My Always One

by Aleatha Romig

  I love her. We’ve been friends since my first day at the advertising firm. She's refreshingly simple and direct. She says exactly what she’s thinking, which, by the way, is a complete contradiction to her work. She’s amazing at advertising. She’s one of those smart-as-shit people with a naïve personality.

  “It kind of is,” I say as I sit at the lunch table with my coffee and water in front of me. Taking the lid off the coffee Linda brought me, I blow lightly on the steaming liquid and await their answers.

  “Swear,” Linda says as she sits.

  “Pinky swear,” Ashley says as she plops down next to Linda.

  “Yes, you can have my firstborn,” Marcy volunteers. We all look her way. “What? I mean, when I have a firstborn.”

  Everyone’s focus returns to me.

  I take a deep breath and let it all out. “Last Thursday, the night before the flowers all showed up here,” I begin, “I went home early and found Jack with someone.”

  “Like a business thing?” Ashley asks.

  Marcy’s eyes widen, but she remains silent.

  Linda’s jaw clenches as she stares my direction. “With?”

  “With,” I confirm with a nod.

  “And yet,” Marcy says, “I didn’t see you on my newsfeed for murder.”

  I shrug. “Had I been thinking clearer…”

  “Wait. What?” Ashley asks. “Jack? He what?”

  Linda, Marcy, and I continue our conversation. “What did you do?” Marcy asks.

  “I freaked the shit out. I left my engagement ring on the counter and called Marshal.”

  Marcy leans back in her chair and nods. “Sweeter nectar.”

  I close my eyes, deciding if I should share. Once I close my eyes, my mind is filled with Marshal's words of encouragement: the way he supported me at my parents' house, the way he filled me and surrounded me, the way he's never lied to me, and the way my core clenches at the emptiness that comes after his monster cock pulls out of me.

  But…

  I know.

  Marshal is my friend.

  I know I don’t want to lose that.

  We made our agreement before we were even teenagers. We might have amended our agreement so that we now have benefits, but this situation won’t last forever.

  This is Marshal Michaels.

  He lives in the right now.

  I refocus on Linda. She may be naïve, but she’s also the voice of reason. “…your parents…?”

  I shrug again. “It seems as though they never really liked Jack. My dad apparently would have voted him off the island.”

  Marcy’s eyes widen. “What island?”

  Linda nods, going on as if Marcy hasn’t spoken. “He had an air.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, suddenly defensive that neither my friends nor family approved of my ex-fiancé.

  “It means…good the hell for you.”

  I can’t help but smile.

  “Marshal?” Linda asks. “Are you still willing to hook me up?”

  “I don’t remember that I ever was. Remember, Marshal and I have a few agreements and understandings. He’s not allowed to date my friends.”

  “Hmm,” Ashley says. “You called him...?”

  “I did. He’s been great. Very supportive.” I take a sip of the still-hot coffee. "Like he's always been."

  “Like, jock-strap supportive?” Marcy asks.

  I nearly spit out my coffee and look at her. “Jock strap?”

  “Supportive in the nether regions,” she confirms as she wiggles her eyebrows.

  I take a deep breath, trying to hold back my smile. “Maybe.”

  “Anything more?” Ashley asks.

  I shake my head again. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. We've been friends forever. That’s all it will ever be.”

  Ashley stands. “Eric and I were friends long before we were lovers. Two kids later, I think there’s something to be said about dependability and reliability. Has Marshal always been that person for you?”

  “Yes,” I reply sheepishly.

  “And have you been that for him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you love him?”

  I don’t have to think about my answer. “Yes.”

  “Like a brother?” Linda asks.

  I take a sip of my coffee. “I don’t know how to define it anymore.”

  “I think you can safely answer that you’re not setting me up with him,” Linda says with a grin. “And here I was willing to give you up for him.”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  A smile spreads across her face. “Never. I think you should see where this goes.”

  “I think I want that.”

  “And I’m not even mad about your present,” Ashley says. “I’m going to keep it.”

  “Well,” I say, “I’m getting a new bed. I’m not keeping one where Jack screwed a bimbo.”

  “Burn that baby,” Marcy says.

  “That was my first thought.”

  “Bonfire at Sami’s,” Linda says.

  Marshal

  * * *

  After scanning my membership card, I make my way from the front desk toward the treadmills. The gym is filling fast, not unusual for early on Friday morning. As I walk to the locker room, I’m not thinking about the chick with the tits and ass. To be totally honest, my mind is filled with Sami. I woke this past Sunday morning in her apartment and in her new bed. My body was wrapped around hers. She was sound asleep and snoring. Okay, not snoring. She was breathing in rhythm, and it was adorable. The way her lips were parted, my mind went to all sorts of possibilities.

  Instead of acting on any of them, I tucked my arm beneath her and pulled her close. The way she cuddled against my chest was everything I never wanted but found instantly lovable.

  With each passing day of this amended agreement, I continue questioning my existence.

  I’m Marshal Michaels.

  I fuck.

  I move on.

  Never.

  Never ever.

  Never have I woke, cuddled, and been happy about it. There was this one time in college. I’ll blame the alcohol and the fact that the chick was a cheerleader and so flexible…but the point was…I woke…she cuddled.

  I got my ass out of Dodge.

  Sunday morning, I didn’t run. I lingered as the scent of strawberry shampoo tickled my nose and Sami’s curves fit perfectly against my planes. As she slept, I didn’t move. My dick did…because, well...Sami was there.

  Cuddling.

  Breathing.

  And just there.

  Unlike the time in that crazy-small bed in the gross off-campus house, this time Sami didn’t have an issue with my morning wood.

  Morning sex was nearly as great as nighttime.

  Every time with her is off the charts.

  In my apartment.

  In the boathouse.

  At her place.

  It is as if in her presence my dick forgets how to be anything but hard.

  In the eight days since her discovery of—or awakening to—Jack’s true self, we’ve talked.

  That is part of our relationship that hasn’t changed. Sami and I have always talked to one another; even when talking to other people was hard to do, we had each other. Changing our agreement hasn’t changed that tradition.

  She and I talked about her parents, about Jack, and about the cancelled wedding.

  Despite—or maybe because of—everything, Sami seems to be in a good place…so I did what friends do. I went home.

  That was Sunday afternoon.

  Today is Friday, and I’m fucking obsessing.

  We’ve had dinner twice and I’ve feasted on my favorite honey too, but it’s as if I want to know where she is and what she’s thinking every second we’re apart.

  I’ve never checked my phone every ten minutes.

  Until now.

  If she wasn’t Sami, I’d be calling her.

  But this is virgin ground.

  The friends
hip zone.

  The benefits zone.

  Otherwise referred to as hell.

  I step onto the treadmill and hit enter. I go through the steps, entering my age, my weight, and choosing the course I want to run. My fingers push without my thoughts engaging. It isn’t until I’m partway through my warm-up that I notice Miss Tits and Ass beside me. Every few steps, she side-glances my way.

  You know…not turning her head. Not really looking, just eying me with a frown.

  I recall my previous plan. Lift my shirt, wipe my brow, claim my friend’s distress, but the truth is that I no longer give a shit about her.

  The realization is one of those epiphany moments—the proverbial sky opening and a chorus of angels singing.

  “Marshal Michaels" —their voices come together in a melody of chords— “isn’t noticing a fine piece of ass.”

  Okay. Angels most likely don’t say ass.

  Nevertheless, it is an epiphany.

  I don’t care about Miss Tits and Ass.

  I don’t give a shit whether she is upset or forgives me. Even my body isn’t interested.

  Maybe I’m broken.

  No, it’s that after what my body and I have experienced with Sami over the last eight days, all either one of us wants is to go back to her place and...

  Stay.

  Hibernate.

  Fucking cuddle.

  I run faster on my treadmill, increasing the incline, and hoping that maybe I’ll care about the woman beside me or that my desire will change.

  I don’t and it doesn’t.

  I pick up my phone while wiping the sweat from my eyes.

  I haven't spoken to Sami since last night. It feels like it’s been a year.

  I'm Marshal Michaels—chicks call me.

  Blinking away the sweat, I squint toward my phone, hoping, praying for...

  One message.

  One call.

  It’s all I want.

  But there's nothing.

  "Marshal? Are you going to explain yourself?" Miss Tits and Ass asks.

  For only a split second, my body reminds me of a saying: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

  I fight the urge to grin. I'm thinking one in the hand is definitely not worth one in Sami's neatly trimmed bush.

  "Sorry," I manage. "We didn't exchange numbers and an emergency came up."

  She narrows her eyes as she picks up her pace. Her tits sway as her feet pound the treadmill. "So let me give you my number."

  I almost choke on my response. It's new to me, but for the first time I can remember, it's the most honest response I can give. "Thanks. You should keep it. There's someone else who I'm kind of seeing."

  Miss Tits and Ass doesn't miss a beat. "If you're only kind of seeing someone, I'm free for the part of you that isn't seeing someone." She shrugs. "I'm kind of seeing a few people, too."

  When had I ever turned down casual, no-strings-attached sex?

  My memory is a little fuzzy from before I turned fifteen, but going out on a limb, I'm going to guess the answer is never.

  Smiling, I say, "I'll remember that. Right now, I need to see where this is going." With that, I put my earbuds back into my ears and concentrate on the pounding bass, pushing myself to keep up the pace.

  I'm not sure what Miss Tits and Ass says or if she even responds. I'm too busy wondering if I should forget another of my policies and call Sami. As I think and run, and think and run...I recall calling her on Friday morning after our first night together. Maybe I’m already treating her differently.

  My thoughts work to justify myself.

  Last week, I tell myself, Sami and I were still more squarely in the friend zone. We'd only stepped outside the box one night. A week and a day later, it feels different.

  Now with her memory come twinges and recollections...the noises she makes just before she comes. The way her pussy tightens. Her smile as our breathing steadies.

  My blood should be pumping as I run. It should be racing through my heart and exiting to all parts of my body. But as I think about her sweet honey, her perfect tits, and the way she says my name, I begin to worry I might get lightheaded.

  My blood isn't doing its job. Instead, my dick twitches, hardening with each recollection.

  Sami

  * * *

  A message pops up on my screen from Marcy out at the front desk.

  * * *

  You have a visitor.

  * * *

  I can’t stop the smile that spreads over my face as I anticipate sexy blue eyes, a chiseled jaw, a rock-hard body, long muscular legs, all topped with light brown hair that looks even sexier after I’ve run my fingers through it.

  We’ve been at this new agreement for over two weeks and neither of us seems ready to change it. I haven’t seen him since he left my place on Saturday morning. I’ve thought about him, but I kept reminding myself that while we have benefits, we are friends. Friends don’t spend all their time together.

  Every time I considered calling or texting yesterday, I refrained. However, now with him here on a Monday at my work, I’m reminded of all the reasons I wanted to reach out.

  The clock in the corner of my screen tells me it’s a quarter after twelve.

  Maybe Marshal wants to go to lunch, or maybe we have time for a quickie in his car.

  Warmth fills my cheeks as I leave my desk and work behind, and I briefly entertain the idea of doing it in Marshal’s sports car. In all honesty, I’m not sure it’s physically possible. After all, he’s six feet three, and his car isn’t big.

  Maybe I could suggest my SUV.

  If we lay down the back seat...

  My expression blanks as I turn the corner and see not Marshal but my mom. I open the door to the entryway. “Mom. What a surprise.”

  “I was in the city and thought maybe we could have lunch together.”

  This is the first time I’ve been face-to-face with my mom since the showdown in her kitchen. We’ve spoken on the phone many times, but I haven’t seen her. “Of course. There’s that sandwich shop down the street that you like,” I say. “We could walk.” I peer through the glass doors. “It’s a nice day.”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  “Um, let me grab my phone and purse.”

  When I come back, Mom and Marcy are deep in conversation. Call me paranoid, but I believe it’s about me.

  Is it about the cancelled wedding, Jack, or Marshal?

  That’s the million-dollar question. “Ready?”

  Warm air blows my hair as we step onto the sidewalk. As we walk, we chat about nothing in particular. I ask her why she’s in Grand Rapids, and she asks me about work. It isn’t until we’re seated and waiting for our order that her expression changes.

  The woman across the table isn’t a stranger. I know her better than most, and I can tell that our chance lunch isn’t by chance and our conversation is going to get more serious.

  “I wanted to talk to you without your dad.”

  “Why?” My heart beats faster. “Is something wrong? Are you sick? Is it Dad?”

  Mom’s lips come together in a grin. “No, honey. Nothing like that.”

  Honey.

  I have a flash of memory but push it away. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “I’ve sent all the regrets for the wedding.”

  The guilt is back, pushing on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. “Mom, I have savings. I make good money. Please let me pay for whatever you can’t get back. After all, this is my fault.”

  She shakes her head and reaches for her purse. At the same time, our number is called from the counter. I don’t move, waiting for whatever she is about to show me. “Mom, what is it?”

  “Go get our food, and I’ll show you.”

  Each step to and from the counter feels like I’m dredging through quicksand. I don’t know what to expect, but I know it’s not good.

  When I set our plates on the table, I see a folded piece of paper under her hand.r />
  Mom swallows and nods. “I told you we planned for weddings, for all three of you girls. We did. Yours was going a bit above—”

  “Mom, let me pay.”

  She shakes her head. “The caterer was fantastic. We lost our ten percent deposit, but that’s all. And the reception hall had a waiting list. It seems you made another couple very happy.”

  I sigh with relief, thinking this is better news than I anticipated.

  “The dress,” she goes on, “can’t be returned. You could always choose to wear it...you know, when...”

  “I’ll pay you for the dress and we can burn it in Dad’s firepit.”

  “Samantha Ann, it’s a beautiful dress. Sharon, you know from the Moose Lodge, well, she said you could sell it online. She mentioned eBay and Facebook Marketplace.”

  I scrunch my nose. “It feels wrong, like I’d be selling my bad choices to some unsuspecting bride-to-be.”

  Mom nods. “Really, it was all going well until—” She slides the piece of paper my way.

  Neither of us has touched our lunch except for a few sips I’ve taken of my sweet tea and the few Mom has taken of her lemonade. I look down at the paper and back up.

  “Whatever this is, you’re saying Dad doesn’t know?”

  “Not yet. I was...” She nods toward the paper. “Please take a look and we can talk about it.”

  Slowly, I unfold the paper. It takes a few seconds for the words to register. As their meanings become clear, a new emotion—anger—builds inside me.

  “An invoice?” I ask louder than I should. “Jack sent you a damn invoice.” No longer am I questioning. I know the answer. It’s right in front of me.

  “Shh,” Mom hushes me.

  “Fifteen thousand for the canceled honeymoon. Six thousand for canceled travel and lodging for members of his family. And another five thousand for my wedding ring.” Each statement was louder than the last. I shook my head and lowered my voice. “Don’t worry about this, Mom. I’ll tell him to take this and stick it up his ass.” Okay, I tone it down for my mother. “...where the sun doesn’t shine. And he has the damn rings. I gave him back the engagement ring and he never gave me the wedding ring.” I shrug. “The jewelry store had a great return policy on the ring I bought him.”