Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
I couldn’t get back inside my condo quick enough last night when the youngest boy walked up to her. I didn’t want her to have to explain to him who I was, because I imagine that story would come along with filtered words and things like don’t talk to that bad man.
I grab a prepackaged frozen breakfast from the freezer and pop it in the microwave, debating on a fattening lunch because these macro-perfect meals I have delivered are seriously getting old. I consider an extra workout this evening because as much as I like to eat, I like the energy working out gives me more. I guess I can consider it a win-win situation.
After eating I dress quickly, wanting to head to work before Kendall gets back. I went weeks of only seeing her at the gym, but now it seems like the woman is everywhere, and that’s not even counting her showing up at work yesterday.
If I concentrate hard enough, I can still taste the sweetness of that Mike and Ike’s on my tongue, and it puts my head in an area I just can’t think about where she’s concerned. I avoid complicated like the plague, and spitfire Kendall and her three kids are the epitome of complicated.
I don’t avoid single moms specifically; I just don’t give the women I pursue the chance to talk much. Kids are seldomly brought up, but then again, the women I seek, or used to seek I should say, since it’s been a while since I went out hunting, aren’t there to look for a man willing to help with their children if they do have them. They want what I want, a little fun and then a goodbye. No strings. No complications. No next-day call.
Kendall doesn’t seem like the type of woman down for that type of situation.
Getting dressed is rote, and eating breakfast carries the very same disinterest as the El Mexicano Grill did last night. I’m a simple man. I like to work, work out, and eat. Sleep is high up on that list as well, and somehow the woman across the hall has managed to taint all those things in a matter of twenty-four hours. Before, I didn’t mind losing a little sleep, thinking about Kendall and those tight clothes she wears to the gym.
The bombs she dropped, both the one about her getting kicked out and the baking soda one she left in a trail down the hallway at the office, have left me off kilter. She’s getting evicted. That means the noise will stop, but so will the sight of her plump ass in those dark gray leggings she wears twice a week.
I honestly think I fucked myself. The leggings definitely outweigh the noise.
And to make matters worse, I’m swimming in the guilt of that happening because of my complaint.
I wanted the noise to stop. Had I known it was her, I might’ve handled things differently. Maybe I would’ve caught her in the hall and asked her to tone it down, but I know that would never have worked. I’d get one look at her and smile like I always do when we run into each other. I’d welcome the noise just so we could keep having conversations over the water cooler and squat bar. I’d eventually invite her to my apartment while her kids were at school, despite knowing she lived right across the hall, a mark in the negative column rather than a pro.
I wash my fork from breakfast and rehang the dish towel on its proper hook before grabbing the things I’m going to need for a day at the office. I’m sliding my phone into my pocket as I open the door, halting in my tracks at the sight of Kendall standing in the middle of the hallway, halfway between our two condos.
“What are—” I begin, but the woman shoves right past me, walking into my condo like she owns the place.
“Show me,” she snaps, spinning around in the middle of my living room with one hand propped on her hip.
My cock jerks in my jeans, ready to show this gorgeous woman any damn thing she desires.
Her eyes are locked on mine, hinting at the fact that she’s not talking about anything below my waist, so I don’t reach for my zipper like the majority of my body is begging me to.
“Show you what?” I ask, because my libido demands clarification.
“The bedroom you offered yesterday.”
God, her saying bedroom doesn’t help this situation at all.
“Never mind,” she says, waving her hand dismissively before spinning around. “I’ll find it myself.”
I’m slack-jawed, not opposed to watching her walk away since it means I can stare at that fabulous ass of hers.
She disappears into one of the guest bedrooms before popping back out and opening the door to the second guest bedroom. I swear on everything holy if she opens the door to my bedroom, I’m not going to be able to resist following her in there and trying to persuade her to perform some tried-and-true stress-relieving tactics.