More Than Us

“You didn’t say where we were going so, I didn't know…” her voice was a bit different.

“I know I didn’t baby. Uncertainty is the first step to growth. Is it not?” I ask as I hold my hand out for her to take. Tentatively, she reaches for it, before deciding against it and it takes everything in me to hold in the disappointment. Baby steps.Chapter TwoPhillipaTo say I am shocked is an understatement. For the last couple of years, this house has been a tomb. Devoid of life, noise, laughter, chaos... love. Do I still love my husband? Of course, but the second phase of the life we planned out has failed and I don’t know what to do. I have felt the tug, the need in the pit of my stomach. The call of my blood to his. The binding vows we took on our wedding day, compelling me to go to him and walk this journey with him, but somehow, it feels wrong. I haven’t been able to touch him let alone look at him lately.

Well...there is that one time about three months ago when my best and I were out having drinks and I came home feeling a bit...needy if you will. I literally jumped him. With both of us so starved for affection and let’s be honest, for a plain old-fashioned fuck, I threw everything out the window except getting what I wanted and he more than delivered and then some. But in the light of the next day, it all came rushing back to me and regret set in, my stomach began churning and guilt washed over me, knowing that the night before changed nothing. I grabbed my clothes and walked out of the room. I felt glad that he wasn’t even in the house when I left the room. He came home that night, and we both acted as if the previous night didn’t happen.

Having him walk in today, demanding I get dressed, the glint in his eyes, letting me know he wasn’t taking no for an answer, reminded me of the Cord I fell in love with. The one who possessed me in the quad all those years ago with a simple introduction and the touch of his hand. He could make quiver by simply breathing on me, his mouth inches from skin, promising something delicious to follow. Something decadent and filled passion. Hell, I’m shaking just thinking about it now. Walking into the room, I realize he didn’t tell me where we are going. I pull out the black jeans he bought me. The ones that keep his eyes trained on my ass, not realizing I am once again in a Cord fog. Pulling my cream-colored sheer shirt with the built-in tan camisole, I pair it with black hoops, a bangle and grab my tan clutch. Taking a deep breath, I walk out, my nerves frayed and in a knot. I am suddenly self-conscious. “You didn’t tell me where we were going so, I didn’t know…”

““I know I didn’t baby. Uncertainty is the first step to growth. Is it not?” he asks, holding his hand out for me to take it. I want to take it more than he knows but that kind of intimacy can lead to false hope and that is something neither of us need. So, I decline and walk ahead of him, my heart pounding, regret dripping from my very pores, begging me to fix it. The thing is... it has been so long; I don’t know how. As we drive, getting further out of the burbs, I look over and at him and note that his hands are gripping on the steering wheel as his teeth are grinding. That is usually a sign that he is trying to hold something back and I know he is trying to give me what I want. So why does it feel so wrong?

The car comes to a stop about thirty minutes later and I feel myself gasp. Oh my gosh. “Cord...what are we doing here?” I ask him as we walk to the outdoor French restaurant where he proposed to me.

“Remembering, baby.” he says as he grabs my hand, not giving me a chance to choose. “Reservation for McManus.”

“Of course, Sir. Right this way.” I look at Cord, surprised that we are seated right away. Even with reservations, people have to usually wait.

“Cord, how did you…?” I don’t get to finish my question before we are being seated in the VIP section. He turns around and winks at me, pulling out my chair.” My nipples tighten, as my breath picks up. Those fucking winks.

“May I interest you in a bottle of Chardonnay?” the waitress asks, holding two glasses and a bottle.

“Please.” He says motioning for him to pour it. As soon as she does and walks away, I ask him the question burning my tongue.