Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
And, hey, I had a nice set, if I do say so myself. Sure, maybe when I was eighty and they were down to my knees, I’d regret having a larger chest, but for the time being, they were a source of pride if they could distract a man like Junior. Someone who had likely seen a ton of tits. Yet he couldn’t look away from mine.
“No?” I asked, raising my arms up over my head for a long stretch.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his head slamming back on the rest, his hands raking down his face.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, finding my shirt, and turning so that when I bent over to retrieve it, he got a great view of my ass in their cheeky panties.
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he accused as I stood up, holding the shirt against my belly, not my chest.
“I totally do,” I agreed, smirking. “Is it a problem?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, making my stomach tense for a second before he added, “Because we got shit to do, and I can’t throw you onto the bed and fuck you until you’re screaming my name.”
“Oh,” I said, my sex clenching at the idea of that. “I mean… we don’t have to meet with A for a few hours,” I reminded him as he slowly climbed off the chair.
“Yeah, but we gotta go get you some shit first,” he said.
“Some shit?” I asked as he approached, each step toward me seeming to suck more of the air up out of the room.
“Clothes. Brushes. Hair or body shit.”
“What?” I asked confused as he snatched the tee out of my hand.
“As much as I wouldn’t mind you walking around in my tee, or bare-ass fucking naked,” he said as he scrunched the shirt up in his hands. “You’re gonna need clothes,” he said as he pushed the shirt down over my head.
“Why?” I asked, barely able to think straight with his hands on me.
“Because you’re gonna be staying here until this shit is worked out,” he said, reaching down to grab my arm, and pushing it through one of the sleeves.
“I am?” I asked, breath coming a little faster as he reached down again for my other arm, but this time, running the back of his hand over my breast, making a shiver course through me.
“Yes. Unless you want to be all alone back in your place,” he said as he yanked the hem of the tee down, covering me up.
“I, ah, no,” I admitted. “But… but what about the shop?” I asked. “I can’t afford to stay closed.”
“We gotta hear what A has to say before we can make any decisions,” he told me. “But if you gotta open, even just half hours tomorrow, I will find a way to swing that.”
“How?” I asked.
“Pack it with some friends of mine. The kind of people the cartel isn’t going to risk putting a stray bullet in, so you’ll be safe while you’re there.”
“You have friends?” I asked. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that how it probably came out. I just… don’t,” I admitted. “I mean, I’m not from here originally, but, still…”
“I grew up with most of them,” he said. “We’re not attached at the hip or shit like that, but if I called them to come sit in a coffee shop for a few hours, they’d do it. I do a lot of work for them when they need it, and never ask to have the favor returned.”
“Oh, okay. Right. Well, their coffee would be on the house, of course,” I said. “And I can… I don’t know, put a sign up with temporary new hours, so people don’t come when it’s closed and get pissed.”
“We’ll figure it all out,” he said, shrugging.
We.
I know he didn’t mean it that way.
And I wasn’t even taking it that way.
But, God, it was nice not to have to make all the decisions myself, to have someone—anyone—to bounce ideas off of.
I prided myself on my independence, and the fact that I’d gotten where I was now—even if I was still struggling—from an often homeless child and adolescent. I’d done well for myself.
But, fuck, was it exhausting to have no one to turn to for advice or opinions. Especially when I hadn’t ever had a strong parental figure to teach me about… anything. I’d been winging it since I was a teen.
I was burnt out on learning shit the hard way.
It was nice to have someone that not only gave a shit, but seemed happy to help.
“Yeah,” I agreed, giving him a smile. “Do you want to head out now?” I asked.
“Figure you’re just gonna be anxious about it until we get it done,” he said. “Go throw your clothes back on, and we’ll get going.”
With that, we did.
“What?” Junior asked on the ride toward my apartment as my leg tapped restlessly against the floorboard.