Whatever is Meant to Be, Will Be

Travis was finally back from his trip.

I’d done everything. I showered, did my makeup carefully, slipped into expensive lace lingerie, and got into bed early to wait for him. But after his shower, he opened the bedroom door, saw me on the bed, and froze.

“Why are you here?” His voice was cold, with no warmth at all.

I looked him up and down. He’d always had a great body. His robe hung half open, showing a solid chest and cut abs. With that straight nose and those long fingers, he should’ve been incredible in bed. But in the six months we’d been married, I’d never gotten the chance. It made my irritation flare.

“I’m sleeping here tonight.” No matter what excuse he tried to use, I wasn’t leaving.

Travis’s gaze flicked over what I was wearing. In a low, hoarse voice, he said, “Fine.”

That was it? I could barely believe it.

When he came closer, I suddenly felt awkward. The bedside lamps were dim. He lay down, my heart pounding, and I wrapped my arms around his waist. He went rigid and looked down at me, his expression unreadable in the low light.

From the shadows, his voice came out rough. “You want me to help?”

Before I could answer, he turned and pulled open the nightstand drawer.

The tiny spark of hope in my chest went out.

He was reaching for one of those latex finger covers again. He was still just going to use his hand!

I was fuming. It was always the same.

“I don’t need your help. You’re impossible. What, do you have ED or something?” I was shaking with anger, my voice rising.

The room was too dark to read his expression, but I could feel his gaze on me, deep and scorching. Feeling completely wronged, I snapped, “Travis, if you can’t do it, just say so. There are men all over Los Angeles. I can find someone to take your place anytime.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, but he still didn’t move.