Epilogue
EPILOGUE
L ife is not a spectator sport. If you’re going to spend your whole life in the grandstand just watching what goes on, in my opinion you’re wasting your life.” —Jackie Robinson
April 21 was a perfect spring day. Cool but sunny, or at least that was the way it appeared through the sliver of sky I could see from bed. I laid my head over Jack’s heart, listening to its steady beat as he slept on. It was a Monday morning, which usually meant I’d be up, showered, and impatiently waiting on my coffee before heading to the office. Not this Monday. This day was special.
There was no way I could have guessed how different my life would be on that very date a year ago. This was an anniversary of sorts, but neither Jack nor I would call it that. It wasn’t our beginning, because we were already on our way. We’d been committed to each other for months now, and this weekend we’d made another type of commitment. We were officially living together. We’d spent the entire weekend moving my things into Jack’s place, and I was taking a rare day off to recuperate. And celebrate April 21.
“Mmm. Why are you up so early?” Jack stretched his long arms over his head and arched his back before slinging a large hand over the curve of my naked hip.
“I’m always up early on a Monday. I was making myself stay in bed to celebrate not having to go to the office. But we should probably get going. We have a baseball game to get to, and?—”
“That’s not ’til this afternoon. We have plenty of time to do other things before then.” He smiled slowly, his eyes lit with mischief as he leaned forward and kissed the corner of my mouth. “How does it feel to wake up in my bed?”
“It’s my bed too! And it feels the same as every morning, since I’m always waking up here anyway,” I lied.
“Sorry, you’re right. What’s mine is yours, which means what’s yours”—he snaked his hand down between my thighs to palm my semihard cock—“is mine.”
I shifted my hips forward, letting him take whatever he wanted. I was his. I certainly wasn’t going to argue.
The amazing part was how natural and right this felt. I didn’t fool myself into thinking it would always be easy. Jack was still going to fuss about things being neat and clean, and I would most likely make him crazy in my compulsion to control things.
Miraculously, we’d learned our differences were what balanced us as individuals and as a couple. I no longer worried about certain things I had no hope of controlling, like our age gap or my fear of motorcycles. I was learning to let go and just enjoy life. Enjoy the amazing man who I was beginning to realize probably benefited from my brand of crazy just as much as I did from his.
When I left my shoes in the living room instead of storing them in the closet, he would raise an eyebrow, warning me to clean up after myself. When I stuck my tongue out at him and dared him to make me, he would either roll his eyes in a mocking “why me?” gesture or he’d chase me, hold me down, and tickle me until I cried “uncle.” By that time we were both breathless, turned-on, and ready for a sexier kind of physical contact.
I was learning not to quantify and question. I was learning to take what was offered and appreciate my amazing luck. I was learning to trust, because there really was nothing better than being in love with your best friend.