Denise
Three Months after RRABF
Excitement bubbled in my stomach hearing Q’s car pull into the driveway.
I had been sitting on the good news all day and couldn’t wait to share it with him.
He walked through the door looking just as sexy as when he left this morning, wearing my favorite outfit, an expertly tailored navy blue Tom Ford suit and holding a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of my favorite red wine.
“Guess what?” I said, clapping my hands together.
“Wait… how did you find out?” I asked, slightly disappointed I wasn’t the one to tell him first.
“They posted the lineup on their page this morning since tickets go on sale next week.”
“I didn’t even know you followed them,” I said, smelling the fragrant tulips, their sweetness filling my nose.
“I’ve been more excited about this than you have. Yes, I follow them. I’ve been checking every day.”
My husband never ceased to amaze me. I was truly always in awe of the man I married.
These past three months had been nothing short of a whirlwind of emotions and confusion, and had it not been for his patience and reason, I don’t know how I would have fared.
I wanted to pretend like our weekend at RRABF was a new and fun experience for us to talk about for years to come, but the truth was, I left Atlanta hurt.
And worse, I felt stupid for feeling hurt.
Because how had I let this woman who I barely knew affect me like that?
I wasn’t new to casual sex. I had lived a little bit before Q, so I knew the number one rule was don’t catch feelings.
I didn’t even think that was possible being a happily married woman, let alone happen with a woman.
Nikki fucked my head up, and in the months after being back home, it only got worse.
Raina tagged us in the pictures we took at the club, and it had become a nightly ritual to check her Instagram page.
Q and I discussed that it was on her to get in touch with us first; she’s the one who left without a word.
But a part of me wondered if that was my fault.
Maybe she had found out I was D. Miller and felt deceived.
That’s where Q had to be my voice of reason, telling me that even if she found out, her leaving without the proper communication told us everything we needed to know about how she deals with conflict.
I hated that she kept proving my Lynn theory.
Lynn was definitely the most unstable, unreliable, hardheaded one out of the group, making the relationships in her life harder than they had to be.
But I was understanding to a fault. I put myself in her shoes, imagining how intimidating it must feel to enter into the sanctity of someone’s marriage and be vulnerable.
I wouldn’t feel like I had a place either, especially if dynamics, wants, and needs weren’t discussed prior, or maybe she was just that good at seducing couples.
Maybe that’s what got her off, and maybe we were way in over our heads.
The bottom line was that we didn’t know, and that’s what bothered me so much.
I didn’t know why she decided to run, and it was keeping me up at night trying to guess.
But I had to trust that if it was meant for us to know, then we would eventually.
My phone vibrated on the kitchen island as I was placing the last tulip in a vase and Q was pouring us two glasses of the wine he bought. I looked at the notification and saw Raina, Gina, and an unknown number had texted me.
Raina: Tickets to RRABF go on sale next week! Whats the plan??
Gina: Booking the room now.
(404) 373-9202: You know I’m there.
“What? Who was that?” Q said, handing me a glass.
“Raina, Gina, and I’m assuming Nikki making plans for next year’s festival.”
“Are you gonna respond?”
“Should I?”
Quincy stood behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, kissing my neck, his lips warm as he moved down to my shoulder.
“You should do whatever your heart is telling you to do,” he whispered against my skin.
I turned around in his arms and cupped his handsome face, his healthy beard rough against my palms.
“My heart is telling me to celebrate with my amazing husband and let the chips fall where they may.”
“I like that plan,” he said, already slipping off the pair of his boxers I had on, his fingers grazing my hips. “Do we have the same idea of what celebrating looks like?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I giggled as he picked me up and set me on the counter, the marble cold against my thighs, burying his face in my pussy without preamble, his tongue finding my clit with confident precision. We most definitely had the same idea of what celebrating looked like.