Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95393 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95393 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
I pull away from the curb, heading home, my head replaying the night. Her in my arms, dancing with me, trying to pull her even closer to me, but not too close that she could feel how hard she was making my cock. I turn into the subdivision, and as of late, I drive by her house before making my way to mine.
Pressing the button to the garage and driving in, I don’t bother with the light before walking up the steps to my bedroom. Taking the jacket off, I get a whiff of her perfume, and my head hangs as I take my phone out and call her.
It rings three times before it goes to voicemail. Even though I’m not going to leave a message, I listen to her voice, only when the beep comes on do I hang up the phone. Then I pull up our text thread.
Me: Can you call me, please?
I sit on my bed, looking down at the phone, willing her to call me. My eyes stare at the phone in front of me, urging the bubble with three dots to come up, even if she tells me she can’t talk now, I’ll take anything.
Instead, nothing comes through. My body falls back on the bed, my arm outstretched to the side, while the hand that holds my phone comes to the middle of my chest. “What the fuck did you do?” I look at the white ceiling. “Did you just ruin everything?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
dakota
“Mom,” Rain calls me from the living room, looking over my shoulder at her as I rinse off the dinner plates, “is Uncle Christopher playing hockey tonight?”
Just his name makes my stomach flutter and then makes the bile crawl up my throat. “I think so.” I turn back around to make sure my daughter doesn’t see my face flushed with pink from embarrassment.
“Can we watch a bit of the game?” she asks, and I don’t turn around and look at her.
“I want to watch Uncle Chrissy too,” Luna whines from her side of the couch.
“Okay,” I agree, hoping she just goes back to whatever she was watching before she brought up Christopher.
It’s been three days since I last saw him or, better yet, since I threw myself at him. God, just thinking about it, and I wish the floor would eat me up. I couldn’t believe what I had just done. I couldn’t believe not only had I kissed him for the first time, and it was the kiss to end all fucking kisses. Christopher Stone's kisses could make you forget your first name, which is what happened when he kissed me. I have never, and I mean have never, done anything remotely like that in my life. Never have I been that crazy for someone’s touch that I forgot where the hell I was. The way I begged him to touch me, I want to cringe every single time it replays in my head, which is a lot. He must think I’m so desperate.
I can’t explain or put into words how I felt afterward. I was ashamed, embarrassed, and most of all I wanted more. But nothing could top the guilt I felt, especially when he let my hand go. All the happy feelings I was feeling when it was just him and me and no one else was gone faster than I could blink my eyes. I wanted to rush out of there, but when I walked out of the bathroom, Brittany was there, so I had to pretend and it was so hard. Sitting next to him and feeling him so close made my heart pound in my chest, feeling like it was going to literally jump out of my chest.
I have avoided everything Christopher since then. He’s called every single night, but it goes straight to voicemail and he’s only texted once. I just can’t face him right now, or maybe ever.
“What channel is the hockey game?” Rain asks when I finally close the dishwasher some forty minutes later. My mind has been so spacey every single time I think back on that night, which is pretty much every single time I let myself do it. It usually happens when I’m driving the kids to school, when I’m cooking or cleaning, when I’m lying in bed at night, and most definitely in my fucking dreams. He’s everywhere yet nowhere at the same time.
“Let me check.” I dry my hands and walk into the living room, grabbing the remote. Once I find the channel, I click on it, and it’s a big mistake because there he is in the middle of my screen. The man who has made my knees weak. The national anthem is playing, and he’s on the ice of course. His helmet is off, and his hair looks like he just ran his hands through it. I know exactly what it feels like now, and my own fingers tingle to feel it again. His blue eyes look straight into the camera, making my stomach flutter.