Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Were they close? I wondered… I knew he still lived with her. I figured they must be if that was the case. This wasn’t about getting to know him, though. It wasn’t about becoming friends. It was about fucking and orgasms, about not sitting in this house alone all day every day.
“If you get too hungry, you’ll eat my house. Got it.”
Sam followed me into the kitchen. While I began pulling vegetables from the fridge, he hopped onto the counter, making himself at home.
“Comfortable?”
His eyes widened. “Shit. Sorry. You’re probably too fancy for that.”
I frowned. “What about me makes you think I’m fancy? And sit on the counter. I don’t care.”
I was glad he did as I said without arguing.
“You’re all posh. Don’t pretend you’re not. I bet you lived in some big city like New York or LA. You probably had some swanky apartment with a view and a doorman, and worked in a high-rise, and spent more on coffee in a month than I would in a whole year. I bet you don’t sit on kitchen counters.”
We’d had a brownstone in the city. Maybe if we’d been somewhere with a doorman, Daniel would still be alive. “I bet I was raised in a town smaller than this one, more broke than you can imagine, and I sit on my fair share of counters.”
“Prove it,” he said when I finished setting veggies down.
“Excuse me?”
“Sit up here with me.”
“No.”
“Yes,” he countered.
“No.”
“See? You’re too fancy for that.”
The thing about me was, I had a competitive streak a mile wide. I’d never met a challenge I could walk away from. This was ridiculous and made absolutely no sense. What did his butt on my granite have to do with anything? Or mine, for that matter. He was trying to… I didn’t know what he was trying to do, but that didn’t stop me from walking over, hopping up, and sitting next to him.
We were quiet for a minute before I asked, “What do we do now?”
“Nothin’. Just wanted you to sit next to me.”
I huffed but didn’t jump down. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Why does everything have to make sense? You’re livin’ on the edge right now. Both our feet dangling, leavin’ the food out and the fridge open, two men who just shot our loads together. Maybe later I’ll suck you off right here, where you cut your vegetables.”
I almost trembled with need, but fought it off. That sounded too good. “I’m getting down now.”
“Course you are.”
I did as I said I would, then closed the fridge and rinsed the vegetables.
Sam said, “I didn’t know I was getting orgasms, money, and havin’ someone cook for me. Best gig ever.” He kicked his leg out and tapped my butt. “You ever been scared of somethin’ and want it too? Or like…nervous you’re gonna fuck something up just by bein’ yourself but also tryin’ hard to be? Like right now. This whole fucking thing’s got me more nervous than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, but I don’t know how to deal with it other than just being me.”
I plucked a knife from the block, then got the cutting board. I respected the hell out of him for his honesty. Sam was probably the most genuine person I’d ever met. Admitting my fears was the last thing I would do—I wasn’t built like that—but he did, just spit it all out like it was nothing. He was addicting. If he hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have made him this offer in the first place. “Did you just say, more nervous than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs?”
“Because of their tails, ya know?”
“I get it.”
He winked. “Just wanted to make sure. Now, are you gonna answer me?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Yes, you’re gonna answer, or yes, you’ve felt this way?”
I shook my head and gave in to the small smile begging to break free. “Yes, I’ve felt that way.” I did now.
“Glad I ain’t the only one.” He nudged me again with his foot. “Can I help?”
“Nope.”
“How’d I know you were gonna say that?” Sam laughed. “You grow those?”
“I did.”
He talked to me the rest of the time I cooked. Nothing deep or important. He talked, and I listened and answered his questions.
We ate together, and he talked the whole time then too. Stories about him and Molly, about falling out of a tree when he was eight, and how sometimes it felt like this town was a whole different world from everywhere else. That he wanted to know what the air felt like against his skin and the dirt beneath his toes in a state that wasn’t North Carolina.
“Why don’t you move? Or travel?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “This is where I belong.” He pushed to his feet. “Wanna watch a movie or somethin’?”