Page 67 of Cherry Picking
By the time I get us cleaned up and am wrapped snugly in Riley’s arms, the post-orgasm exhaustion is threatening to take me over.
Riley kisses my temple, my cheek, my lips, settling into the crook of my neck as the heaviness weighs my eyelids down.
I have never been so thoroughly worn out, and that’s saying something given how active of a sex life the two of us have.
He mumbles something into the shell of my ear, but my blood is pounding too hard to hear, so I grumble and press a kiss to the side of his head, hoping he takes it as the affectionate gesture that it is and not a brush off.
Hot breath tickles my cheek, and I barely grunt out a slurred, “love you” before sleep pulls me under and traps me in its sweet embrace.
9:23AM
Riley is gone by the time I wake up, but I’m not surprised. There’s no practice today, no game or travel, so I fully intended to spend my morning in bed.
I’d rather spend it in bed with Riley trading orgasms, but after last night I’m perfectly content to let him have his self-induced PT sessions in peace. Maybe the whole point was to wear me out so I couldn’t pester him about pushing too hard on the jogs he shouldn’t be doing yet.
I trust Riley to know his body, and in that vein, my body doesn’t feel like it can roll itself out of bed, let alone make it down two flights of awful, metal stairs to get to the parking garage.
My plans of hijacking Riley’s car and grabbing us breakfast from Harvey’s Pancake House are foiled.
Damn.
10:30AM
By the time I finally rummage around the kitchen for something to eat—of which I settle on toast and a banana because Riley is the chef of the house—it already feels like my day is off course.
Something feels off, just a niggling picking at the back of my mind, but I brush it off as just not being used to being alone in the apartment.
Two years with practically the same schedule, it’s a rare occurrence for Riley to be out the door before me unless I’m following soon after.
Yesterday must be getting to me.
Riley kissing me in front of the whole team?
The sex?
Yeah, I won’t be over that anytime soon.
I wander around the apartment for approximately twenty minutes before boredom sets in.
What time did Riley leave this morning?
No note, no text, and I was definitely too dead to the world to remember a goodbye kiss.
Should he be back by now?
Fuck, I hate waiting.
Maybe the guy needs some time to himself, Griff. He did confront his biggest fear for you not even twenty-four hours ago.
Jesus, have I even taken a minute to really check in with him?
Crap. I’m a horrible boyfriend.
I hit the call button on my cell and put it on speaker while I get some morning stretches in. When I start to feel anxious, a good split and forward stretch really helps me reel it in.
Voicemail.
That’s fine. Self care and all that good jazz. Maybe I should give it a try.
