No Strings

I thought for sure I would see her yesterday. She might not actually work out while she’s at the gym, but she’s been down there every day… until now apparently, because once again, the gym was empty. When Brody asked her to join us for dinner and a movie, and she said she still wasn’t feeling well and needed to catch up on work, I knew something didn’t sound right, but I let it go.

But now it’s Monday, and she’s once again not here. Something tells me she’s avoiding me—though, I’m not sure why. When we parted ways Friday night, she didn’t seem like anything was wrong—quite the opposite actually. She was sated from the multiple orgasms I gave her and had a blissed-out smile on her face the rest of the night. After we cleaned up and met our friends back at the table, we drank and danced until the early morning.

Brianne shocked the hell out of her brother by leaving with Marcus and, after saying bye to everyone, Lucas, Laura, Savannah, and I took the SUV back to our place. I walked her to her door, and after a kiss good night, I told her I would see her tomorrow. Everything in me wanted to ask her back to my place or worm my way into hers, but since she looked exhausted and mentioned passing out as soon as she rinsed off, I didn’t push it.

Now I’m wondering what the hell happened, or if I did something to upset her. I know damn well she enjoyed herself, and she definitely got off several times. Those screams of pleasure couldn’t be faked, and neither could the way her cunt squeezed my dick as she came for the third time.

I attempt to work out, but I can’t stop thinking about Savannah the entire time. The woman drives me nuts, stealing my treadmill every damn day, yet when she isn’t here, I miss her.

Fuck. No, I don’t miss her. I’m worried. Yeah, I’m worried something could be wrong. Because that’s what friends do. They worry and care. She mentioned not feeling well on more than one occasion. Maybe she really is sick but didn’t want to make a big deal about it. Did Brianne even come home this weekend? For all I know, Savannah could’ve been home all weekend alone, sick in bed with no one there for her.

When I can’t stand another minute of not knowing what’s going on with her, I turn off the treadmill and head back upstairs to take a shower and get dressed so I can catch her before she leaves for work—if she’s even going. If she’s sick, she might still be in bed, in need of medical attention.

Brody is dressed and ready for school, sitting at the table eating his breakfast when I come out dressed for work. “I’ll be right back,” I tell him as I head out the door and straight to the elevator.

When I get to Savannah’s place, I knock several times, but there’s no answer. Dammit. I knock again, but when there’s still no answer, I go back up to my place, finding Brody still eating and staring at his phone.

“Have you talked to Savy?” I ask nonchalantly as I grab a muffin and join him at the table.

He looks up from his phone and raises a brow. “Since when do you call her Savy?”

“I didn’t—” Shit, he’s right. I called her Savy. I shake my head. “Have you talked to Savannah?”

“Not since yesterday.” He goes back to watching whatever stupid videos he’s watching on his phone—that are undoubtedly killing his brain cells by the dozen.

“Do you have practice after school?”

“Yep,” he answers, not bothering to look up.

“Want to order in dinner and watch a movie afterward?”

“Sure.” He still doesn’t look up.

“You should invite Savannah.”

“All right.”

“Text her now,” I urge. “Before she makes other plans.”

I eat my muffin in silence, waiting to see if she responds. His phone vibrates a few minutes later, and then he looks up at me, wearing a scowl on his face. “Something going on with you two?”

“No,” I scoff.

“Really?” He turns his phone around for me to see. “First, she bails on bowling, then on dinner… Now, when I ask her to join us for dinner tonight, she tells me she’ll be stuck at the office late. Dammit, Dad, what did you do?”

“Don’t speak to me like that. And I didn’t do anything.” But even to my own ears, I can hear the guilt in my words.

“Yeah, right,” he mutters. “I gotta go. Whatever you did, fix it.” He hits me with a pointed glare before slinging his backpack over his shoulder and stalking out of the house.

Damn, why does it feel like I’ve just been reprimanded by my damn teenage son? Oh, right, because I was.