14. Chapter Fourteen #2
My sex life has been non-existent since the divorce.
And even though I’ve tried to maintain a schedule for myself—when I don’t have Maddox, obviously—sometimes it just feels like a chore.
Other times, I just feel guilty because I miss being touched by another person.
Kissed by another person. Cuddled in bed by another person.
The minute the water hits my skin, the relief is damn near palpable and I can’t help but close my eyes, letting the hot water sluice over me.
I take my cock in my hand and start to stroke myself, letting out a low moan because for once, I feel safe enough to do so—I’m alone and Dre is downstairs.
I’m so fucking hard and this feels so good.
Better than it has in a long time, which is probably why it doesn’t take long for me to come.
A low groan of relief escapes my throat as I watch my cum spurt against the tile.
My eyes fall shut as my shoulders loosen and I lazily stroke my cock; draining every last drop until the water runs cold.
When I get out of the shower, I throw on my boxers and the borrowed pair of sweatpants and one of Dre’s old college tees that I know he doesn’t wear anymore because I found it in the bottom drawer.
When I make my way back downstairs, I find him on the couch, staring at the TV.
In the artificial light, his eyelashes stand out; thick and long.
It’s an odd thing to notice, but it’s not a bad thing to notice.
The light from the television illuminates his facial features, profound profile, jawline, and his gaze.
He looks lost in whatever he’s watching—some show I don’t recognize. And then I notice the tiny pig in his arm. Rylee’s pig. Bacon J. Ham.
I find my spot next to him—next to the pig—and ease into the cushions.
“I can run that over to your parents, if you want.”
“Huh?” Andre turns to look at me. His eyes look different; his pupils are dilated and his cheeks are flushed, like he was running.
“Wouldn’t want Rylee to be without her favorite piggy,” I say, picking up the stuffed animal.
I do my best pig snort and shove its nose against Andre’s neck until he busts out laughing and shoves it away.
“Probably not a bad idea,” he says, though his voice shakes a bit.
“You miss her?” I ask, dropping the pig into my lap. I play with its ears, noting how soft it is.
Maddox was never into stuffed animals, so we didn’t have many. Seeing him play and imagine with Rylee is nice. Seeing him happy… despite everything that’s happened is…
Indescribable. And I know that’s because of Dre and Rylee.
“I always miss her,” he says carefully, and when I look at him, he’s gazing at the pig in my lap.
I settle Bacon J. Ham in his.
“You miss him?” Dre asks softly.
“It’s always so quiet without him,” I say honestly. “Like all the noise stops, and suddenly the silence feels…”
“Suffocating,” Dre adds, picking up the pig, his fingers brushing mine. For a moment, they don’t move, and it’s like time stops.
We sit there, on the couch, holding Rylee’s favorite stuffed animal between us. But it’s not weird or awkward.
It’s the opposite, actually.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. My chest tightens as he pulls away, tucking the pig under his arm.
“I’ll go,” he says, but there’s a sadness in his eyes, like he doesn’t want to.
“I’ll go with you,” I say definitively.
Andre twists his lips, and just as I think he’s going to tell me no, that he’s going to tell me he’s got it handled, he smirks.
“Okay.”
I get up, following him out to the car, and when I get into the passenger seat, I take Bacon J. Ham and settle him in my lap. There’s a strange air between us as Dre fusses with the radio.
“Everything okay?” I ask. I feel like he wants to say something, but for some reason he’s not.
“Yeah, of course,” he says, shaking off the momentary lapse.
The whole way to his parents’, neither of us say anything. We just sit in companionable silence, listening to whatever classic rock song comes on the station and that tightness in my chest loosens a bit.
We spend more time than we should at his parents, doing nothing but talking. Talking about the kids, mostly, but there’s a comfort I can’t deny as Dre’s mother serves us lemonade, as Rylee and Maddox’s laughter carry through the house.
It’s nearing six when Andre’s father says they are going to take the kids to get dinner.
“You sure you boys don’t want to join us?” his mother asks,
Andre answers. “No, we’re good. In fact, I think it’s time we head out and grab dinner ourselves.”
I don’t argue with him, because I can’t deny I could use a snack. Or a drink. Maybe some ice cream.
I thank his parents for taking Maddox, who refuse to let me give them any money towards his dinner. We make our way back to his car and I watch as his parents load up our kids into their SUV, and my eyes fill with tears.
I’m not sure what it is—watching his parents treat my kid like he’s their own, or feeling like the first time in years, it’s okay to just… not be okay.
Whatever it is, it disappears the moment I feel Andre’s hand on my thigh, gently squeezing me.
“How about that new place that just opened? Rockets or something?”
Andre pulls out of the driveway as I nonchalantly wipe away my watery eyes.
What the hell is wrong with me?
If Dre notices, he doesn’t say anything, and for that I am glad.
“Sounds great,” I say, clearing my throat. His palm is warm against my leg, and it makes me feel a little better. A little less… alone, I guess.
But that’s what best friends are for, right?