Chapter 41
EBBA
I close my laptop and let out an exhausted sigh. Crossing my arms, I lay them flat on my computer and bury my head in the open space.
It’s official—therapy is exhausting. It’s only my second session with the online therapist that came highly recommended by some of my social media friends.
I was lucky that Dr. Maher was able to fit me in relatively quickly—three weeks after the Australian Open.
She was reluctant to agree to do this second session so soon—only a week after the first—but I knew if I waited too long, I’d talk myself out of it so she agreed to do weekly sessions for the first month or two before we stretch them out more.
I realize now that there’s been a part of me who thought I didn’t deserve to talk to a therapist. That my life hadn’t been awful enough to merit needing one, but just with two sessions I realize how much anyone can benefit from having one to talk to.
The door to the hotel room chimes and I slowly rise to see Fisher entering.
His brows furrow as soon as he spots me hunched over the desk.
“Everything okay?” he asks, letting the door close behind him as he hurries to my side.
“Yeah, I just didn’t anticipate therapy being so exhausting.”
His warm hands grip my shoulders, softly kneading into my flesh. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
I think it over for a moment. “Could we order pizza and rent a movie?”
He doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Of course.”
We’re in California now, ahead of Indian Wells beginning in just a few days. After the Australian Open my brother and Noah both competed at the Dallas ATP. They played each other in the final and I was happy to see Elias come out on top.
“Where do you want pizza from?” he asks. “Do you have a favorite place around here?”
“Yeah, there’s a place that does wood-fired pizzas not far from here and they deliver.”
“Go ahead and order while I hop in the shower.” He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and passes me his card. “On me.” He starts to walk away, but I call his name and he turns back. I crook my finger, and he grins as he bends down in front of me. “Yes?” He croons.
Grabbing the lapel of his shirt, I pull him in for a kiss.
The warmth of his left-hand presses against my cheek, a stark contrast to the cold feel of the metal ring around his finger.
“What was that for?” he asks, rubbing his thumb over my bottom lip.
“Because I wanted to,” I reply simply.
He grins. “Order dessert too.”
“Was the kiss that good?” I jest as he crosses the threshold into the bathroom and tears off his shirt.
“Always.”
I place the order for the pizza and change into my pajamas to scroll through the rental movie options. Fisher and I used to love going to the movie theater whenever we could and while this isn’t quite the same, it’s close enough.
I queue up a recent rom-com-slash-action movie.
I rearrange the pillows so we can lay on our stomachs to watch and dim the lights—I’m not necessarily trying to set the mood or anything, but …
fuck, maybe I am. We haven’t had sex since Vegas, or fooled around since Noah and Sabrina’s wedding, and the close proximity of sleeping next to him every night and not being able to touch him like that even if we wake up nearly every morning wrapped around each other is wearing on me.
The bathroom door opens with a billow of steam, and I expect to find Fisher in his usual sleep pants and shirt or no shirt combo but instead he’s wearing one of the hotel towels tied loosely around his waist. Water sluices down his chest, sliding through the lines of abdominal muscles.
My throat goes dry as my eye track the water.
But I can tell you what isn’t dry—my aching core that clenches around nothing.
“Ebba,” he says, voice heated and deep. “If you keep staring at me like that…”
He trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. My eyes widen at the very obvious hardening of his cock. My pulse picks up speed.
With a groan, he swipes an article of clothing from his bag he refuses to let me unpack. He washes the clothes and puts them right back in there.
He quickly shuts himself back in the bathroom and I’m left feeling achy and hollow.
He emerges a few minutes later, clad in a pair of loose gray sleep pants that are so thin they’re doing nothing to hide the shape of his dick, and pulling on a hoodie.
I quickly jerk my gaze away before his head emerges from the confines of the hoodie.
My phone buzzes and I’m thankful for the distraction. “Pizza’s here.”
“I’ll go down and get it,” he says, already sliding his feet into a pair of shoes. “Be right back.”
While he’s gone, I grab us each a beer from the fridge. I’m not a huge fan of beer, but I do like it with pizza.
By the time he returns, I’ve settled back on the bed on my stomach with my legs crossed in the air.
“This smells so fucking good.” He sets the pizza on the bed beside me. “I didn’t realize I was starving.”
I flip the lid open and grab a slice. “Is this movie okay?”
He picks up his own slice. “Looks good to me.”
I press play and chew on my pizza. The bed jostles as Fisher settles beside me. “I hope the beer is okay, but you can grab something else if you want it.”
“Nah, this is fine.” He pops the top and takes a swig. My eyes zero in on the smooth column of his throat and the way it flexes when he swallows. He lowers the bottle and finds me staring. “You gotta stop staring at me like that.”
I shrug unapologetically. “Can a girl not admire her hot husband?”
A low rumble emanates from his chest and his eyes darken. “Don’t tease me, Ebba.”
I toss my crust in the box and sit up on my knees, kneeling beside him. He rolls over to face me. The movie starts, but we pay it no mind.
“Who says I’m teasing?”
His eyes drop to my lips. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
Rejection hits me square in the chest. “Oh.” I drop my gaze to the fluffy white bedspread.
“Fuck, Ebba. I didn’t mean it like that. I just … I know you have to feel vulnerable right now after your session.” The warmth of his hand settles on my bare knee. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“You’re not taking advantage if I’m offering.”
His eyes scan my face and I wonder if he’s looking for any sign that I might be wavering.
“This has nothing to do with therapy,” I tell him. “And everything to do with how I feel about you.”
His breaths are heavy as he continues to look me over. “What is it exactly that you want?”
“You.”
He shakes his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
I bite my lip. “I want to have sex with you.” My pussy clenches at the word.
“With me? Or with anyone?”
I bristle at his insinuation. “With you. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t even think about anyone else. I haven’t in years. Not even when I’ve been with—”
He drops his half-eaten slice in the box, closes it, and shoves it out of the way. The next things I know his big hands are swallowing my face whole and his mouth is on mine. I moan as I sink down into the mattress. His body follows.
He pulls back slightly, somehow already out of breath. “If you want to stop at any time, you just have to tell me.”
“I won’t want to stop.”
He shakes his head. “You gotta promise me, Eb.”
I frown up at him but give him what he’s asking for. “I promise.”
That must be good enough for him, because his mouth is back on mine in an instant. My body is pliable beneath his. I feel like I could sink through the mattress and then the floors beneath us.
Even though I said this had nothing to do with therapy, which is basically true, it does have a little to do with it.
Already in two sessions Dr. Maher has helped me realize that for the past few years I’ve been avoiding happiness with a partner.
Purposely choosing men I knew weren’t the best for a quick hookup or relationship, because I knew I wouldn’t get attached.
All because in the back of my mind I’ve always known there’s only one man for me.
Fighting my feelings for him is futile.
I gave my heart to Fisher a long time ago and I never got it back and I’m not going to. It belongs to him and only him.
Many people never find their soulmate. I was lucky enough to find mine young.
Skimming my hands beneath his shirt, I settle my palms on his stomach. His muscles contract at my touch and he groans. The warmth of his mouth slides down the side of my neck.
“You have no idea how often I’ve dreamed of this.”
“Of fucking me?” I tease, lifting my hips when he tugs on my pajama bottoms.
He pauses, shaking his head. “Of you being mine.”
A small cry comes out of me and when a tear slides out of the corner of my eye, he’s quick to wipe it away. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t cry, baby,” he croons. “I don’t want you to be sad.”
Cupping his cheek, I confess, “I love you.”
He freezes. “You mean that?”
I nod, holding back more tears. If there’s anything I’ve realized since we started the ATP Tour, it’s that my love for this man never went away. I buried it down deep where it was easy to ignore, but it was always there.
“I never stopped.”
“You have no fucking idea how happy it makes me to hear that.”
“Really?”
“Mhm.” He nods, brushing my curls away from my forehead.
“It’s a good thing, because I love you, too.
I love your mind—how smart and sassy you are.
I love your humor and your confidence. I love how much you love your family.
I love your passion for clothes and all the things you post on social media.
I love the way you speak your mind and don’t shy from the difficult topics.
I never stopped and I never will.” His face falls slightly when my tears come even faster.
“Oh, baby. Please, don’t cry.” He kisses the tears away, wiping away the ones he can’t.
“I wasted so much time.”
He shakes his head. “No, you didn’t, baby. We needed that time to grow apart so we could grow back together. Better. Stronger. Nothing’s going to tear us apart ever again, you hear me?”