark nipple just waiting for me to take it in my mouth. Her lace bra is keeping them contained at the moment, and for that I’m counting my blessings.
Words are coming out of her mouth, but nothing makes much sense. Quickly pulling the sleep shirt over her head, I decide rather than try to get her under the blankets, I will just try to find another blanket to put over the top of her. Walking back into her closet, I look up at the top shelf, and I see one and start pulling it down, only to have another one that was tucked in behind it fall at my feet.
“It can’t be.” Standing, a little dumbfounded, I recognize the blanket from my truck that she took that night. “I can’t believe she still has it.” Picking it up, I safely sit it up where it was; I don’t want her to know I’ve seen it. Tomorrow is going to be hard enough for her, just finding me in bed with her, realizing I undressed her. Not to mention the killer hangover that is coming. She doesn’t need to know that I found her stash of vibrators or that I now know I’m not the only who can’t let go of the memory of that night at the lake.
I wander out to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, find some frozen peas and a bucket just in case, but my mind won’t shut down with so many questions.
Why did she push me away back then? Yet every time I see her, I affect her just as much as she still affects me. I don’t understand the motivation behind her always telling me she is not the one for me, when clearly, she is theonlyone for me. I can see it, she can see it, and it’s not going away.
If only she would give me the tiniest chance to prove her wrong, I would end my marriage tomorrow. It makes me sound like the biggest asshole, so shallow and not worthy of my wife, I know. But there is so much more to this mess that no one understands. And every, single thing I did to get to where I am today is because of Nat. My life could have been so different if she just admitted how she felt. But I couldn’t wait forever. I needed to try to move on and live. Be the person I wanted to be, and Sasha helped me to do that. I do love her, and that’s not even in question.
It's just never going to be like the love I feel for Natalie.
Nothing will ever meet up to that standard.
Sasha is not second fiddle to Nat, by any means, it’s just love on a whole different scale and my wife knows that.
I have never lied to her about who I am and where I came from.
