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19

RESTLESS HEART

Amanda

Therapy isn’t as scary as I thought it would be.

Granted, this is mostly a get to know each other session, but still. I’m not sure why I thought therapy would be a therapist judging me, but it hasn’t been that way at all. It’s very supportive. The only assignment she’s given me is to do something for myself. Not for my business. Not for Jamie. For me. Something that fulfills me, not drains me.

Admitting that I didn’t have a clue where to start with that was hard, but again, she was supportive, not judgmental.

She also offered to look into resources for partners of professional athletes, since it’s possible what Jamie and I are going through is a common issue. I hadn’t thought of that. I hadn’t thought to look into it. But it makes sense. These kinds of growing pains can’t be unique.

That makes me feel a little better, but not great, mostly because Jamie still doesn’t know what happened last weekend. It’s been six days, and I’m not exactly withholding the information, but I haven’t made another attempt to tell him.

I tried the following morning, starting with mentioning therapy, but he got distracted by some guys on the team and had to go. I told him when I headed for the office this morning that I had my appointment, but he was still in bed and barely responded. I’m not going to seek him out and beg him to pay attention to me if he can’t be bothered to listen.

I haven’t mentioned any of this to my therapist yet. That’s next week’s problem. I don’t want to scare her away after only one session.

When we finish up, I walk out of the spare room and into the kitchen, where Jamie is cooking at the stove.

“Morning,” I say, trying to be my cheery self, but the weight of what’s unsaid between us is crushing me.

He turns around and meets my eyes. “Hey. What were you doing in there? Potential client?”

Well, unless I want to straight up lie to him… here we go.

“No. I had a therapy appointment.”

He turns off the burner and puts something on a plate, then walks over to the counter, eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t know—when did you start doing therapy?”

“This was my first session,” I say tightly.

Something like guilt crosses his face. “When did you—why—why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did.”

He leans back like I hit him, throwing his arms out. “What? I think I would’ve remembered that.”

“You would’ve had to have been listening in the first place to remember it.”

“What are you talking about? When did you tell me this?”

“The night you won your game. But wait, you fell asleep the second I started talking about my shitty day.”

He looks pained for a second. “I called you back the next morning.”

“And I said it then too, but you got distracted by your teammates and hung up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I got back from the trip? ”

I stare at him for a moment, not sure exactly what the answer is. Am I holding back from him because I’m angry and want to punish him or because I was afraid he wouldn’t listen again and I wouldn’t be able to take it? Or because I’m trying to keep everything happy and calm for him?

Option D. All of the above.

“I don’t… know. Does it matter? You know now, right? I assume since your mom is a therapist, you aren’t one of those dumbass guys who thinks therapy is stupid and would never want his partner to go.”

“Call those people what they are—abusers who don’t want to be caught. No, I’m not upset you’re going. If you’re struggling in any way, I want you to take care of yourself.” He comes around the counter to me and wraps his arms around me. “And if I’m being an asshole, I want to know so I can deal with it.”

Like he dealt with not showing up for me at the event?

I feel like such a bitch when I think things like that, but those thoughts pop in from time to time. Unresolved anger? Probably. Something else to work on in therapy.

But I don’t want to feel that way, so I hug him back.

“This summer has been crazy.”

“It has. Which is why it’s extra important to celebrate our anniversary on Monday. No game or practice that day. All I have to do is work out in the morning, then I’m yours for the day. We can explore the neighborhood if you want. Or I can use my newfound status to get a reservation somewhere fancy.”

I can’t help but scowl at that. I love that we have a whole day together, but I don’t want fancy. I want real.

Pushing out of his arms, I look up into those stunning blue orbs that captivate every time.

“Not to be completely lame, but could we stay in? We’ve barely had any time together that isn’t rushed or crunched. I want to enjoy us.”

“Yeah. Of course. I’ll find a great sushi place to order takeout from. I’m happy to spend all day locked in this apartment with you.” Though we both grimace as we look around the room. “I promise we’ll find somewhere better eventually. Until then?—”

“We’ll make the most of it,” I say gently. He’s trying.

While intention isn’t everything, it matters, and I appreciate his intentions are to be together and enjoy each other because despite all the chaos of the last month-and-a-half, that’s what our anniversary should be. A celebration of us and how far we’ve come.

Jamie

I’m determined to make today the best anniversary possible. It’s only our second one, and last year was relaxed with a fun dinner at our favorite sushi place back home after a day spent at a nearby lake. Then we had a night full of talking and sex. Classic anniversary vibes.

But after how I let her down a couple of weeks ago and the disconnect between us because of the crazy schedules we’ve had, I want this to be extra special.

I was surprised when she said she wanted to stay in. Normally, she’s all about going out and exploring. The introvert in me doesn’t mind, and neither does my horny side that doesn’t just want to keep her in the apartment, but in bed all day.

I hoped my workout would get some of the pent-up energy out of me, but it didn’t. It’s been too long since we’ve had anything but quickies, and I want to spend hours worshipping her.

That starts with non-sexual things, like breakfast in bed.

The one great thing about this neighborhood—though I’m sure it’s true of almost any neighborhood in the city—is there’s a little café and deli nearby that makes incredible breakfast sandwiches .

I got Amanda’s favorite one. A western Florentine egg white omelet on an onion bagel. With a side of hash browns. Because hash browns.

I swear Amanda sits up the second I walk through the bedroom door.

“What do I smell?”

“Your super fancy anniversary breakfast.”

“Don’t you mean ours ?”

“Well, sort of. I’m having an egg white omelet with a side of hash browns. Not quite as fancy as your bagel sandwich.”

“Gimme.”

I laugh and sit down next to her with the tray. “You only want me for the food I bring you.”

She looks at me sweetly. “It’s a nice perk.” Then she combs her fingers through my hair and presses her lips to mine in a raw, emotional kiss. “Happy anniversary, baseball boy.”

I kiss her neck as she pulls away. “Happy anniversary, event queen. Or is it event queen of my heart? I don’t know. That’s your business thing, not a term of endearment.”

She smiles softly as she pulls open the box with her food in it. “No. It’s not. There’s something you call me that I much prefer.”

“Oh. What’s that?”

She looks at me and drags her finger down my chest. “I love when you call me your girl. It makes me feel adored.”

“My girl gets what she wants.”

She bumps her elbow against mine, smiling happily as she digs into her breakfast sandwich. Sometimes I forget all she cares about are the simple things—like knowing she’s loved—and I need to do a better job of showing her that.

“Can I come out now?” Amanda calls from the bedroom.

“One second!” I grab the last two boxes and chuck them in the garbage, then run to the refrigerator and pull out the sushi. “Okay, more like a minute.”

Her laugh bounces around the apartment.

I sent her for a nap and a bath an hour ago, thinking that would give me enough time to get this all together, but I’m cutting it close.

After breakfast, we ended up leaving the house and going for a walk—Amanda’s idea—then we came back and watched a movie before making lunch. Amanda found a recipe for sheet pan nachos because she wanted to spoil me as much as I spoil her. They were delicious, and once the off-season hits and I have more time to cook, I’ll be making them all the time.

Once I have all the sushi set out on a tray, I carry it to the living room and set it in place on the ottoman, then I walk toward the bedroom, switching off lights as I go.

When I get there, Amanda is breathtaking in a white silky slip dress that hugs every gorgeous curve of her voluptuous body.

“Fuck,” I hiss as I take her in.

That wicked smile shines on her face. “You look good too.”

At her request, I’m in dark blue athletic boxers and a tight black tee.

Then she grazes her hand over my semi before kissing my neck and looking down the hall.

“What surprises do you have up your sleeve?”

I loop my arm through hers, guiding her forward. “Come and see.”

When we get to the living room, her breath catches as she stares up at the ceiling where I’ve hung about twenty strands of warm white twinkle lights, both regular and star shaped, creating a cozy, warm ambience that our apartment usually lacks.

“This is beautiful. Thank you.”

I lead her around the couch to the floor, where I have blankets and pillows set up along with our sushi.

“I know we haven’t quite figured out how to make this place a home, but I wanted this to be a warm, comforting space tonight. ”

“You pulled it off.”

Grabbing the tray of sushi, I pull it closer, then pick up one of the pieces of spicy crab roll and hold it out to her. She nibbles at it before using her tongue to tug it into her mouth.

“The first time we ever hung out, you told me you were a slut for spicy crab sushi. Well, I’m a slut for watching you eat it.”

She laughs at that. “Now I know why you get me sushi so much.”

I press a kiss to her cheek. “Because it makes you happy, and I love seeing you happy.”

She sets down the piece of sushi in her hand and tackles me, kissing me deeply.

I think our anniversary has been a success so far.

The sushi is gone and we’re a sweaty heap tangled under a blanket.

I was planning to give Amanda a massage, but we only made it five minutes before she found a hard muscle on me that needed a massage, and well, here we are.

Combing my fingers through her hair, I soak in the comfort of her body wrapped up with mine.

“Do you have any fantasies?”

Amanda and I have anything but a vanilla sex life. We love to explore and play, and while it hasn’t happened as much recently, it’s a part of us. We’ve never done any role play, and haven’t gotten much into kinks—other than some mild breath play and spanking, but that’s barely kinky. I’m open to exploring most things with her, but we’ve never really talked about specific fantasies.

“Like sexually?”

“Yes,” I say with a laugh.

“Uh…” Her cheeks go bright red, and I poke her in the ribs.

“You do. Tell me. ”

“Okay. This is… like I don’t need to act on it, but for me, the ultimate fantasy would be having a threesome where both a man and a woman were wholly focused on me.” She covers her face with her hands.

“My little praise princess. Of course you want to be the object of desire.” I kiss her neck. “And you should be.”

Slowly, she peels her hands off her face and looks up at me.

Sweeping some hair away, I meet her eyes.

“You know, if you ever wanted something like that, we could find a way to do it.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

“Yes. I mean, I’m not interested in a poly relationship because I could never share your heart, but for your pleasure and to embrace that piece of your sexuality… I’d do that.”

She rests her hand on my cheek. “That’s very sweet. In reality, though, I wouldn’t want to be with anyone but you. That’s like an in another life kind of fantasy… an I want to read about it in a book kind of fantasy.”

“I’ll buy you every one I can find.”

“What’s your fantasy?”

“I’m a simple man. My fantasy is always you on your knees, choking on my cock with your mascara smudged. Hm, and I guess I see you wearing heels too.”

“We can make that happen.”

She kisses my chest, and I curl my fingers through her hair.

“What’s your fantasy for life overall?”

She’s quiet for a moment, and when I look, I can see the emotion swimming in her eyes.

“This,” she whispers. “You and me together. Fulfilling careers. Still close with our friends. Living our best lives. Happy.”

I gently graze my lips over her forehead. “That’s not a fantasy. It’s our future.”

She rolls toward me, wrapping herself tighter around me. “I hope so,” she says, almost too softly to hear.

“It will be. ”

These last couple of months have been busy and chaotic, but I don’t ever want her to doubt how beautiful our future will be, so I hold her close, running my fingers through her hair and whispering how much I love her in hopes that I can calm her restless heart.