Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 15718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 79(@200wpm)___ 63(@250wpm)___ 52(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 79(@200wpm)___ 63(@250wpm)___ 52(@300wpm)
And just as I get to the lobby of my condo, I get a text from him. Dinner, my house tomorrow. I want both my boys there.
I shoot one back. Sounds good. Can’t wait to see you.
When I get into position, I start with some random shots of the city background and the participants. There’s four thousand out here today, so it’s going to take a while to get to the end, but I’m only doing these shots, and then I have to head to the finish line. The course loops itself, so thankfully, there’s a shortcut that’ll take me two minutes.
I’m almost done with my starting line shots when I spot two runners who were decked out in pink, but it’s one of them that catches my attention, and it has nothing to do with the run. She’s smiling and hopping lightly off the ground to keep warm.
Her tits are pressed firmly against the sports bra she’s wearing underneath, but I can see that she needs more support for them than what she has. My hands would do a much better job, but then again, I’d have them in my mouth or teasing them with my fingertips, rolling her hardened nipples that are presently poking through her tech hoodie.
Despite the icy chill, my cock stiffens up here. I’m glad there’s a banner around the railing to hide my massive hard-on. I watch her through my lens, zooming in to get a better look at her, stealing shots that will be just for me. I can’t let my client have these photos. A man bumps into her and apologizes, and she gives him an understanding smile before popping in her headphones. Damn it, I want her to see me, to save those smiles for me.
I have to know her, but from this angle, her bib isn’t easy to see. It’s blocked by her long ponytail. I let out a whistle that gets the attention of the woman she’s standing next to. She grins up at me, and I pointedly stare at her friend. She starts telling her something and then she points me out. Damn, I love her friend or sister, whoever she is.
By the time I steal a few more glances, I’m being called to go to the next spot. Shit. I’m working my way down. Before I leave the platform, I ask the girl who is volunteering alongside me to find a roster for me.
“Yes, sir.” She’s got to be in high school, but she’s got a photography background, so they let her help me. I don’t need much, really. I’ve taken pictures of famous people and places all on my own, making a great career for myself.
I shoot the racers that make it to the finish line first. They’re so ahead of everyone else that I have two minutes to look for my woman. The names are in number order thankfully, and that’s when I find it. Madison Chandler. I didn’t even look at her friend’s number, so I’m guessing that it’s number one-thirty-six, Addison Reynolds. I make a note of the information, but I don’t have more time to look them up before getting back to my job.
Almost two hours go by, and virtually all the runners have completed the race. I don’t see my woman, and that upsets me. Where the fuck is she? Did I miss her?
My assistant comes up to me as the last of the runners cross the finish line. “Mr. Jacobs?”
“Yes?” I’m entirely too rude, but my patience has worn thin.
“That woman you’re looking for was taken to the hospital.” I don’t know how she knew that, but I’m glad she did.
“What? Where? When? What happened?” My questions are so fast her head shakes for a second.
She sputters out, “St. Joes about an hour ago. Someone bumped her, shoving her to the ground, and someone else stepped on her ankle.”
“I’ve got to go. Tell them that I’ll send all the images over tonight,” I say, stuffing my camera and flash into my bag. I have to get to her and find out how she’s doing and what the hell I can do to make it better.
“I will.” I take off running, hailing a cab. Thankfully, there’s one ready and waiting. With all these people around, I’m surprised, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
As soon as it opens up, I state, “Saint Joes, hurry.” He takes off just as my door latches shut. I’m on my phone, sending out a text message to my client, letting him know that I had an emergency, but I’ll have his images done tonight as promised.
He makes the two-mile trip quick, so I hook him up with a great tip. Just then, I see my sweet girl come out of the hospital with her friend, and she’s in a wheelchair. I rush to them before they get in a waiting cab. “Hey, Madison,” I call out. They both turn around.