Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“I miss us…” He pants. “I miss you…”
I come hard with him whispering in my ear, telling me things I’m not even sure he knows he’s saying. That he’s terrified that I’ll leave him. And when he comes, I hold him through it, he pushes in even deeper and empties himself inside of me.
Semen is gross. Let’s be honest, it is. It’s stickier and more adhesive than any human invention. Worse than duct tape. Worse than gorilla glue. Don’t get me wrong. I applaud the designer. It is a nifty invention. You want something to stick and stay. This is your stuff, right here––especially when you’ve got buckets of it. But what you don’t want is to be the one stuck cleaning it up.
“Have you not been jerking off?” I ask my lover while we shower together in the ladies’ locker rooms. I look up into his relaxed, happy face and he smirks. “I mean…there were buckets of it. I’ve never seen so much semen.”
He soaps up my breasts. He’s been working hard to get those clean. “You can move elsewhere, baby. It’s official, my breasts are clean.”
“How much semen have you seen?” he inquires with a thread of amusement in his voice while he moves those beautiful, skilled hands of his between my legs.
“Not a lot but it doesn’t take experience to spot an anomaly.”
He leans in, taking the full brunt of the jet spray on his back, and kisses me gently. “Good word.”
“Anomaly? Yeah, I like it, too. Rolls off the tongue nicely.”
We finish washing and towel off. “I have to hurry up. I need to pick up Sam.” I slip on a t-shirt and shove my legs into the leggings I had on an hour ago.
“I’ll drive you,” he tells me, slipping on his pants and t-shirt.
“Grant––” My tone gets his attention. He looks at me and finds my expression careful. “You can’t. He’s already furious with me because he thinks it’s all my fault you’re not around anymore.”
His demeanor changes instantly. He looks so forlorn I ache for him. A self inflicted wound. I might as well have punched myself in the heart.
“I wanted to see him,” he murmurs, running his hands through his wet hair. He closes his eyes for a beat. “Whatever choice I make I lose.”
All the euphoria I was riding dies a sudden death, shot right out from under me. My mouth runs dry. I have to lick my lips before speaking. “That you think I am on par with a game…” I can’t even finish I’m so devastated. “That hurts.”
He sees the stricken look on my face and panics. “Amanda––I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Shaking my head I walk out of the locker room with tears flooding my eyes. “You need to leave…and don’t come back! You don’t get it.”
“Baby, I misspoke. I didn’t mean it.”
I’m strung so tight it doesn’t take much to trigger an outburst. Wheeling around, I unload. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to fear yourself? We are not all as confident as you.”
His gaze softens, holding mine with tender concern.
“I’m so scared of losing my balance, of tripping up. I risked everything for you because you’re worth it. You are worth betting the house––” Words get caught in my throat, unable to move another inch as a swell of anger and disappointment rise up. I exhale, exhausted. I’ve got nothing left.
I steal a glance at Grant’s face and he’s shut down, a block of ice, immobile. In contrast, I’m feeling too much.
“And I don’t even rank above a sport that could kill you––that’s who I am to you…I deserve better.”
I charge down the hallway and he follows. At the elevators I punch the call button, molars grinding, resentment escalating with each second that passes. “Get out and don’t come back,” I murmur, reaching up to rub my throat. Which feels like it’s on fire, raked by pins and needles.
He steps closer and reaches out. I sidestep him smoothly, refusing to look up into his face. Or to feel bad for him anymore. The elevator doors open and I slide a foot to stop them from closing.
“Amanda…I––”
“Don’t.” Then I say the one thing that hurts me to say more than anything because it goes against my very nature to hurt anyone, let alone someone I love. “You’re not good enough for us.”
He steps into the elevator.
“Bye, Grant.”
Without another word spoken, the elevator doors close.
Two days later I get my first letter. The stationary is expensive. The paper heavy, ivory. The handwriting messy. No return address. I rip it open and read. It’s a letter. A love letter.
“I have quite a few questions for you,” the reporter says. Amy Green is around my age, with naturally red hair, and a hawkish look in her eye, and a go-getter attitude.