Page 53 of Scandalous Lover

This woman is nothing but trouble.

Unfortunately, she seems to be exactly the kind of trouble I want.

I shake my head, trying to clear some of the images from the video session last night from my brain but it doesn’t work. Instead, I close my eyes and lean into them.

Her soft body in my hands.

The taste of her on my tongue as I licked my way over her skin.

The sound of her voice calling my name.

Sammy.

This little fling, or whatever it is, could be my ruin, both personally and professionally. Is it really worth it? My logical brain leaps onto its soapbox and starts shaking its head. No, no, no, it says. Cut this shit out.

But my body thinks differently.

The feeling that’s been lingering in my chest since that evening at Naomi’s apartment back in Austin officially has a name after last night. And it’s not desire or lust or horniness…although I’m certainly feeling all those things.

No. The feeling is hope.

This woman has me thinking maybe I'm not a lost cause after all. That maybe the quiet, happy home life I’ve always dreamed of is possible.

That maybe someone could love me.

I’ve never admitted out loud, or even to myself, that I’m unlovable. I know in a logical sense it’s not true. My mother loves me. The guys love me. My employees have a respectful adoration toward me that’s some flavor of love.

But the warm, intoxicating, all-consuming kind of love? Love that fills the holes in your heart and makes you want to spend the rest of your days keeping the car filled with gas and the cap on the toothpaste? That kind of love always seemed like it was meant for everyone but me.

When I was younger, I searched for what was missing about me. What I needed to improve or purge to be able to connect with a woman at that level.

I never found it.

Eventually, I came to the silent conclusion, never admitted to anyone, not even to myself, that my dream was just impossible. That, for whatever reason, I was incompatible with love.

Everyone liked me. I was everyone’s friend. I was a great boss.

I just wasn’t husband material.

Until now.

I know it’s stupid to have decided, after one night together and a completely inappropriate porn texting session, that I’m somehow fit to be a husband. And it’s not even that I’m really thinking that. It's just…

A woman likes me.

A woman wants me.

And it’s a woman I can see myself being with. I did, as a matter-of-fact. When I sat in her kitchen in Austin, it felt like apremonition of some kind. That I was seeing my own future, as crazy as that sounds.

Hell, this whole thing sounds crazy.

Is crazy.

But I’d rather burn alive than give it up.

Sam: Send me another one.

Naomi: You waited too long. I’m dressed now.