About a year ago I wrote this extra scene of Sex Love Repeat for a blog. I've had a lot of recent requests for it, so I wanted to post it on my site so I'd have a place to send readers. So.... here you go.

DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T READ SEX LOVE REPEAT.

This scene is two years after Sex Love Repeat ends. WARNING: this scene is difficult for some readers, especially ones who love Stewart. Be forewarned, you should avoid this scene…

But you won’t. Because my readers love them some torture…

***

It's been two years. Two years since I ruined my life. Two years since I watched the love of my life lean into Paul's arms and kiss him. She was in the kitchen, and wearing a sundress, her tan arms wrapped around his waist. Only Madison could wear a sundress and make it sexual. I could picture picking her up, setting her on the counter, my legs spreading hers, and kissing her. Two years since, but I still knew exactly how she tasted, exactly how she smelled. That day had been torture. Smiling to her, smiling to him. Pretending like everything was fine when inside my heart was cracking, its break a little bit deeper, a little more unfixable. I thought I could do it, I thought I could handle it — seeing them together. But there, in that kitchen, I knew. I knew I'd never think of her without loving her.

Two years later, it's still there. That tug in my heart when she smiles. And she smiles so damn much. She should. She has a husband who loves her, one who devotes every spare moment to making her happy. He still surfs, but is more successful off the water, his smiling mug on thousands of surf shop walls. Sponsors love his clean lifestyle, his big smile and handsome face. They aren't rich, they still live in Venice Beach, in a crumbling townhome three blocks off the water. And still, Madison doesn't seem to care. I hear her laugh, it draws me closer, even though my brain tells me to walk away. I walk closer, and kneel by her chair.

She smiles. White teeth, full lips, light eyes that burn with energy and fight. God, I miss her. I miss her tumbling into my bed, pouncing onto my body when I walked in the door, popping into the office unannounced. "Hey Stewart," she said softly, and I see a bit in her eyes, a bit of what I feel. At least, I think I do. Or maybe I'm crazy. Maybe the three beers I tipped back while waiting for their arrival is putting thoughts in my head, thoughts I should ignore.

"May I?" I gestured with a smile. I've practiced the smile. Back then, I didn't have time to give her phone calls, dinner dates, or birthday gifts – but now? Without her? I have plenty of time to practice a smile. It's a good one. Light, carefree. Sexy, if the light is right and the grin doesn't wander too big or too creepy.

"Of course," she moved her hands from her belly, waved me forward. I placed my hands on her stomach, tried to breathe normally, tried to calm my features. Then I leaned

forward, placed my head against the soft fabric of her tee, listened to her giggle as her delicate hands moved my head into place. "Stay still," she whispered. "You might feel him kick."

I did. I didn't stay still or quiet for the baby, growing inside her stomach. I stayed still because I could smell her perfume, the way it mixed with her skin and drove me insane. I stayed still so I could feel the movement of her, her soft heave as she breathed in and out. I stayed still and heard the final piece of my heart break.

Kick.