My stomach twists in a knot, wondering if I did something wrong. Wondering if he's going to mention her. "Uh, what's that?"
He clears his throat and says, "You owe me a new gallon of ice cream, because that cookie dough is melted to shit right about now."
I giggle into his chest and nod with a sigh of relief. "That's fair . . . DJ Hot Cock."
That gets a chuckle out of him. He kisses the top of my head and says, "Very accurate description, huh?"
"Spot on." I smile to myself, loving that even after we crossed the point of no return, we can still be us. Because it's just Tucker and me. That's it, no one else.
But, I still can't help wondering as Tucker starts to drift off into a slumber, was this how he was with her? Light and breezy after sex? Did they cuddle? Did he tell her she was perfect? Did he shatter her world with one night in bed?
Because I think he'll shatter mine, right into a million unfixable pieces.
Chapter Eighteen
TUCKER
The ringing of my alarm pulls me out of my deep slumber. I quickly turn it off before it can be anymore obnoxious than it is.
Not wanting to wake Emma, I carefully slip out from under her grasp and slide out of bed, making sure to line up my pillow for her to snuggle against. It does the trick as she readjusts and makes a cute little humming sound as she nuzzles her head.
I take a moment to observe her. Her chestnut-brown hair is a mess from my hands, her breathing is steady-an even rhythm that soothes me-and her mouth is slightly open, reminding me of just how deliciously dirty her mouth was last night.
I run my hand over my face and shake my head. I fucked Emma Marks. Not just once, but three times. Three fucking times.
I tug on my hair and go to my closet where I grab my running clothes and shoes. Naked, I tiptoe downstairs, dress, and lace up my shoes.
I need to clear my head. I need to process everything from last night.
I strap my phone to my arm, press shuffle on my running playlist, and take off when I've shut the side door to the house. I don't bother with a warm-up; I get straight into my pace and turn toward Port Dickson Community Park.
Coldplay's "The Scientist" streams through my earbuds, providing a thoughtful melody for me to run to, maybe a little too thoughtful as the lyrics immediately start to speak to me.
"Nobody said it was easy, it's such a shame for us to part . . ."
My feet pound against the pavement, my knees absorbing little shock from the vibrations, jolting my body more than usual. I'm stiff, confused, fucking terrified. I slept with another woman, a woman that wasn't Sadie.
"Take me back to the start . . ." The song hits me square in the fucking heart where it rests heavy with . . . fuck, I don't know what's weighing it down. Regret? No, I don't regret last night. There is no way I could ever regret the connection I shared with Emma or the way she so effortlessly gave me her body. Nor how much I loved taking her body.
So if it's not regret, then why do I feel like I'm sitting in a choker hold, the ability to breathe becoming less and less with each step forward?
I had sex with another woman. That thought is on replay in my head. I kissed Emma, ran my tongue along every part of her body, buried myself deep within her, fucked her, and came in her while her name slipped off my tongue. And when we passed out, I held on to her, tightly, as if I let go, she would disappear just like Sadie did.
Christ.
I pick up my pace, straining my muscles in the chilly morning air.
Last night was the first night in over a year that I felt . . . at peace. It was even better than the other two nights I've slept with Emma in my arms, but for once, there was no doubt. Unease. There weren't any questions in my mind of what I could have done better, of how I could have saved my relationship, how I could have possibly helped Sadie during the miscarriage. I never once thought about the baby we created, if it was a boy or a girl. The nursery didn't call my name; it didn't sit like an anvil of "what ifs" on my chest. And I didn't have an urge to bolt out of the house I bought for Sadie, to flee from the giant reminder of what I lost. Instead, I spent my night tangled next to an exquisite woman who graced me with her beautiful heart and showered me with her irresistible cuteness in those goddamn pajamas.
Fuck, I like those things. I like her. I like her a lot and I think that's what terrifies me. For the first time in so long, I'm not pining for the girl I always thought I'd marry. The woman of my past.
I pause and run my hands through my hair.
Emma. I want to be with her. I want to hold her, make dinner with her, listen to fucking New Direction while she giggles in my arms. I want to wear matching lobster oven mitts and high five over shitty soup. I want her for her quirks, her smile, her beautiful brain, and her loving and caring heart.