Page 45 of From Our First

“I need to clean up,” I said, my voice wavering.

“Shit. Myra.”

“If you say you’re sorry, I’ll slap you. Please, pull out of me. I need to clean up.”

So he did, oh so carefully. My panties were shoved to the side—we hadn’t even stripped each other entirely. I was still wearing my bra, for God’s sake.

This was the heat and the temptation that had gotten us into trouble before. And here we were, making another mistake. All because I hadn’t wanted to speak, hadn’t wanted to think. And I’d thought this action might be worth the consequences.

I was not the cool and calculated Myra that I showed to the world. I was now the temptress and the sin that had gotten me into trouble before. I didn’t want to hate myself, but I couldn’t help but despise the gravity of my mistakes.

Nate was back in an instant as I fixed my skirt, and he helped me clean up. Still, I stood there, looking at him with his pants undone, his body sweaty. I knew there was evidence of what we had done on his back, my fingernails having left marks. But I couldn’t even look at him.

“I’m clean. You’re the only person I’ve ever not used a condom with.”

I hadn’t even thought about it. What the hell was wrong with me? I’d never had sex with someone without a condom before—other than Nathan. And at that point, we were married.

I cleared my throat. “I’m clean, as well. I can show you the reports.”

“Same.”

“I need to go.”

“Myra.”

I shook my head, not meeting his gaze. “No. I need to go. I just…this can’t happen again.”

“Myra—”

“Goodbye, Nathan.”

I picked up my bag, and I ran.

And once again, he let me.

Chapter 11

Nate

I’d givenher twelve hours, and I thought that was enough time. I knew from Macon that Myra wasn’t taking care of Joshua this morning, so I figured she should be home. If not, I would track her down, and we would talk. Because if we didn’t, I was afraid my head might fall right off my shoulders.

How the hell had we gone from trying to understand what had happened in our past to having sex in my fucking living room? It made no goddamn sense. Yes, I was attracted to her, but that didn’t mean I’d needed to bang her right there.

It was a mistake, a lack of judgment on both our parts. And we had to talk about it.

But, Jesus Christ, despite that, I wanted to do it again. And that was the problem—one of many. Being with Myra again was like a thousand moments in time wrapped up in a necessary breath. I hadn’t thought to be with her again. I had never allowed myself to believe that it would ever happen. It couldn’t. I’d hated her at one point. But I had been wrong. I hadn’t known the truth. And I knew that I couldn’t hate her. Ever.

I could only hate myself. But now we had slept together, and I didn’t know what to do about it. We needed to talk. Again. But I knew how well that had gone before.

I had told my family members to talk to their significant others when things got insane, that communication always had to be the most important thing. So, I would live up to what I told others, even if it felt like I was raking myself over hot coals. And I had yet to figure out exactly how to grovel the way I should.

I stood on Myra’s porch, not knowing if she was home for sure because her car could be in the garage. I knocked on the door and let out a breath, not knowing what to say, and hoping to hell that she was home, while also praying she wasn’t. This could be Schrodinger’s house. If no one ever came to the door, perhaps she was hiding from me, or not here at all.

Myra opened the door as I was having my existential crisis. She stared at me, her eyes a bit puffy, her lips swollen as if she had bitten them rather than having my mouth on hers like I wanted.

“I should have known you would be here this morning.”

I swallowed hard. “May I come in?”

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