Page 53 of The Moment You Know

“Oh, my God. Did you have a wet dream?” she asked as she gripped his cock.

To his surprise, she sounded more curious than anything and he nodded, even though she couldn’t really see him.

“Well, that’s what happens when you don’t have sex for three weeks,” she said, before adding, “The last time we went this long was right after I had Jacob.”

She was right. And three weeks probably should’ve seemed like a long time to him, but it hadn’t even been enough time for him to quit being angry with her. His anger had hardly even abated and as a result, his libido had completely gone underground—and not just for the week he’d had her sleeping on the couch. It didn’t matter what Ashley did, nor did it matter if she did it naked; his dick had been closed for business.

Until his wet dream starring Paige.

“I’m sorry about what happened with Paige and I’m going to be paying her hospital bill,” she said quietly, lightly rubbing him, obviously hoping to get a rise out of him. “I’m trying, David. What more do you want from me? Because this holding pattern we’re in sucks ass and I’m getting really tired of it.”

“I’m still pissed, Ash.”

She maneuvered so that she was resting her chin on his shoulder. “I miss you. I miss us. And it’s obvious you do, too,” she whispered, making it clear that she thought his wet dream was because of her.

There was no way in hell he was going to disavow her of that notion, especially with her holding his cock because she’d probably rip it off. When he didn’t say anything, she started putting more effort into her over-the-briefs hand job, but quickly gave up with an aggravated sigh when she didn’t yield any results.

Closed. For. Business.

Disentangling himself from her, he got up and took a shower.

Chapter 20

A few nights later, David headed over to Three Amigos, almost as desperate for a beer as he was for conversation with someone that wasn’t Ashley—not that he and Ashley were having much conversation since the wet dream. And, what they were having took place mostly at work and centered around work things, so it didn’t really count. Because even then, it was rather tense.

When he pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside the drinking establishment, he immediately spotted Evan working behind the long, hand-carved bar. As David made his way over, he thought how fortuitous it was to have a good friend who owned part of the place. For one thing, it made spending a lot of time in a bar somewhat necessary, not to mention, fairly acceptable.

“Hey, man,” Evan greeted him, having to compete a little with the Wednesday night patrons in varying stages of inebriation, occupying a dozen or so tables in the room. When he saw that David was flying solo, Evan smiled broadly, his relief not surprising in the least. He and Ashley got along about as well as Mike Tyson and Evander Holyfield during their June 28, 1997, heavyweight fight at the MGM Grand, when Holyfield lost part of his ear.

“Hey, Dick,” David replied, taking a seat on one of the barstools.

Rolling his eyes at the awful nickname, Evan set an empty glass rack on the floor before giving David his full attention. “You want something to drink? We got some new craft beers in if you want to try one.”

“Sure, what do you have?”

After Evan named a few, David chose one called Three Floyds Zombie Dust. Evan grabbed it from the cooler, popped the cap, then handed David the bottle and a glass. “So, what’s new? I haven’t seen you in like, a month.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Life has been kind of shitty since we last got together.”

“What’s going on?” Evan asked as he watched David pour his beer.

David took a fortifying drink and savored it before answering. “I ran into my ex-wife several weeks ago when I was out with Ashley and it didn’t go well.”

“Things like that usually never do.”

“My ex-wife ended up in the hospital.”

“Oh. So, it really didn’t go well.”

“No.” David shook his head and then held up his glass, detouring the conversation for a moment. “This is pretty good, by the way.”

“Good to know,” Evan replied, then changed the conversation back by asking, “So, what the hell happened?”

David started off telling Evan the abridged version of that night, but then found himself vomiting the entire story, to include the things Jules had told him as well as the sex dreams. When he was done, they were both kind of shocked. In the almost five years that David had known Evan, David had never really talked about Paige, but when he had, it was always in generic terms. He’d always referred to Paige as his ‘ex’, never using her name because it actually hurt to say it right after the divorce. It also put some distance between him and his feelings for her, and as time passed, it became a habit and ingrained.

Schooling his features, Evan got another beer from the cooler (this time a Yellow Snow IPA) and handed it to David with a fresh glass, without a word. For a moment, Evan thought about Ashley—he hadn’t thought it possible to dislike her any more, but apparently there was no limit—and not for the first time he wished better for his friend.

David, feeling a little unnerved by Evan’s silence, poured the beer and then took a drink, before he said, “I’m sorry. I know that was a lot to unload on you, but Jesus, say something.”

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