Groomless - Part 1 (19 page)
Cover Art by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design
Addictive Collision
tells the story of twenty-five-year-old Morgan Tyler, who works as a receptionist at Belmont University and also takes classes on the side. She journeys through the pain of being trapped in a sexless marriage. Tired of having a roommate for a husband, she explores her options. Should she stay in the confines of her unhappy marriage or make the painful decision to leave? As she debates what direction her life should take, sparks begin to fly with a hot, hunky mailman named Foster. Is it time to move on with her life, or should Morgan fight for the man who is ignoring her?
“We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”
~ E.M. Forster
Chapter 1
It was funny, I guess, though not really. I got married so I’d have a partner in life, so I wouldn’t be lonely. Little did I know that wedlock would offer no protection from the dangers of loneliness. We planned the most wonderful life together, but then, little by little, we grew apart. In the bedroom, we became more and more distant, until the lovemaking became just sex and then the sex just stopped altogether. My marriage to Tom just wasn’t the fairytale I’d always dreamt about.
There was no drama, no fighting, and from the outside, it looked like a good, solid marriage. We’d been together for years, but the spark that had initially drawn us to each other had definitely fizzled out. Our relationship was missing a major component, something most people are embarrassed to talk about. It had become a sexless marriage, with a bed so cold we could have built an igloo on it. The thought of sliding helplessly into celibacy made me shudder, but there was little I could do about it. It wasn’t just the lack of sex; more so, it was the manifestation of other underlying problems, an indicator that something was seriously wrong. No one gets married in the hopes of having a roommate, of ending up like “brothers in a hotel bed,” like that song says. I wondered if our empty relationship was doomed, and I wasn’t sure it could even be fixed. For all I knew, we’d crossed the point of no return.
To those outside my home and my head, I appeared to be the all-American girl, living the American Dream. I was twenty-five. I had a smart, attractive husband and two wonderful twins, little angels with blonde hair and green eyes like mine. They’d just turned nine, and I couldn’t have been more proud of them. We had a beautiful 3,000-square-foot house in a good neighborhood, with the most immaculate yard, complete with Mommy’s minivan and Daddy’s SUV parked right in front. I’d never seen myself as the minivan kind of mom, but in time, I fell right into the role, and I loved it. I even plastered my van with the cliché “My Daughter is an Honor Roll Student” and pink breast cancer awareness bumper stickers. Truly, my husband and kids were my life.
I never missed a PTA meeting, I cooked dinner every night, and I still managed to hold down a full-time job as a receptionist at Belmont University. I even started to take classes on the side so I could slowly earn my degree, even though I had no idea what I wanted to major in. I started with the basics, like English 101. I also took algebra, which was taught by my husband. Tom was a well-respected professor at the university, and all the faculty and students adored him.
We lived in a great neighborhood, with one of the finest elementary schools, surrounded by wonderful neighbors. We had a golden retriever named Harvey, a perfect pet who never peed inside the house or made a chew toy out of Tom’s slippers. We took amazing vacations and had plenty of loyal, fun-loving friends, as well as the newest model of every possible gadget. Everyone thought we were the perfect couple, but we both knew that was just a façade.
I stared down at the family portrait in my hands. We sure did look happy in that picture, but behind those fake smiles, behind that act of a happy marriage, I was dying on the inside. That picture was worth a thousand words, but not the words everyone else would think of. Deep down, I felt undesirable, unattractive, and unwanted by my husband. It wasn’t just a dry spell; it was the freaking Sahara, a desert with no oasis in my foreseeable future. I didn’t really talk to anyone about my secret pain, the heart-crushing loneliness that was devouring me. Tom had stopped paying any attention to me long before that photo was even taken, leaving me filled with nothing but anger, sadness, and loneliness. Our relationship had derailed, and I wasn’t sure we could get back on track. I couldn’t have been more hurt, bitter, and devastated.
I tossed the picture back on my nightstand, hurriedly got dressed and fed everyone some breakfast, dropped the kids off at school, then drove to work. As I started to make the walk to the building at the university, rain began to pour down on me, as if Mother Nature was trying to remind me of just how miserable I felt on the inside. By the time I got to the sidewalk, my clothes were soaked, and my hair was dripping wet.
Great. Just freakin’ great.
Unhappiness reared its ugly head again, ruining what might have been a better day. I hated the fact that my husband had put me on an involuntary sex diet; I had become anorsexic, and I didn’t like it one bit. Anorsexic. Did I just make that word up? I guess I did, but that’s how I felt. I needed and craved intimacy, longed to be loved emotionally and physically. I needed him to need me, heart, mind, body, and soul. The more I contemplated my life, standing in that miserable downpour, the more I worked myself into a frenzy.
I was so angry about the state of my marriage. I was angry at myself and at him.
Why is he the way he is? How can he just accept the way things are? I’ve tried everything, and nothing works. Why? Is it me? Am I really that unattractive, that undesirable? Damn it. Why didn’t I see this sooner, try to do something then? I’m only twenty-five though. What could be so wrong with me?
I also had to ponder why I was staying in my marriage at all.
Am I letting fear make my decisions? If I stay with Tom, will I have to spend the rest of my life feeling like this? Maybe it’s just too much stress, with work, the kids, and other life demands.
I didn’t know what to do about it, but I was drowning in emotional pain and confusion, and it was eating me alive. I felt broken and worthless, as if my heart had shattered and all the air had been sucked right out of me.
Truly, playing house with my best friend while I was dying inside was not fun at all. I had made several attempts to initiate intimacy, only to be cruelly rejected and humiliated. I had even resorted to begging, but that hadn’t gotten me anywhere either. As the rain from my bangs dripped onto my forehead, I wondered, i
s it wrong to want a cool, refreshing drink when you’ve been wandering around a hot, dry desert for so long? And who do you tell?
I was embarrassed to let anyone know, so I suffered in silence.
My hands began to tremble, and my heart began to race, and the chill of the rain had little to do with it. As much as I wanted to think there had to be some way out, I couldn’t quite see it. I was fading away into the shadows. Part of me was slowly dying, and I had become a shell of the person I had been before. I was short-tempered, sad, exhausted, and depressed, like a nomad looking for some glimmer of hope in the infinite darkness.
“I-I can’t breathe,” I murmured to myself. “Okay, Morgan. Just take deep breaths. Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday.” Yes, it was a corny line, but I would have said anything to get myself to stop shaking. I needed to talk to my sister, who was taking acting classes at the university. Alexis could always calm me down, even though I seemed to be facing a midlife crisis earlier than my big sister. I never talked to her about my sex life, but I didn’t think I could keep this inside any longer.
Big, fat droplets of rain poured even harder, coming down in sheets, so I started to run up the few steps leading up to the entryway. My heel suddenly broke, and the next thing I knew, the concrete was whacking me in the face. As if applauding my ungraceful tumble, a huge bolt of lightning zigzagged across the sky, followed by a loud clap of thunder. “Shit,” I muttered.
“Are you okay?” a man asked.
I squinted through the sheet of rain, wondering if he was one of the students. When I caught sight of his bag, I realized he was actually a mailman.
Wow. I guess they take that whole neither-rain-nor-snow-nor-sleet-nor-dark-of-night thing pretty seriously,
I mused as I stared in his wet uniform, clinging to 200 pounds of solid muscle. Rain dripped down his handsome face and shoulder-length, black hair. He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and a muscular chest, and I couldn’t help laughing in my head at some innuendo about his special delivery package. As the mail carrier moved closer to me, I felt this intensifying jolt of energy. The closer he moved, the more intense the feeling was. It was as if some sort of cosmic fate demanded that we get together, and the way I was feeling at that moment, I would have happily obliged. Whatever the odd sensation was, it was very powerful, exciting, and unlike anything I’d ever experienced before, some sort of chemistry I hadn’t even felt with Tom.
“I-I think I might’ve twisted my ankle,” I finally answered.
“Let’s get you to the office and get some ice.”
“You’re new,” I said. I’d seen him over the last few weeks but had never spoken to him other than the cursory hello and thanking him as I signed for packages.
“Yeah, Henry moved to Vegas,” he explained. “I’m taking over his route now.”
As he helped me up, my heart pounded from his electrifying touch.
“Thanks,” I said, my wet cheeks blushing as I gazed at the rippling muscles of his arms and torso, flexing beneath the drenched cotton of his shirt with every movement he made.
Gee, who’da thunk I would be rescued by a knight in soaking-wet, USPS-issued armor?
I thought with a small smile.
He unstrapped my shoe and slowly examined my ankle. Every nerve in my body was electrified from his gentle touch. I pictured him pulling me up to meet his full lips with all-consuming passion. He stared deeply into my eyes, and so many naughty thoughts filled my head; I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. Every single one of them centered on getting laid, everything hard and fast, right there in the damn rain. I imagined him pumping deeper with every thrust, rushing me into complete ecstasy.
The mailman combed his fingers through his dark, wet hair. “Can you put any weight on it?”
Somehow, I snapped out of the spell he’d put on me. I took a hesitant step and felt no pain. “Yeah, I think I’ll be okay.” For a quick minute, I considered exaggerating my injury and clinging to him like he was the last life jacket on the
Titanic
, but then I came to my senses. After all, he was basically a stranger, and I was a married mother of two. Blinking out the rain, I smoothed my hands down my tan pencil skirt, then pushed my wet hair out of my face.
He walked me into the empty lobby. Our eyes met, and he smiled. My heart raced as I realized some sort of spark had been ignited between us. His gaze lingered. I’d never seen eyes so beautiful, a smile so white, and hair so thick and unruly. He looked untamable, sexy, hot, and completely fuckable.
“So you’re gonna be all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said in a friendly tone. “I can take it from here. Thanks.”
“Are you sure?”
I took off my other shoe so I wouldn’t be so off balance. The last thing I wanted to do was fall again and look like even more of a klutz in front of him. “I am. Thanks again…and I’m sorry I got you so wet.”
But you’re not the only one, buddy
, I secretly jested.
He smiled.
“Um…I mean, uh…from the rain,” I stuttered, embarrassed that my mind had somehow decided to take a quick trip to the closest gutter. Biting my lip hard, I turned and walked away.
Inside, I hurried to the bathroom to dry myself off with a short stack of paper towels. I felt like a drowned rat inside, thanks to my neglectful husband, but I certainly didn’t want to look like one at the office.
As I gazed in the mirror, wiping the mascara streaks from my eyes, my mind continued to flash back to the mailman’s perfect face, dripping with water. He had such blue eyes, and he had stared at me through the rain like we were long-lost lovers. There was something about that long, romantic stare that I found quite fascinating and unexplainable, and I couldn’t get it out of my head. It had been a gaze so loving, so tender, so passionate, so magical, and so overwhelming.
Or maybe I’m just acting like this because he’s the first guy who’s shown me even an ounce of attention in years
, I thought.
I hurried to my desk, plopped down, and did a quick Google search on “love at first sight.” I’d always thought it to be some silly notion, something for schoolgirls and romantic movies, but now I had experienced it myself.
But I’m a married woman with two kids,
my reasonable side chimed in. “Maybe I am just freaking crazy,” I thought, my eyes glued to the computer screen. The first article explained that the idea could be defined as “a romantic attraction for a stranger felt upon the first encounter, the first time one lays eyes on the other.” Maybe it was pure lust and infatuation that I was feeling, but part of me felt like that man was the missing link in my life, the missing piece of the puzzle.
One of my colleagues looked over my shoulder, startling me. “Love at first sight, huh? What’s with that?” she asked as I jumped in my chair.
I swallowed hard, trying to think of some sort of feasible answer. “Uh…well, I watched one of those corny romance movies last night. I was just wondering if that stuff really happens.”
“What movie?” she pushed.
Damn it. Quit complicating my lies and butt out!
“Um…
Serendipity
.”
“With John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale?”
“Yeah, that was the one.”
“Personally, I only believe in the laws of attraction, something a little more solid.”
