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But that can’t be it. How could she have fallen out of love?
Had I really been that blind I didn’t see it? I know I keep asking myself the same questions, but my mind just keeps going in circles.
And then I remember Brantley’s suggestion. Ask her out on a date.
I can’t just blurt it out.
I should be flirting, shouldn’t I? And then I can naturally lead it that way.
Women? We’re not good at flirting once we’re married. It all leads back to the fact that we get regular sex and don’t see the point anymore unless we’re trying to get said sex.
I know. What a bunch of lazy bastards, right?
I’m just being honest here. I’m not saying it’s right.
So guess what I’m trying to think of?
How to flirt again. It’s like I’ve lost my touch.
When I was in college, it was easy. All I’d have to do was smile, wink, maybe say, “What’s that you’re drinking?” and it was over. They’d spread their legs.
As Madison’s standing there loading the dishwasher, I’m leaning into the doorway watching her, admiring just how beautiful she is when the last little bits of daylight shine through the kitchen window and highlight the auburn in her hair.
She catches me, gives me a once over and rolls her eyes. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
I push away from the door and stand next to her so our shoulders are touching. “You’re beautiful. That’s why.”
“Did you tell George about his cat?”
“Yeah. Turns out the cat committed suicide. He had junk cancer.”
“Junk cancer?” She glances over her shoulder at me.
I grab my dick through my jeans. “Yeah, like his balls had cancer in them.”
Her cheeks flush but the corners of her mouth twist, her gaze moving lower to where my hand is. There, right there, she’s fucking lying when she says she doesn’t love me anymore. It’s subtle, by the desire in her eyes, that can’t be mistaken for just desire alone. There’s familiarity there. She remembers my humor and the way it makes her feel inside, like she knows me and knows I can make her smile, even if it’s just for a split second.
I move to stand behind her, my hands on her hip, my mouth exactly where I’ve wanted it to be for hours. Her neck, collarbone, shoulder, anywhere she’ll let me for about five seconds when she sighs. “Ridley, stop it.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
I could literally do this all day long. Noah gets it from me. “Because why?”
“Because I have dishes to finish, laundry to start, laundry to fold, kids to get bathed and then eventually get some sleep tonight because I have to work in the morning.”
My heart beats a little faster. She said we could talk and now it just seems like she’s making excuses. “You said we could talk.”
“If you want to talk, then get the boys ready for bed, that way we have some time.”
I did it last night. I can do it tonight too.
Do you see the amusement in her eyes? Why is she looking at me like that? It’s like the time I was in the delivery room when Callan was born, and the doctor asked if I wanted to see the baby crowning. Being a soon-to-be father, I had no fucking clue what crowning meant so I looked to Madison and she gave me a half grin, much like this one, and said, “If you want to.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Now she full-on grins. “Because.”