Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Le sigh. Dare to dream, right, Diary?
Anyway, I got a call from my dad (def not Daddy, ewwww, er um let’s call him father to be clear). So, I got a call from my father on the train ride home, which just reminded me why being here in New York alone is better than another summer living with people that treat me like I’m invisible most of the time. The most endearing thing my father says is to call me silly girl. Which translates into silly (stupid) girl…
Okay! I’m off. I’m wearing the new lavender dress I got at the thrift store. It’s way over the top for the kind of place we are going but I don’t care. I feel like a movie star when I wear it. One from the ‘golden age’ as they say. I think I was born a few generations too late. I don’t seem to quite fit in here in the 2020’s. This whole New York world is wow, it’s sooooo not West Virginia.
Sometimes I feel like Dorothy…Toto, I got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore…
Okay, okay! I’m really going now. Bye Diary. Wish me luck, there has to be a Daddy for me out there somewhere…maybe he will be what I find inside The Trojan Horse! LOL
xoxo
I feel like I’m in a dream as Sasha drags me from Jack.
At a table twenty feet away, my co-workers are throwing back shots like M&Ms.
I want to run back toward the bar. The dark-haired giant made my skin tingle the first moment I caught a glimpse of him helping that poor waiter. He looks evil in his own way, but that small act of kindness showed me something about who he is. Who he could be. The contrast is so sexy my butterflies have butterflies.
I went to the bar to order another drink just to see him up close and when I did, I never in a million years expected him to speak to me.
Being next to him, I was able to take in his magnificence. The way his shoulders filled out his dark suit in a way that shouldn’t be legal.
Or maybe it’s my thoughts that should be illegal.
I figured my fantasies of a special kind of man would stay just that, fantasies. But as soon as I looked at him, I felt like they could be reality. But, really, a man like him would never understand the filthy things I think about when I touch myself. The dreams and stories I only tell my diary.
But now, the faceless man in my dreams has taken full form. Jack is what I will see from now on when I think of him.
Daddy.
His piercing blue eyes under a protruding brow line were a startling contrast against his tanned skin and raven-black hair. His face wasn’t conventionally handsome, I suppose. A bit of a crooked nose, a half-inch scar above his left eyebrow. More Russian mafia than Manhattan metrosexual. But, eye of the beholder and all that, right?
I look over my shoulder and see him placing his glass down at the bar.
He’s watching me go. But is he watching me because I'm watching him?
Yet…I swear there’s a flicker in his eyes as we connect from across the room. Just like I told my diary before bed last night.
I have to be reasonable. The bar is bustling with women flawless enough to grace the cover of Vogue or Cosmo.
I’m not bad looking. I mean, I’m an average girl. Curvy in the right places, I guess, but next to most of these women in here I look like a hobbit. Jack, on the other hand, is the epitome calm, confident sex appeal and raw, animal heat. If sex had a face, it would be this man.
Thing is, I’m hardly an authority on sex. I’ve only ever been around boys who laugh too much and drink too much and get high too often. They make crude jokes in an endless stream that gives me a headache. But Jack is no boy.
He’s a man. The oozing power and authority coming from him even has people in the crowded bar giving him space. And it’s not just his size, which is a little freakish if I’m being honest. But still, as I watch, people they lower their eyes, practically genuflecting as they pass by him.
Still, under that exterior there is something about his burning gaze that makes me feel fragile and tiny and protected.
Every flick of his eyes, every curve of his lips, every clench of his bearded jaw, seems to dive deep and make a home between my legs.
I do a few clenching Kegels as I walk and a flash of heat spirals up my spine. My breasts are tingling; nipples bunched up into tiny, hard balls, ready to pierce through the layers of lavender chiffon.