Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 36553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
“No problem. Now go.” He drops his hand to my shoulder, the other meeting the other side of my neck, spins me around, and swats my butt. Too bad I could barely feel the pat. I’m not telling Parker that, not yet at least.
ELEVEN
Parker
I watched as Vanessa left me, a trail of bedding in her wake, only turning away once she was in the bathroom, the door closed with her inside. The fact that my cock decides to rear its head at the worst of times isn’t helping matters. Thankfully, with Nessa in the shower, it’ll give me time to do what I told her I was going to as well as calm myself down. That theory went out the window when I heard the water kick on, wanting to know what she looked like dripping wet, and not from the shower. I got a hint of her essence last night, the moment we met. It was like her body was singing a song only for me.
“Get it together. She’s fucking sick.” I readjust myself. I’m wearing the wrong pants to keep things hidden. The last thing I want is for Nessa to think I’m some teenager trapped in a man’s body who can’t control himself. The chicken noodle soup will not be as good as my moms, since I’m cheating with the ingredients because most things were out of stock. I got the precut onions, carrots, celery, and garlic, then it was to the meat aisle. There wasn’t shit. Literally, it’s like all of New York decided they were going to make every soup imaginable. I detoured, grabbed a rotisserie chicken, then the last ingredient—bouillion. Another call to my mother was necessary, since I had to deviate from her original recipe. There was liquid broth, bouillon cubes, bouillon powder, and then some kind of gel-like consistency that was more concentrated. If there’s ever a next time, I think I’ll send a car for my mother to come into the city, make as many batches as possible, and have it just in case. I fill a pot with water, add the vegetables to it, then set the stove to medium heat. Now it’s time to get Vanessa’s bed remade. I forgot to ask where her spares are, which means snooping will be required. I should have asked. Maybe I’ll wait to finish the job until she’s out of the shower. For the time being, I can at least strip the bed. My pockets are full of my keys, phone, and wallet. I discard them on the counter, so they don’t fall out in Vanessa’s bedroom.
“Mom, I’m okay. I was letting you know that I’m calling out of work,” I hear Vanessa talking on the phone as I’m heading into her bedroom. Apparently, she didn’t take a long shower, thank fuck. My cock and I are definitely appreciative of that. I take the pillowcases off the pillows, a damn ton of them. I must have counted six, and none of them are decorative like most women have, my mother included. The others could very well be hidden in a closet or something for all I know. “Running a fever, sore throat, chills, body aches. I’m sure it's the flu and it’ll have to run its course. I hope Millie is feeling better at least.”
It seems two of the four of us have our eyes set on someone. The only difference is, Ezra isn’t giving information willingly, and payback is going to be a bitch once I figure everything out. Two can play that game; calling Mom and gossiping before the sun was even up.
“Parker’s here, adamant about making sure I’m okay. I’ll tell you more later.” There’s a pause. I smile as I continue my task. “I’m fine. He’s a nice guy, and hopefully, no one else gets this crap. Now, I’m getting off the phone. My throat is killing me, and my fever is coming back.” I hurry along, grabbing the used tissues I found littered on her bed, knowing if she sees them in my hands, she’ll be embarrassed, and that’s the last thing she needs. The pile that needs to be washed is by the door, a task I’ll deal with once she’s back in bed.
I walk back into the kitchen. The small apartment is the perfect size for someone who is single. The only reason I keep my barely decorated brownstone, the ridiculous square footage, is for investment purposes. The only reason I’ll stay is if the housing market drops, but even then, I could rent it and triple my money back in no time. It doesn’t take me long to dump the trash in the bin, having figured out where everything was when I first came in. Then I’m washing my hands and checking the pot on the stove, if the vegetables are done enough, before shredding the cooked rotisserie chicken, along with the noodles.