With a glass of wine in hand, Mickie James made her way to the living room. She would have loved nothing better than to be curled beside Dante's body and sleeping peacefully. But it was too balmy, and the slight breeze blowing the white curtains in her bedroom seemed to have gotten lost on the way to the bed. Right now, Dante's body only drew more heat than provided any comfort. And Mickie could never sleep when she was hot.
It would take a little while for the air conditioning unit to cool off her apartment, and even longer for her to get sleepy enough to get back in bed. But the glass of wine in her hand and the slow music playing on her stereo would easily lull her back to sleep. Besides, from this vantage point, she could see the long cinnamon curls splayed across Dante's back as she slept.
Placing her foot on the coffee table, Mickie allowed her back to contact with the loveseat, never taking her eyes off of Dante's body. She could never quite explain why she loved to watch her sleep so much. But every time they were together, Mickie would end up watching Dante, studying every inch of her, as if this time would be the last time she would ever get to see her. Besides, it was easier to watch her like this. If she had been awake, Dante would have wondered why Mickie was looking at her like that, and what she was thinking. And Mickie would have to come up with an answer. The truth is she didn't know what she was thinking. Feeling was more like it. Only, she knew that she wouldn't have been able to put words to those feelings.
As her finger traced the mouth of the glass, her foot gently tapped to the song playing on the radio: Moments in Lust, by The Art of Noise. Just the gentle sound of the horns playing brought a smile to her lips. She remembered a time a few years ago, when she and Dante had gone to Aspen and they'd made love to that song, over and over again. Thank God for CD players and the repeat feature. Had it been when she first met her, more than likely they would have had to get up to rewind the tape. Just the thought of it made her chuckle to herself.
There were so many memories. So many thoughts of Dante that made Mickie smile. Everything from the way she tossed her hair, to the way she stretched her arms like a cat waiting to be scratched, that often tickled the corners of Mickie's lips. Her favorite thing though, was the way a fork, cigarette, or a fingernail gently folded and disappeared between Dante's pouty lips. God, she had the best lips. They were so soft, and plump, but not in that way that was concerned sexy by today's standards. Dante's lips were like satin and her tongue was like velvet. Not to mention the silky smoothness of her curly hair. Or those cloudy blue eyes, that looked like the hazy blue sky over the sea. Mickie's girl was beautiful, inside and out. Everything about her, every curve of her body, every sound that came out of her mouth – it all enhanced her beauty.
She knew that her close friends didn't understand, they all thought Dante was nice, but not nice or beautiful enough for her to treat Mickie the way that she did. Mickie often heard from her best friend and roommate, Bastian, that she could do so much better than Dante. In fact, his favorite way to describe her was 'that woman that keeps you as a play thing on the side'. But it wasn't for Bastian or anyone else to understand. Dante was it for her. She was the most perfect, fulfilling, wonderful thing that had every happened to Mickie and she wasn't about to give that up, no matter how big the technicality.
Her head lifted slightly from the back of the chair and she cracked an eye when she heard Dante's phone ring. All she could do was roll her eyes. She knew who it was. Morrison. It was silly, but Mickie could never squelch the instant pang of jealousy that she felt whenever he called. Wasn't it bad enough that he had Dante all the time? Mickie only had her a weekend here, or there - he could at least have the decency to let her have her all to herself when they were together. Did Mickie go around calling her every ten minutes when she was at home with him? No.
"Dick." She mumbled before sitting up in the chair and reaching under the coffee table to grab the photo album.
She would do anything to distract herself from the googly-giggles Dante was making on the phone. What the hell did she see in that guy, anyway? Sure, Morrison was nice, and sweet, and sexy. And yeah, he treated Dante like a princess. But he wasn't Mickie. They didn't have the history she and Dante did. He didn't know the things that drove her crazy, or the things that made her cry. Morrison had no fucking idea what kept Dante up at night, or what it took to calm her down. And although she couldn't prove it, Mickie was willing to bet that he had no idea what it was like to feel his heart flutter just because Dante said his name.
So what Morrison physically had his wife most of the time? Mickie had the emotional side of her lover all of the time. And not even a ring and fucking piece of paper could contend with that.
Mickie flipped through the photo album, trying like hell to concentrate on the pictures and not the sound of Dante's voice on the phone. Maybe if she stared long enough, she'd get lost in the memories of when each photo was taken. Either that, or refill her glass enough to get completely hammered in order to ignore the lovey-dovey talk coming from the other room.
"I love you, too, baby." She mocked and made kissy sounds in disgust. It wasn't so bad, really. She never complained when she was on the other end of the phone and she knew that Mr. Muscles wasn't around. She quite liked it when Dante used her baby voice and whined in her ear in the middle of the night. It gave her goose bumps in the most intimate of places. It made her want to wrap her arms around the other woman and squeeze her, and bite her cheeks. But right now, it made her want to throw up to know that now Morrison was getting her special 'middle of the night Dante attention'.
Pretending to be more enthralled with the pictures than she actually was, Mickie ignored the sound of Dante's bear feet padding across the hardwood floor. Instead of turning her head in her direction, Mickie lifted the glass to her mouth, and flipped a page.
"What'cha lookin' at?" Dante asked, opening the bed cover that was surrounding her body and stepping onto the couch. Quickly, she slid behind where Mickie was sitting and wrapped the blanket around the shorter woman as well. As soon as she felt Mickie's bare back contact with her naked breast, she placed her chin on her shoulder and looked at the book. "Oh my God. You still have this one?" She looked at the photo and let out a laugh. "Look at my hair. What the fuck was I thinking?"
Mickey smiled and traced her finger over the photo of she and Dante in some horrible 90s outfits. "What? I think you look cute."
"Yeah, but my bangs were like 20 feet high. And who and the hell ever thought that bamboo earrings were a good idea?" Taking the glass out of Mickie's hand, Dante finished off the wine and set it on the table. "So, why you out here, when there's a perfectly good bed, right in there?"
Shrugging, Mickie never leaned back and closed her eyes. "I was hot. I turned on the AC."
"Well, it's on." Dante shivered at the cool air touching her bare leg and lifted it to wrap around Mickie's waist. "But you didn't come back."
Did she really need to say why? For two years she'd been dealing with this situation and she shouldn't have to say it, should she? She was so intoned with Dante. Mickie knew what she was thinking and what she was going to say most times before she said it. So why was it that Dante didn't know her? "You were on the phone."
"Oh." She answered quietly, squeezing just a bit tighter. "John just called to say goodnight. He's got a signing tomorrow and some radio spots, so he'll be busy most of the day. No more interruptions." It was hardly an apology, but Dante knew that if anyone would understand, Mickie would. "I promise. No more interruptions."
Mickie nervously bit on the inside of her lip, praying like hell that she could find the words to actually express how she felt. God knows that she had just cause. If anyone had the right to be pissed off with the way things were, it was her. But really, what did she expect to get out of it? It wasn't like Dante was going to leave her husband for her or anything. If that was the case, she wouldn't have married him to begin with.
That wasn't fair. It wasn't like the arrangement was so bad. Mickie had her freedom to do whatever and whomever she pleased. She didn't have to go home and answer to anyone. It wasn't like they were in a committed relationship or anything. She could come and go whenever she wanted. If she wanted to go to a bar and get completely shitfaced, dance on a table and go home with some random guy, she could. Cena would get pissed, but who really cared about him? He was a nice guy and all, but really, he was just there to pass the time.
If she was honest with herself she would admit that she'd always been committed to Dante. And Dante was supposed to be committed to her. Even if it wasn't formally agreed upon. Two people aren't together for eight years without some kind of commitment. They had a routine that had the same familiar symptoms of a commitment. For example, they talked to each other every night. They texted each other during the day just to say "hi", or to catch the other up on what was going on with them. They bought gifts for one another, just little trinkets to say, I'm thinking about you. And for anniversaries, birthdays and holidays, they went all out. They spent as much time together as humanly possible. And when they were together, it was an unspoken rule that there would be no screwing around. They were there to steal as much time as they could.
Mickie knew all of Dante's account numbers and her doctor's information. Dante was Mickie's Power of Attorney and the one that would make any and all medical decisions for her. They were seven and a half years past being best friends. In common law states, they were married. At least that's how Mickie felt about her. Dante Carmichael, not Morrison…she would never be Dante Morrison as far as Mickie was concerned, was her wife. She was her everything.
And if she said something about how badly this whole John thing hurt, she would risk rocking the boat. Was it even worth some huge argument and potentially Dante saying that she didn't have put up with this anymore? What if Mickie came clean and Dante went back to Morrison permanently? Where would leave her?
A little bit of Dante was better than none of her. She had this saying, "I'd rather be unhappy with you, than miserable without you." And if she said how she felt hearing Dante talk to her husband on the phone, Mickie knew she would end up miserable.
"You promise?" Turning around in Dante's arms, Mickie kissed her chin. "No more interruptions? Whatever will we do with the time?"
A wicked smile crossed Dante's lips before they descended on Mickie's. "I'm sure I can think of something."
"I love the way you think." Mickie stretched out and enjoyed the warmth underneath. "No, scratch that. I just love you."
