“I don’t want any of you anyway,” she replies. “You guys are too kinky and rich and full of yourselves.”
The three of us stare at her, taking offense.
“Too kinky?” Emerson asks.
“Since when do we act rich?” Garrett adds.
And I can’t help but laugh. I mean…we are full of ourselves, so that one doesn’t even deserve an argument.
“Not even going to respond,” she says astutely. You gotta love Maggie. She works hard, and she’s surprisingly sweet and shy for a woman who’s kept the three of us in check for almost a decade. But she never takes the time for herself that she deserves. Since I’ve been living there, I’ve noticed that she does nothing but work. Until her comment to Mia about not having a man, I honestly didn’t know she even wanted one.
She’s never dated anyone, that we know of. Never used the club for anything. Never flirted or hooked up. She’s an enigma to us all, but we love her all the same.
The table is busy arguing about her accusations of the way we act, and I’m thankful for the attention being taken away from me. And it was just that easy. I dropped the biggest bomb of my life, and my friends barely flinched. Because, to them, nothing really changed. I’m still me. Drake and Isabel and I are the same three people we’ve always been.
And to think I was afraid this would be hard.
Rule #37: Once you have him back, don’t let go.
Isabel
It’s past nine when I finally close the studio, ushering out the last person from my advanced aerial class. They usually like to stick around the longest to chit-chat, and tonight was the first night in a long time where I actually felt up to making small talk.
After that little moment with Drake in the bathroom, I’m starting to feel like myself again. What happened between us was progress, finally able to let go of the grief of him leaving and the guilt of being together. But I know that is what Hunter wanted us to do. Maybe because finally being with him means that Hunter is making progress too, hence coming home soon.
I know in my heart that Hunter wanted Drake and I to be together. Because, deep down, it was never really about cuckolding or hotwifing or any kink, really. It was about finding the relationship we were always supposed to be in.
After locking the front door, I head into the back, so I can close out the books for the day, do some last-minute picking up, and throw the towels into the hamper to take home and wash. Just as I shut the computer off, I hear the bell of the front door chime, and I freeze.
I locked it, didn’t I? I swear I locked it.
The only other people with a key are my receptionist and…
Slowly, I walk toward the front, peering into the lobby from the staff room, when I see a man standing near the door with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. It doesn’t matter that the lights are still on and I can see him clear as day. My brain doesn’t compute right away and so I stare in shock at my husband, who I haven’t laid eyes on in two whole months—fifty-seven days, to be exact.
A scream flies from my mouth as I sprint across the room, eating up every inch of space between us in desperation. The flowers he’s holding are crushed between our bodies as I soar into his arms, crashing against him.
The relief is visceral. His scent, his presence, even the warmth of his breath against my neck is familiar. Every minute of the fifty-seven days we spent apart, I survived. But it truly was just surviving, and it was a struggle. But now…he’s here, and I can finally breathe and let myself feel again.
“Oh, Red,” he whispers against my temple as I bury my face in his neck, and the sound of his voice sends me over the edge. I let out the sob I’ve been holding in.
“Please don’t go again,” I beg. “Please, please, please.”
His dark chuckle vibrates through me. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m done being away from you.”
When I pull away from his embrace, I stare at him through my tears. “You are?”
He brushes my hair out of my face, his eyes raking over the new shorter length, without any real reaction. “Yes. I’m coming home.”
More tears pool in my eyes, and I’ve never felt such gratitude in my life.
“If I can come home…” he adds.
"Yes, yes, yes,” I cry, as I pull his mouth to mine, devouring the taste of his lips that I’ve missed so much.
He slowly crumbles to the floor, dropping the flowers to the side as he sits down in the middle of the lobby and holds me in his arms. We stay that way for a while. I just want to savor his nearness, without talking.