Wife and Girlfriend

Chapter 1

© 2023 by Ophelia Jaye

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever-without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious and are a product of the author's imagination. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book contains mature content including sexually explicit scenes and is not suitable for persons under 18 years of age.

Otanyi

I needed to get up. I mean, physically get up out of the bed this time. But I'd already had three false starts this morning.

I'd fallen asleep just after nine last night, and thinking my alarm was set for six A.M., I listened to my favorite British comedy on Netflix until I fell asleep.

When my eyes opened, it was only one thirty in the morning. So, with a groan, I turned over and readjusted my earphones, untangling myself from the chord, and tried for another round.

The next time I woke up, it was a little better. Only three forty-six this time. But it was still way too early.

I should have something hot to drink.

But the thought of returning from the kitchen and slipping in between cold sheets had me thinking better of it. I needed at least another two solid hours to be functional. And I needed it today of all days. It was just too important.

This time, a heaviness behind my eyelids promised actual slumber. So, I stopped the show in the middle of another Fawlty Towers marathon of episodes and tried sleeping without any familiar sounds in the background.

My eyes were burning when they were focused enough to read my alarm clock. Five seventeen.

I give up.

Slipping my feet into my oversized fluffy slippers, I padded into the living room. Or at least what the intended purpose for that space was once I'd unpacked the remainder of my boxes.

I'd finished steeping my favorite tea into my favorite cup.

"Mmmmmmm..." I loved the aroma steeped tea gave off. There was something profound and almost magical about the effects of a well-made cup of tea. My mum often remarked that I was simply an old British grandma on the inside. She was probably right.

I grabbed a spot on the lounger nearest the window. It was just big enough for my body to stretch out on, although any other regular-sized person would likely swim on top of its surface made of a sturdy wool material to imitate sheep's covering.

My sister immediately hated it when she saw it for the first time, and I declared that I was going to buy it for my studio apartment.

My new apartment. Mine.

But I didn't care.

I was tall and hated things that made me feel like I didn't belong, so when I saw this couch while out on our monthly thrifting haul, I was immediately drawn to it.

I was enamored with it because it'd probably been made custom for some tall fashion model or a professional basketball player, I imagined, with great style. Given the limited space, I planned how to fit it into my apartment.

Milli thought I was insane and cursed me out the entire way as we struggled to carry it back by ourselves the two blocks to the apartment. But even she had to admit, once it was given pride of place near the window, that it was the perfect spot to look out over the city from my floor-to-ceiling windows.