Losing the love of my life taught me that inactions have consequences. My new bookkeeping job teaches me that numbers don't lie, but people do.
Sharing yoga with others is my refuge from the darkness pulling me to stay home. A ginormous pro footbal...
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A/N: Mature content.
"Mia?" A round pair of dark brown eyes, framed with silver smokey shadow and black liner opened Sam's door. His porch light cast golden highlights on her high cheekbones. Her tight black dress hugged her curves, but her shoulders drew my attention. Her clavicle, etched with shadows, was perfectly straight and steady. As someone who constantly corrected compressed postures, her shoulders were drawn down, lifting her chest in a proud, defiant position. As if the world had slighted her, but she refused to bow down. Her natural hair was a wild, untamed halo around her head and her voice was sharp enough to cut glass. "Wow, you're tall."
Music and hummed conversations filtered from behind her, along with a faint whiff of her half-empty red wine glass.
"Simone?" I frowned at her being the hostess. "How are you?"
"Great. I'm greaaat." She tipped her glass and drained it in two chokes. A blood red nail flashed as her thumb flicked a drop off the corner of her lips and she eyed where her red lipstick kissed the rim of her glass. "My divorce was finalized last week, so my ex is now going public with his mistress."
"Oh, fuck." I shut the door and steered her inside. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not." She wobbled on her six-inch heels. My hand cupped her arm, and I led her into the kitchen, where I sat her down and handed her a bottle of water from the island. "I got full custody of our son and he was a lying, cheating sonofabitch."
"That's... Congratulations?" I took her empty glass and locked my eyes on Jeremiah. "No more wine for you. Trust me, it won't help."
Turning around, there was no sign of Sam, but Jeremiah smirked when I gestured with a throat slice that Simone was cut off. Warmth and red nails pressed into my upper arm. "Hey," her whisper-yell into the side of my shoulder fanned a warm, tannic breath over my face. "I'm so happy to see Sam and you together."
Together. The word dried up my mouth. Six days since Sam and I... I couldn't say the memories rushed back because they'd never left. My forearms prickled with goosebumps. Pulses traveled from the tips of my fingers to nestled in between my legs.
Sam awoke a wildness inside me, a reckless lack of ambition that left me equally grateful as terrified. Heat simmered beneath my skin at the smell of his house. Its warm, casual vibe welcomed me as always, although I felt unworthy of its reception.
Despite being drunk off her tits, Simone's words warmed my cheeks. "We're not together-together... I don't know. Have you seen him?"
"He's upstairs. Hang on. This is important." Her talons sank deeper, and her dark brown eyes rounded. "After the accident and Candy left, I'm so glad Sam has you on the team. He needs more people who have his back."
I was the last person who deserved that acknowledgement. All I'd done to his back was cling to it in desperation. The pulse between my legs hummed. "Uhh... thanks." I patted her shoulder and weaved through Sam's kitchen to the back steps. Friendly smiles blurred and Abby and Michael's quadruple thumbs up made me roll my eyes.
