I suddenly had to shift where I was standing on the train because my jeans were tight across the front. His smile when he first opened his smoky-blue eyes, the way they crinkled in half, the curve of his mouth… I couldn‘t help it. Sam in the morning with his gravel-filled voice, soft eyes, tousled hair, and stubbly beard could stop my heart. Normally, when Sam was home, Saturdays were for sleeping in, hours of sex, and a late breakfast/early lunch. That was why I had volunteered for a Saturday with Michelle Cooper instead of lying comatose around my loft for two days. I needed to keep busy, so working on the weekend had seemed like a good idea. As always, when I over-shared, I got the look of disgust that he could do better than anybody. When Dane looked at me with wonder all over his face, I told him I needed Sam to come home so I could get laid. I even beat my brother at racquetball, which the stars had to be aligned for me to be able to do.
I had been working off my sexual energy at the gym, and I had been running like a man training for the marathon. I missed being in bed with him, and my body ached and throbbed with his absence. I craved his presence, his touch, his smell on the sheets, his empty coffee cup in the sink, and the towels he left on the floor in the bathroom. The man in question had been gone for three months, moving quickly to four, participating in a federal task force. Sam cared enough to grill me, and I missed it. I wanted to, though I wanted to be interrogated because that way I‘d know I was loved. This capacity for trust drives my partner, my husband-we got married in Canada and we wear rings-Sam Kage, absolutely nuts.īut lately, because he was away, I didn‘t have to worry about explaining myself or my actions. Like if a good friend of mine asked me to keep a gun for them, I would probably do it simply because it‘s my friend why would I question it?
I tend to be too accepting of situations and circumstances. I also need to check occasionally to make sure that something that I‘ve said was okay, really is.
Things that other people, normal people, think are insane or horrifying don‘t really faze me, so from time-to-time I have a hard time differentiating run-of-the-mill crazy from severe psychosis. Because of all that, my brother Dane is certain that my gauge that senses weirdness is way out of whack. It sort of numbs you to surreal experiences. IN MY life I have been kidnapped twice, shot at, hit, chased down in a car, and yanked off the street. Thank you to my husband for keeping the kids busy so I could finish, to Tiana and Roy for looking over the Pidgin, and to my fans who asked when there would be more Jory.
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