Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
My teammate Slater told me not long after he married his woman Mary that he knew she was the one because the air was sweeter when he took it into his lungs when she was around. She made the world brighter and life better than it had ever been. At the time, he was telling me that because he wanted to know if Emily made me feel that way. That’s when I began to realize that when I first signed with the River City Roosters, I was nursing my pride because I discovered that Emily had been cheating on me for years and I never knew. Still, I couldn’t say she made the air I took into my lungs sweeter. Hell, she didn’t make anything brighter for that matter. She was fun. Being with her was easy, but I can’t say she dug as deep as affecting my surroundings.
Tillie?
Fuck, she makes everything light, free, and fucking good. She makes me feel alive.
I shake my head. I have to keep it together. Tillie is the one for me, but I’m going to have to bust my ass to be the one for her.
“Hello.”
My attention goes back to my phone. “Hey Mom, it’s me.”
“Did you find my Tillie?”
“I have her Mom. She’s okay.”
“Good. When you get home tonight—”
“I’m not coming home tonight, Mom. I’m staying with Tillie.”
“Son, I don’t think that’s smart.”
“Mom, Tillie has had a bad night and I’m not leaving her.”
“Ryder, Tillie is fragile. You can’t hurt—”
“Mom, I love you, but I’m not talking about this with you. Tillie and I have stuff to work out and that’s starting tonight.”
She lets out a sigh as I rub the back of my neck and begin walking toward Tillie’s bedroom. “You need to be careful with her, son.”
“I plan on it,” I respond, but I doubt she believes me. It’s not like it matters. The only thing that matters here is that my Tillie does.
“Be careful,” she repeats.
“I will,” I confirm, again.
“Okay. Love you, baby.”
That makes me smile and I shake my head. “Love you, too, Mom.”
I click off my phone and put it on Tillies nightstand. Next thing on my agenda was to find her some pajamas. I make my way to her dresser and pull open the first drawer. I want to groan when I look down at pretty, silk bras and panties in a vast array of colors. My gaze is drawn to the shiny red set. I close my eyes and I can practically see them covering Tillie’s curvy body. I imagine her walking toward me. Her breasts swaying with her movements, the silk caressing her flesh, nipples pushing out, begging to be sucked—even through the fabric.
Son of a bitch.
My cock is pressing out against my jeans—hard, needy, and angry because there’s not enough room for the bastard to stretch out. I reach down to adjust myself because if I didn’t, it would be entirely possible my cock would have burst through my zipper and the damn metal teeth might do permanent damage.
Once I have control of myself, I close the drawer and open another. This one is thankfully the correct one. I reach in and move the clothing around, just to see what I can find. As I lift up a couple of tops my heart nearly comes to a complete stop.
I suck in a breath as my fingers tangle into cotton fabric and pull out a jersey. I know without a doubt the jersey would cover her easily and fall to her thighs. I know this because this isn’t an ordinary jersey. Not in the least. This was a Houston Astros jersey, and it was old. It was the one that I gave her the day her fucking perfect tits caused the buttons of her shirt to nearly put my eye out.
Tillie had kept it. She kept my old jersey.
I flop down in the chair by my woman’s bed—and she is my woman—and I do it holding my old jersey, thinking young me was a stupid fuck because I wasted time on a girl with no loyalty when all along there was a woman who gave me more loyalty than I deserved.
Jesus.
Tillie
My head is still a mess. There’s just no way around that. Still, Ryder is here with me. He’s trying to take care of me. None of that would be happening if he didn’t want to be here with me. Would it? In the past, he didn’t know I was alive. He sure as heck wouldn’t have chased me down.
I need to put the past behind me once and for all. I know I do. The problem is that some scars have a way of getting in so deep they cut into the bone and create a small pocket of misery that—no matter what you do—refuses to leave. It just hides and waits to leak out in tiny droplets. That way you don’t face the full brunt all over again. No, that would be too simple. Instead, it’s a constant torture delivered in slow portions designed to make you feel safe before drowning you in the pain you once felt.