Page 56 of My Always One
Until now.
If she wasn’t Sami, I’d be calling her.
But this is virgin ground.
The friendship zone.
The benefits zone.
Otherwise referred to as hell.
I step onto the treadmill and hit enter. I go through the steps, entering my age, my weight, and choosing the course I want to run. My fingers push without my thoughts engaging. It isn’t until I’m partway through my warm-up that I notice Miss Tits and Ass beside me. Every few steps, she side-glances my way.
You know…not turning her head. Notreallylooking, just eying me with a frown.
I recall my previous plan. Lift my shirt, wipe my brow, claim my friend’s distress, but the truth is that I no longer give a shit about her.
The realization is one of those epiphany moments—the proverbial sky opening and a chorus of angels singing.
“Marshal Michaels" —their voices come together in a melody of chords— “isn’t noticing a fine piece of ass.”
Okay. Angels most likely don’t sayass.
Nevertheless, it is an epiphany.
I don’t care about Miss Tits and Ass.
I don’t give a shit whether she is upset or forgives me. Even my body isn’t interested.
Maybe I’m broken.
No, it’s that after what my body and I have experienced with Sami over the last eight days, all either one of us wants is to go back to her place and...
Stay.
Hibernate.
Fucking cuddle.
I run faster on my treadmill, increasing the incline, and hoping that maybe I’ll care about the woman beside me or that my desire will change.
I don’t and it doesn’t.
I pick up my phone while wiping the sweat from my eyes.
I haven't spoken to Sami since last night. It feels like it’s been a year.
I'm Marshal Michaels—chicks call me.
Blinking away the sweat, I squint toward my phone, hoping, praying for...
One message.
One call.
It’s all I want.
But there's nothing.
