Page 31 of Strictly Yours

Amber

“Munchies,” I whisper as I crouch down beside the kitchen island like I’m negotiating with a tiny, furry terrorist. “Please, buddy. Just one more bite. There’s no way you tasted the pill I crushed in there. You’re being dramatic.”

He stares at me like I just tried to poison him—which, I guess, from his perspective, I did. His flat, smushed face is stone cold.

‘I cannot be tricked, stupid human,’I imagine him saying.

I sigh and flop onto the tile floor, still holding the dish of organic duck pâté infused with a tiny, barely-there sliver of thyroid medication. Willow gave me a full booklet of instructions on how to medicate this drama queen. None of them are working. I try another gentle nudge and Munchies responds by dramatically flopping on his back beside me. What a diva.

It’s been six days since I arrived and Logan and I have been inseparable. If I’m not in his bed, he’s in mine. If I’m not ridingin the passenger seat of his fast Italian car, I’m riding him on his couch while a movie plays in the background. We haven’t gotten to the end of one movie yet. His mouth, hands, and big firm cock are much more entertaining than anything Hollywood can offer.

He’s coming over for dinner tonight after work, which is why I’m currently sweating in Willow’s intimidating kitchen. It’s fit for a chef, but unfortunately, all it has tonight is me. I’m trying really hard not to mess up a pot of spaghetti.

“I can do this,” I whisper to myself as I stare at the wooden beams running along the ceiling.

Munchies frowns at me as if saying,‘No, you can’t. Youreallycan’t.’

It’s only three ingredients and boiling water. But I didn’t strain the noodles fast enough and they’re looking a little soggy. Plus, the sauce smells tangy in a way that makes me nervous.

“Dude,” I say, turning back to the cat. “Are you going to take your pill or what?”

He flicks his tail like it personally offends him that I’m still talking about this.

“Fine, whatever,” I say as I get up and look at the gooey monstrosity in the pot again, wincing because it somehow looks even worse. “Have your thyroid explode. See if I care.”

Munchies slowly gets up like he’s doing the world a favor and then starts to eat his organic duck pâté as I watch, holding my breath.

“Yes!” I whisper when he actually eats the pill. He must taste the bitterness because he stares up at me like I’ve betrayed him.

“Don’t get mad at me,” I say as I wash my hands and wipe them on a dishtowel. “I’m not the one who broke your thyroid.”

My phone dings and I grab it as fast as humanly possible, hoping to see Logan’s name on the screen.

It’s from Amir. My new Uber driver friend I made when I arrived in New York.

“Awwwww.”

Yusuf wants to say hi!

Attached is an adorable picture of an infant boy all swaddled up lovingly in a blue blanket.

Something inside me shifts as I stare at the precious baby.

I realize I want that.

And for the first time in my life, I actually believe I can have that.

A family. A real one.

With a stable presence like Logan in my life, I believe I can do it. I can do anything.

I lean against the counter, imagining having a baby of my own, and a smile spreads across my face. My eyes water.

Logan keeps asking me to stay. He keeps telling me he can’t live without me.

And I’m starting to wonder… Can I live without him?

I try to picture myself returning to Vermont and I can’t do it. It doesn’t seem like home anymore. The life I enjoyed before feels like a lifetime ago. It feels bleak and boring and… gray.

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