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“You were my wife’s best friend. My dead wife. Do you get that? I look at you and I don’t see Katie who drove me nuts when we were kids, or Katie who was Rachel’s best friend. I see Kate, the woman who can take me hard then fucking begs for more. That’s not okay. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”
Her hair was sticking out at all angles and matted in the back from the night before. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her lips were slightly chapped. My sweatshirt was huge on her, except where it pulled tight across her breasts, and her toenail polish was eight different colors and chipping. Oddly enough, she still looked gorgeous.
“I wish I could touch you,” he announced suddenly, pulling me out of my daydream of Easter dresses and big pink bows on a tiny head. “What?” I asked even though I’d heard him. “I wish I could touch you right now.” I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “I wish I could feel her moving around in your belly. I wish I could rub your back and kiss you. I hate it that I’m missing everything.” “I miss you, too,” I murmured back.
