Page 25 of Obeying His Rules

She instantly perks up and wipes her tears with the back of her hand. “Sorry! I’m sorry! You’re right. I just–you’re right. These are gorgeous roses, Marlon. And you’re so sweet for doing this for me.”

“And you love me too?”

Jennifer smiles and lets out a long sigh. “Are you joking? You know I do.”

“Then say it.”

She leans in close and presses her lips to mine.

“I love you, Marlon.”

“I love you too, Jennifer.”

I slide my hand up her shirt, causing her to gasp. “Now put those down so I can show you just how much I love you.”

Six months later…

Leg day. Some guys say it’s the worst, but it’s honestly my favorite. I love squats, I love deadlifts, I love leg presses, and I love lunges. I don’t know why. Maybe I just love torturing myself at the gym, or maybe I just love the soreness I feel the next day when I’m recovering. Either way, today is leg day, and I’m amped up for a kickass workout as I stretch and get my music going.

I start off with one set of warmup squats and glance over at the guy beside me who really should be putting more weight on his heels, but I’m not about to go over and critique his form. You just don’t do that. If he ends up needing a spot, maybe I’ll mention it to him, but until then, it’s on him.

I load up the bar with more weight and am just about to start my first working set when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. Normally I don’t answer calls or texts at the gym, so I just leave it and position myself under the bar, but it vibrates again.

It could be Brian, my new guy at the company, and he could have something important to tell me about a deal we’ve got coming up, so I pull my phone out and check it, only to see I’ve got two texts from Jennifer.

I smile and open them.

I can’t do this: I just can’t do this anymore, baby.

My heartrate speeds up. I frown at the screen and text back.

What? Do what?

She writes back instantly.

This.

What is she talking about?

I quickly dial her number, but it just rings and then goes to her voicemail.

My phone buzzes again as she sends me another text.

I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to be here anymore.

My heartrate skyrockets. Sweat pours out of me.

Baby, what are you talking about? Be where?

Again, she writes back instantly.

Here. I’m going to the bridge.

Massive adrenaline dump.

I call again, but this time she ignores the call, and it goes straight to voicemail. In two seconds, I’m in my car dialing 9-1-1. I scream at them, telling them where to go as I slam on the gas, leaving tire marks on the pavement as I peel out of the parking lot.

I call her again, but again it goes to voicemail.

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