Something Olde
(aka - The Five Times Rick and Michonne Slept Together, Before They Actually Addressed It.) [FIVE + ONE TIME SERIES]
Can a man and a woman ever really be just friends? Rick and Michonne are the best friends that anyone could ask for, including each other, but is that really all they were meant to be?
tags: #friends to lovers, #team family, #romcom, #secret relationship,
authors: BnM | Blacklitchick | Chellpo | Tigerwalk | Avintagekiss24 | DBirdie17 |
| Chapter 1 | | Chapter 2 | | Chapter 3 | | Chapter 4 | | Chapter 5 | | Chapter 6 |
They sat there on her living room couch doing a fine job of polishing off the large pepperoni pizza that sat in its open box on her coffee table; she in her daffodil yellow chiffon gown with its full skirt pooled around her and he in his black pants and white tux shirt, collar unbuttoned and untied black bowtie hanging around his neck.
“What do you think he meant about not becoming another statistic?” Rick pondered as he held a half-eaten piece of crust in his hand. “Is he thinkin’ about divorce already?”
She giggled into her beer bottle as she took the last sip. “No. Fifty-two percent of couples don’t have sex on their wedding nights.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“Rosita read it in some wedding magazine,” she informed him as she set her empty bottle on the table.
“Well, they don’t need to worry about that. I had to run interference with Mrs. Espinosa while they got it on in the back room at the church.”
“I guess wedding day doesn’t count,” she shrugged.
“Guess not,” he said as he stood from the couch and motioned toward her empty bottle. “You want another?”
“I do,” she sighed as she tugged at the bodice of her gown, “but I’m literally about to bust out of this thing. I’m gonna go change.”
“OK.”
She headed off to her bedroom, and he to her kitchen.
“Shit. Hey Rick?”
“Yeah?” he called out from his spot in front of the fridge.
“Can you give me a hand?”
He turned to see her standing in the living room, still in her dress. She turned and pointed to her back as he approached.
“Zipper’s stuck,” she complained, though he had already gathered that.
He held the back of her dress with one hand as he took the zipper in the other then paused for a moment, mesmerized by her smooth skin and the delicate contours of her back and shoulders. He had found himself doing the same thing during their obligatory first dance at the reception. Only there, with a roomful of eyes on them, he had kept his hands in safe places, one on her side and the other holding her hand as they swayed to the music at a safe distance, but here…
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