Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
My entire body tenses when I hear them walk past my closed bedroom door. It’s just like when I was a kid, and he’d visit. Everything in me would tighten up as I imagined all kinds of things that could never happen.
Paul laughs at something a couple of minutes later. That’s what this is all about. I have to remember that. Paul is happy to see his friend, and I should be happy that he is. Nothing else is more important than that.
Am I doing this on purpose? I’m in the living room. It’s an open-plan beach house, so Kaleb has to walk past me to leave the apartment. I’m eating a sandwich, sipping some soda, and definitely not thinking about the fact I’m wearing shorts that show off my legs. Not that there’s much to show off, but still.
It would drive me crazy if he came in here, saw me, fell to his knees in front of me, and groaned as he grabbed my legs like he’d never experienced anything hotter. Then he’d kiss up my thighs, getting closer and closer to my tingly pleasure palace.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Riley says.
“I’ll be here tomorrow, too,” Kaleb says. He stops when he sees me. He’s dressed more casually today, with a T-shirt that hugs his tight, big arms and faded blue jeans. His hair is messy, as if from the shower. “Hello, Sophie.”
He speaks formally, maybe because Riley is here, but then Riley turns and walks back down the hallway. It’s just us like it was many times when I was a kid. If Kaleb were waiting for Paul, I’d die from the sheer closeness as he made small talk, asking me about school and friends, probably not interested but trying to be polite.
But this feels different. He walks over and stands over me, his gaze flitting to my legs. Or is that my imagination? A shiver moves up my inner thighs, tempting me.
“How have you been?” he asks.
“Taking care of Paul,” I murmur, sure I was imagining his look. He’s back to his cold and distant schtick. Or maybe it’s not an act. He is cold and distant. “Well, not really. That’s not fair to the nurses. Trying to help, I mean. Trying to be there for him.”
I’m getting all tongue-tied. It’s the way Kaleb looks at me, the closeness of it. I feel like I’m under inspection.
“What about you?” I ask quickly. “How’s life on the West Coast?”
And why haven’t you been here? I almost follow up. If you came here to spend time with Paul, why are you avoiding us… avoiding me?
“Work, work, work,” he says darkly, but he won’t look at me. “I want to see Paul more. I’m going to make time. My board…” He sighs, shaking his head as if deciding these business concerns are unsuitable for his best friend’s kid sister. “Anyway, it was good to see you.”
Was it, though? He could tell his face that. He turns, walks away, and doesn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye. I go to the window, feeling like a real sneak as I lean down, out of view, watching him almost sprint toward his car. It’s like he can’t get away from here quickly enough. He climbs into his sleek, stylish rental car and speeds away.
Leaving the window, I go into my bedroom and grab the box from under the bed. I should’ve gotten rid of this a long time ago, all of it. There are poems here—notebooks filled with hearts, whole paragraphs of dreams that can never come true, and there’s a memory drive.
I quickly shove it all back where it belongs. In the dark. Just like my desire.
CHAPTER NINE
Kaleb
The sun can’t do anything for my mood. The sea, the picturesque quality of the West Coast, the home feeling… None of it can help as I come to a logjam in the traffic on the highway, my thoughts twisting around what just happened. It was a small thing. I was standing in the living room with Sophie, staring down at her in those shorts, her thick, juicy, flawless legs on display.
My rod gets stiff just thinking about it again, my tip pushing against my pants, precome hot and fierce, my desire trying to make me turn the car around and rush back to her. Ignore the traffic. Risk a collision. She’d be worth it.
My cell phone rings. It’s Tyrone. I put him on speaker.
“How’s sunny California, boss?” he asks.
“Great,” I reply dryly.
“Whoa… that bad? I thought you always said you prefer the West Coast.”
“That was before my best friend was bedbound,” I grunt.
Maybe it’s unfair of me to take my mood out on Tyrone, but it’s not as if I can tell him the real reason for this darkness. Sure, Paul isn’t doing great, but he’s a fighter. He’ll keep pushing on. What about me? Can I keep pushing past this need? Can I stop myself from doing the wrong thing, the worst thing?