Chapter Thirty-nine
Abby
I’m knee-deep in writing computer code a few days later when my phone chimes next to me with a text from Don.
We are still dating in a perfect state of bliss. I’m trying not to think about the constant sense of dread that tries creeping in telling me this whole thing is too good to be true. Instead, I’m choosing to live in the moment and just be happy with my current situation.
Deliriously happy.
I can’t seem to control the smile that spreads across my lips at seeing Don’s name appear on the screen.
I’ve officially become one of those girls.
Oh, well. I don’t give a shit. I have a man who fucks like a porn star and treats me like a princess. I’m not sure it gets much better than that.
I pick up my phone to read the message.
Don: Abigail, we need to talk.
My smile instantly fades, and I feel like my stomach may fall out of my ass. Not only does he never call me Abigal, but he also never seems even slightly cross with me. Plus, the ‘we need to talk’ is enough to make me feel like I’m going to break out in hives.
With shaky fingers, I type out a response.
Me: Alright. Is everything okay?
As I wait for a response, I try to get back to work. But it’s no use. There’s no way I can concentrate right now on anything but those three blinking dots.
Finally, a reply comes through.
Don: I’m on the subway, listening to one of your dirty books. Randomly, my earbuds disconnect, and the book starts playing. Out loud. To a crowded subway car.
Relief washes over me as I read his words, and I start cracking up.
Me: What part did it read out loud?
Don: The part where they invited another guy to join them. The part where she has one dick in her mouth and the other in her ass. Abby, the author literally said they were spit roasting her.
My eyes water from tears as I laugh even harder. Before I can respond, another text comes through.
Don: I guess everyone’s else earbuds weren’t loud enough because every single one of them turned to look at me. Some look horrified. And two women have tried to give me their numbers. Don’t worry—I politely declined.
Me: Aw, I’m so sorry. Did you decide that reading romance books isn’t for you?
Don: No. I just realized that I need to get better earbuds.
Me: See? Now, you’re hooked.
Don: I have to listen to them to keep up with you. And also to keep up with new things to try.
He sends an emoji with devil horns.
Me: You don’t need a book for that.
Don: You’re right. I guess I could just ask. So, Abby, what other kinds of things do you want to try?
His question catches me a little off-guard. Honestly, we’ve already done most of the stuff that I’ve always fantasized about.
Another text.
Don: And just for the record, I don’t think I’ll ever be okay with sharing you. If that’s really what you’re into, I guess we can try, but just know, I might haul off and punch him the moment he touches you.
Before I got into a relationship, my feminism would scream that if a man came across that territorial, it should be a red flag. But now that it’s happening to me, I see it as more of a compliment. It kind of turns me on if I’m being honest.
Me: Don’t worry. A threesome doesn’t sound like my type of thing. You’re more than enough to keep me satisfied. But you kept saying ‘he’. Does that mean you’d want another woman?
Don: Nope.
Me: Care to elaborate?
Don: I like to give all my attention to one woman at a time. That way, I make sure she’s completely satisfied.
Lord, he really is perfect.
Me: Speaking of satisfaction, I miss you. Sorry I won’t see you tonight.
Don: I miss you too. But go hang out with Jenson. We can make up for lost time tomorrow. I probably won’t be home from this meeting until late anyway.
Me: Okay. Well, I love you.
Don: Love you more, baby.
I manage to get back to work for a little while and then decide to respond to a couple of emails regarding projects I’m working on. When a client asks when they can expect a final product, I pull up my calendar.
When I see what the date is, another date pops into my mind. A date that has come and gone without its scheduled event actually happening.
The date I was supposed to get my period.