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When his hand moves from my hip to reach between my legs, using his fingers to bring me to another screaming orgasm while he follows quickly behind, shouting my name as he pumps his release into me, I wonder if it’s a blessing or a curse that I’ll never be able to sit at this desk again without thinking about how Palmer so expertly makes all my dreams come true.
“I believe that makes three cookies now. You’re welcome,” he groans in my ear, making me laugh as both of us collapse forward on my desk, his chest pressed into my back where I can feel his steady heartbeat thundering against me.
His cock jerks and pulses inside me as he softly and sweetly kisses the back of my shoulder, making his way up to my ear.
“Coming back here was the best decision I ever made,” he whispers, making my heart beat even faster than it did through two screaming orgasms.
But are you going to remember that when you leave?
Not wanting to get melancholy while he’s still inside me, with my cheek still pressed to the desk and Palmer still draped over my back, trying to catch his breath, I blindly smack my hand forward until I reach the box of donuts, grabbing one, bringing it to my mouth, and taking a big bite out of it.
I feel Palmer’s rumble of laughter against my back, and he leans his head to the side so I can reach my hand back to him and let him take his own bite of after-sex donut.“You’re an idiot. Just tell him you’ve been in love with him since the day you met him and you want to go with him. Or better yet, tell him to sit his ass home and stay here with you for once,” Tess says in annoyance, shaking her head at me while she leans against the doorframe of one of the storage closets at SIG.
“Like it’s really that easy,” I fire back, pulling a box of golf balls out of the larger brown cardboard box at my feet and roughly jamming them into their spot on the shelf where we keep everything we sell out in the pro shop. “He leaves tomorrow, and he’s never said one word about even wanting me there, Tess. Like, it’s never even crossed his mind to ask me. He’s going to go off and do his job like always, and playing house for the last week with me hasn’t changed that.”
Like he just wants to keep what we have here in the bubble of Summersweet island.
God, I can’t believe he already leaves tomorrow. It feels like it was just yesterday that we were out in that storm, screaming at each other. I’ve spent every day since that night he surprised me here at work and made my desk fantasy come true in the most epic way, pretending like he wasn’t really leaving, just so I could get up and function every day and do my job on top of all of the additional work I did to finally get The San Francisco Open to formally invite him back. I’ve spent every waking moment with Palmer, not letting him know how much it killed me each day that went by when he yammered on and on about leaving and never once asked if I might like to go and share that experience with him. Silly me for thinking that now that things have changed between us, something would change when he had to leave again, like Palmer wanting me to go with him. We’ve had dinner together every night, watched movies, walked on the beach, had sex on every available surface in and around both our cottages. Either he sleeps at my place or I sleep at his, drive to and from work together, and watch the sunset on one of our decks each night, curled up in each other’s arms like an old married couple. Everything is perfect except for one little thing.
He never asks me to go, and I never ask him to stay.
“It’s never crossed his mind, because men are stupid, simple creatures who need everything spelled out for them,” Tess states as I finish with this box, kick it to the side, and open up the next one. “Just sit him down and be like, ‘Dude, do you love me or not? Because if you do, fuck this bullshit about leaving me here and making me wait for your sorry ass to get home. Mama’s packing a bag and comin’ with!’”
I stop with my hand holding onto the shelf to look back over my shoulder at her.
“He doesn’t want me there. I’ll just do what I always do and wait.”
Turning back around, I swallow down the vomit as I continue stocking the shelves. This match is only two days. He goes in tomorrow, a day early to get settled and practice, a quick one-day tournament, and then he’ll be back. He’ll come back in two days, right? He said he would, but who knows what can happen in two days on the other side of the world from me. What if he wins? I’ve been watching him train every day, and he’s never looked better, never golfed cleaner, never been so focused. This win is his. All he has to do is show up and do what he was born to do. But what if his career blows right back up and he doesn’t come back? He just jets off to the next destination and to the next tournament, never asking me to join him, while I just sit here fucking waiting.
