Would You Sleep With Me?

Katrina's POV 

I opened the passenger door of Christian’s car and dropped into the seat.

The second the door shut, everything I’d been holding in broke free.

I tossed the sunglasses aside and sobbed. Ugly, loud, shaking sobs that made my whole body hurt. I pressed both palms over my face and folded forward until my forehead nearly touched the dashboard.

My breaths became ragged, and my face turned red as I struggled to breathe through the pain.

“Hey, hey, Katrina.” Christian started, his voice softer than I expected it to be. “Breathe Kat. It's okay, release your feelings if you have to. Don't hold back.” He placed his hands on mine, but I immediately threw my arms around him, sobbing into his thick jacket, comforting myself with the warmth I never had.

“I gave up everything,” I finally choked out between sobs, feeling him ease into the embrace. “I was supposed to study abroad. I had the grades, the acceptance letter, everything. But I married Adrian instead. I stayed home. I took care of Leo. I cooked and cleaned, and waited for him every night like an idiot.”

My voice cracked under the weight of the memories.

“And this is what I get!” I gritted out, shaking with anger as another memory burned through the pain, “My own son doesn’t even care about me. Last month he drew a family picture at school. He put Sarah right next to him and his dad. And me? I was some stickman in the background. I thought I was crazy. I thought maybe I just wasn’t trying hard enough. Maybe if I dressed nicer, maybe if I stopped nagging about healthy foods and bedtimes, maybe he’d want me again. All along, I really was the other woman.”

Christian’s jaw tightened against my skin, but he stayed quiet, letting me spill everything.

“I always told myself Leo just liked her more because she was fun. Now I know why. She’s been playing my role with my husband and my child behind my back.”

Tears kept falling as saying it out loud only made me realize how naive and too trusting I'd been.

“Adrian hasn’t touched me in six months.” My jaw tightened as I confessed with my eyes pinned to the ground. “His mother keeps calling. Asking when we’re giving Leo a brother. Another grandson. She said it so sweetly, like she wasn’t putting her foot on my neck.”

Christian’s hand stroked a small circle on my back. I leaned into it without meaning to.

“He told me it was work. Told me I needed more time to heal. That my body needed rest.” My voice cracked on the last word. “And I believed him. I woke up every morning and looked at my stretch marks and thought, this is why. This is why he doesn’t want you anymore.”

The tears came faster now, hot and thick. I could taste salt on my parting lips.

“I bought creams. Oils. Those stupid silicone patches. I did yoga in the living room while Leo napped. I thought if I just fixed myself enough, he’d see me again.” I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “He rushed through it. Every. Single. Time. Like being inside me was a chore. Like I was a thing he had to endure.”

The memory of those quick, loveless sex made my stomach clench. Him behind me in the dark, eyes closed, face turned away. No kissing. No exchange of words. Just the bed creaking and then the shower running next.

I finally turned my head and looked at Christian.

His jaw was tight. Green eyes dark under the parking garage lights. He was watching me with something I couldn’t name—anger, sadness, maybe both. His hand never stopped moving on my back.

“I heard them,” I whispered, biting back a bitter laugh. “They talked about the car. My freaking car. About the backseat. She was wearing red lace. I found her underwear under the seat. My son was sitting on top of her fucking underwear.”

Christian’s expression didn’t change. Like he already knew. Like he’d been waiting for me to catch up.

“He actually had the guts to say I feel like a dead fish! Like he wasn't the starfish in our relationship!” The words fell out of me, flat and cold. “The audacity to say I'm dry and quiet, compared to my “tight” best friend. That I’d cry and forgive him. Like I’m some pathetic little wife who doesn’t know any better.” 

His hand stopped moving. Then his arm wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me across the console. I moved without a fight, collapsing against his chest.

He smelled different up close. An intoxicating masculine musk laced with a delicious scent that had my brain automatically pause as I got lost in it.

“You’re not pathetic,” he said against my hair. His voice rumbled through his chest, through me. “You’re not boring. You’re not any of the things they said.”

I clutched his shirt and sobbed into the dark fabric. The tears kept coming, and he kept holding me, stroking my hair as my breathing slowly became normal again.

Then something dug into my cheek.

I pulled back, blinking through the wet blurry vision. My fingers touched my face, and I found a small red mark on my skin. Then I looked at his chest.

The pendant hung from a thin silver chain around his neck. A small silver crescent moon with a tiny star dangling below it. It was obvious the metal was cheap from glance, almost like the kind you buy from a mall kiosk when you’re broke and twenty-one and desperately in love.

Wait a minute. I know this pendant.

I knew the little chip standing out at the edge of the moon. Knew the way the star caught the light because I’d spent an hour picking it out, turning over every single one in the display case.

He still has it with him..

I reached out and caught the pendant between my fingers.

I’d given him this on the last day of fall semester. We’d been sitting on the library steps, sharing a bag of vending machine pretzels. He’d walked me to my dorm after, and I’d pressed it into his palm and said something stupid about it being for good luck. Then I’d run inside before he could say anything back.

The next week, he stopped talking to me.

A month later, he was gone.

That was what I’d believed. What I’d told myself for years. That he’d taken my gift and thrown it away. That the whole thing between us had been one-sided. That I’d imagined every darkened gaze, every accidental bump, every late-night phone call that lasted until sunrise.

But the pendant was here. Around his neck. Against his skin.

I looked up at him. Really looked. At the sharp line of his jaw, the faint stubble along his chin, the way his throat moved when he swallowed.

“Katrina.” Christian’s voice pulled me back. His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing a tear off my cheek. “What do you want from me right now?”

All this time. All these years. I’d told myself I had been wrong about him. That he’d never wanted me. That Sarah had been right when she told me he was just being nice.

Sarah.

SARAH.

The same Sarah who had held my hand through my entire wedding planning. Who had helped me pick out my dress. Who had stood beside me at the altar as my maid of honor. Who cooed over Leo when he was born and brought me flowers in the hospital.

I stared at him. At the man he’d become—broader in the shoulders, more striking facial features, with those same green eyes that used to make me forget my own name.

My husband thought I was a dead fish. My best friend thought I was a joke. My son wished she was his mother.

In that case then, I had nothing left to lose.

So, I pursed my lips and held eye contact with him as I asked, “Would you sleep with me, Christian?”