My Husband Wants An Open Marriage (Julie and Ryan)

CHAPTER 031: Morning Coffee ~~Julie~~

In my dream, I'm floating somewhere soft and far away. And then-bang-the calm shatters, replaced by a loud, insistent pounding. Someone is knocking on a door, and it sounds like they're one bang away from kicking it down. I bury my face deeper into my pillow, hoping the noise will stop. But it doesn't.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Groaning, I open my eyes and squint at the clock on my nightstand. 4:47 a.m. It's basically the middle of the night. Who in their right mind is awake at this hour?

I drag myself out of bed and stumble to the door, throwing it open. And there, in all his early morning glory, stands Luke. "Morning, Julie," he says.

He's in workout clothes. The shirt stretches across his chest and shoulders in ways that should be illegal. His shorts fit just right, showcasing his toned legs, and don't even get me started on the definition of his arms. A faint sheen of sweat is already on his brow, like he's fresh from a warm-up. I can barely believe he's a real human being, standing in front of me looking like that at... well, 4:47 a.m.

I can't look away. Not even slightly. Not yet.

His smile widens as he catches me staring, and I realize-in horror-that I walked out here in nothing but my thin nightgown. I forgot to put on a robe. I can feel the cold air pricking against my skin, and, oh, wonderful-my nipples are pressing right through the silk.

As though reading my mind, Luke's eyes lower down, and he freezes for a second. His smile falters, his eyes lingering a beat too long, and there's no mistaking that glint in his eye.

I clear my throat, crossing my arms against my chest, my face about to explode. "Um.... Did you... want something?"

He raises an eyebrow, looking at me like I'm the one acting odd. Then he clears his throat, somehow more serious. "Actually, yeah. You need to get dressed. We're going to the gym."

I pause, waiting for the punchline. It doesn't come.

"The what?" I say.

"The gym. I'm getting you a membership. You need some power training, plus self-defense lessons."

I just blink at him, trying to wrap my mind around whatever he's saying. "And it has to be now? As in, five in the morning? Luke, I need at least five cups of coffee to be functional at this time." "Then I'll get you five cups of coffee."

"Luke-"

"No," he interrupts, stepping closer. "Listen, Julie. For two nights, I haven't slept. Not properly, at least. I've been up all night, thinking about what you said two nights ago when you were a little drunk on champagne." 425 BONUS

CHAPTER 031: Morning Coffee

"I said something?"

He nods. "Yeah. That your mother held you over a bridge ralling and tried to throw you off. Is she... what,

sixty?"

I swallow hard. "Sixty-five."

His mouth tightens, and I can tell he's holding back a few words. "Even worse," he says, shaking his head. "Look, just get dressed and meet me downstairs."

"Luke... she's not a threat anymore," I mumble. "She's probably in jail by now,"

"I don't care. I'm hurt, alright? You've been sober a whole day and still haven't told me any of this. Everything I know is either from the lawyer I hired, who mentioned you're suing Ryan for adultery and other charges, or from you-when you were drunk, telling me you almost died."

His voice is steady, but I can see the hurt in his eyes, the frustration, and it's like a gut punch. "I'm sorry, Luke. I was going to tell you. I just..."

He waves his hand, brushing it off with a tired smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "It's fine. Just get dressed and meet me downstairs. It's either self-defense lessons or bodyguards that follow you everywhere, including public bathrooms. Make a choice." I chuckle. "Alright. Give me five minutes."

His eyes hold mine for a second longer, something almost unreadable in them before he nods, turning away. As the door clicks shut, I sag against it.

I want to strangle him and thank him at the same time. This stubborn, relentless, protective man. He cares so much he can't even sleep. And it scares me how much I care about him caring. Because I don't want to need this. I don't want to need anyone. I don't want to need him.

I hurry to freshen up and pull on gym clothes. Then I head downstairs, half-expecting him to be gone, but there he is, leaning against his car, holding a steaming to-go cup of coffee, as promised. He doesn't say anything, just hands it to me.

I take a sip, savoring the warmth that floods my veins. "Thanks."

He nods. "Come on, let's get you bulked up."

At the gym, they make me fill out forms with questions so invasive, I feel like I'm being auctioned. I'm barely through the third page when Luke appears at my shoulder, peering at my responses with way too

much interest.

"Do they really need to know my favorite protein flavor?" I ask, glancing up.

"They're just covering all bases," he says, smirking. "You're signing up for the deluxe membership."

I mutter something about it feeling more like signing my life away, but he's already moving on, leading me through the massive double doors to what I can only describe as a dungeon for fitness fanatics. The room smells like rubber mats, a touch of bleach, and a hint of steel weights.

"Meet your trainer," Luke says, pointing to a lady in front.

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CHAPTER 031: Morning Coffee

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She's tall, lean, and looks like she could snap me in two if she wanted. Her eyes settle on me, and in that instant, I feel insecure.

"You're Julie, right?"

Her voice is somehow both soft and terrifying, like a lullaby sung by a haunted doll.

"Yes. That's me," I say.

Luke is still smiling-enjoying this.

"Alright, follow me," she says, with a short, no-nonsense nod toward a door labeled Training Room.

I glance back at Luke, my face set in a silent, desperate plea. Help.

He just mouths back, You'll be fine. And then, with what I swear is a mocking grin, he waves and disappears, leaving me at the mercy of my new trainer

Inside the training room, I'm greeted with an array of weights, punching bags, and a stretching mat that looks well-used. My trainer-the woman who introduces herself as Beth-doesn't waste a second.

"Warm up first," she says, folding her arms as she watches me with an eagle eye. "We'll start with jumping jacks. And I mean real ones. Not those lazy excuses for exercise I see some people attempt."

I nod, already feeling out of breath just from her intensity, and I start moving, trying to remember how to breathe and jump at the same time without looking like a complete disaster. After what feels like a lifetime, she instructs me to do burpees, a delightful exercise that makes me want to call Luke and cuss

him out.

Somewhere between the third and fourth burpee, my legs start to shake, my vision starts to blur, and my breathing sounds like an asthmatic cat's. But Beth isn't slowing down.

""You'll thank me later," she says.

Once I've sweated through all my insecurities, we move on to the actual training, which I thought would be, you know, like learning how to throw a basic punch. But no-Beth has other ideas.

"Self-defense is about confidence, Julie. It's about believing you can handle yourself. Now, let's see your stance."

I plant my feet, wobbling. She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms like she's contemplating my chances of survival.

"You look like you're standing on a boat."

"I feel like I'm standing on a boat," I mutter, trying to adjust. Beth corrects my stance with a nudge of her foot, and I try not to look as humiliated as I feel.

She spends the next ten minutes coaching me through what she calls "basic defensive maneuvers." To me, they feel like elaborate dance moves in which I'm always a beat behind. "Good, good. Now, try to push me back," she says, her arms braced.

I brace myself, dig my feet in, and push forward with all the strength I can muster. I might as well be trying to move a concrete wall. She doesn't budge. Not even a millimeter.

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"Interesting," she says, her tone somewhere between amusement and pity. "Let's work on your leverage."

We go through a series of holds and escapes. At one point, she's got me in a headlock, demonstrating how to wriggle free, but my wriggling looks more like I'm trying to escape a very tight sweater. It's all terribly undignified. "Use your hips," she says. "And don't be afraid to use your voice. Shout if you have to."

"Help," I squeak.

"Louder."

"Help!" I try again, managing something more convincing this time.

She rolls her eyes. "That's the spirit. Though, maybe save the dramatics for the real thing."

Eventually, after I've been tossed, tripped, and pinned to the ground in various undignified ways, she has me lying flat on the mat, my body one massive ache.

"Now, what would you do if someone tried to grab you from behind?" she asks.

"Lie down and accept my fate?" I say, only half-joking.

She gives me a look, unimpressed, and reaches down, preparing to demonstrate yet another move when, mercifully, my phone rings. It's a shrill, blessed sound coming from the corner of the room, and I scramble to my feet. "Excuse me," I say, trying to suppress a grin. Beth narrows her eyes but lets me go, and I drag myself over to my bag, my legs wobbling like noodles.

In my mind, it's Luke on the other end, checking in to see if I've survived. Maybe he's feeling guilty. Maybe he's had a sudden change of heart about this whole "self-defense" idea. I smile at the thought, not even glancing at the caller ID as I pick up. "Hello?" I say, expecting Luke's voice.

But instead, I'm greeted by something that chills me to the bone.

""Hello, Julie."

Holy shit. It's my mother.