Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
She has been sitting there the whole time. I watch, holding my breath for her to come into view, and when she does, I don’t even try to hide the gasp that leaves my lips. She’s breathtaking. She has her hair down today, and it’s in curls down her back. She has on a white dress that comes to her knees with a purple short-sleeved shirt over it. She smiles shyly at everyone, and her whispered “hello” is barely audible. Nothing like the loud and robust “Hello, Janie” from the crowd.
She sits down at the piano and takes a deep breath. Her back is straight, and from where I’m sitting, I have a perfect side view of her. Her hands move softly across the keys, and the slow melody that fills the room has me sitting completely still, because I don’t want to miss one second of it. When she opens her mouth and starts to sing, I grab on to the back of the pew in front of me. Her voice is the voice of an angel. She sings the lyrics, and the way she closes her eyes, I know that she feels the words to her very core.
I stretch my legs out in front of me and shift. I know I shouldn’t. Damn, I know I shouldn’t. But watching her, hearing her... it’s just all too much. I adjust myself and don’t even try to be discreet about it. My cock is hard in church. I’m sure it’s a sin, and I’m probably going to go to hell for it, but there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it right now. I can try to think about the last flood that took out twenty percent of the Yates calves, I could think about the hell of being raised in foster care, or I can try and think about the day I broke my leg and my rodeo days were over. All of those were horrible days, but nothing, absolutely nothing is going to let me take my mind off of Janie Bradshaw as she sits fifteen feet away, looking like that and singing like that.
When she stops, everyone claps. I know I should be. But I don’t. I’m still clasping the pew in front of me with one hand, my other hand holding tightly to my groin, and when Janie looks out to the crowd with bright red cheeks, she looks straight at me. She gasps, and her eyes widen, but she doesn’t look away. She looks straight at me, and I can feel the heat from her gaze as if she’s standing right next to me.
As if in a trance, the room quiets around me, but I don’t dare take my eyes off her. I knew it would be like this. It wasn’t a fluke, a crush, or a simple attraction. This is a gut punchin’, heart thumping, got to have her temptation. I need to feel her under me and against me, and I need to be inside her as much as I need my next breath. I almost get up until Pastor Bradshaw walks over to her and pulls her up from the bench she’s sitting on. “Now everyone, the monthly potluck is today, and since the weather is so nice, we have everything set up in the south lawn. And don’t you worry, even if you weren’t able to bring anything today, there’s enough for everyone.”
As soon as he finishes, Janie slides out from under his arm and walks swiftly toward the back rooms. I want to follow her, and I plan to do exactly that. I pick up my hat from the seat beside me and make my way toward the front. The pastor is busy talking to random people that came up to talk to him, so I am sure I can make it to Janie without him seeing me. I make it three steps before he calls to me. “Carter, can I see you for a minute?”
I stop dead in my tracks and watch as he says something to a couple standing next to him and walks toward me, a smile on his face.
“I hope you’ll stay for the potluck.”
“Uh, well, I mean, I didn’t bring anything,” I stutter uncomfortably.
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “There’s more than enough. The ladies have been working all week on this.”
I nod but still don’t commit. “Let me ask you something,” he says.
My forehead creases, worried where this is going. “Uh, sure.” Please ask me to volunteer or something. Please don’t ask me about your daughter, I say to myself. I’m a grown man, thirty-five years old. I can handle dealing with a parent of someone I’m dating, but I don’t know if I’m ready for this yet.
“By any chance did you meet my daughter? At the co-op, I mean?”