Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“Aspen?” I said softly.
Aspen’s tear-filled eyes rose, taking me in, and she offered me a watery smile.
“I’m hormonal,” she whined. “It’s the female equivalent of dying, you know?”
No, I didn’t know.
Which she got, the longer she looked at me.
“I’m on my period, and I cry a lot for random reasons.” She explained more in depth. “And my best friend nearly got run over by a semi-truck today, and I can’t even go see her in the hospital because of this stupid piece of crap,” she growled in frustration. “Stupid Danny.”
“Come sit outside with me,” I ordered softly.
I needed to get out of her bedroom.
Even the talk of her being on her period didn’t have any effect on my cock.
It was raging, and I was somewhat happy to know it was still functional.
I hadn’t gotten a hard-on from an actual real live woman in months. Though I’d sure as hell tried multiple times—which ended in embarrassment on my end.
Call me crazy, but I guessed it was related to the fact that a woman had thoroughly fucked me over.
Then my daughter, who I didn’t want to admit was a woman yet, had gutted me.
Needless to say, I wasn’t very sympathetic to the female plight these days.
“Come outside with me,” I ordered, tugging her up into my arms. “It’s just raining now and the temperature has warmed up a bit. You can tell me why you’re in this mess.”
She slowly got up to her hands and knees, then crawled backwards until her feet were both planted firmly on the floor.
“Okay,” she mumbled softly.
Thunder boomed overhead.
I looked up at the roof, almost as if just by doing so I would be able to see whatever storm was headed our way.
Instead, I saw a mirror.
A big one.
Needing to get out of there before I had any more crazy thoughts, I grabbed her hand and tugged her along behind me.
“Want a beer?” I asked.
She shook her head as we walked through the rain drops to the side part of the front yard where a little gazebo was sitting.
It was in sore need of a new coat of paint, and would likely need a new swing sometime soon, but I led her there anyway.
“No, thank you,” she declined softly. “I’d rather a Dr. Pepper.”
I walked away, but continued to talk to her as I did.
“Why are you on house arrest?” I asked, taking a beer from the cooler in the back of my truck.
“I’m officially grounded from alcohol, too. It’s one of my stipulations,” she admitted.
My brows rose.
“Long story,” she muttered.
Lowering the lid of the cooler, I popped the top on the beer and started heading back towards her.
Once there, I took up the seat on the swing next to her, throwing my arm over the top of the seat and looking up at the sky.
“I’ve got time,” I added, placing the beer between my legs and staring at her.
She grimaced, then sighed.
“Well…” she cleared her throat. “It started when my best friend was raped.”
I blinked, surprised at the course this story had taken.
“Yeah?” I asked. “What happened?”
“I had a friend whose man left her, but only after he sexually assaulted her first.” She bit her lip. “She filed charges. The guy got off; his daddy had a lot of money and clout with a couple of judges,” she said. “And Angelica started to slowly go into a downward spiral. One second she was this upbeat girl who volunteered at animal shelters, and the next she was in a depression so deep that she barely got out of bed.”
My stomach sank.
“And she tried to commit suicide, but I got there in time to call an ambulance. They pumped her stomach, and then kept her on a psychiatric hold for forty-eight hours before releasing her again.” She took a deep breath. “And I took it upon myself to help her get out of her funk.”
“And how’d you do that?” I asked.
She smiled.
“I started to burn the guy’s cars. When he’d get a new one, I’d take Angel over there with me, and we’d light the car on fire again,” she grinned.
“And you got caught?” I guessed, taking a sip of my beer.
She shook her head.
“No,” she admitted. “We went out to celebrate one night after his car was torched for a second time, this time not by me, but I made a mistake.”
“What mistake?” I asked.
“I dropped my boyfriend/fiancé’s lunch off for him, and caught him fucking his partner in his patrol car,” she grimaced, her face a mask of embarrassment.
My mouth dropped open in surprise.
“That was you?” I asked.
She shrugged, and another boom of thunder sounded overhead.
I wanted to wrap both arms around her and tell her that I was sorry, that she didn’t deserve to be treated like that, but I knew those words wouldn’t help her.