Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“I don’t know how you do it. Hurt people. Get hurt.”
“I fell in love with boxing, but I was never going to be the best. So I started kickboxing, then Jiujitsu. I should’ve wrestled in high school, but I couldn’t stand the jocks.”
“Or anybody, right?” she chimes, a light teasing note in her voice.
I chuckle. Her whole face lights up. Hell, her entire body. It’s like she’s been waiting her whole life to make me laugh. It’s the cutest thing. “That’s fair.”
“Except Brad,” she says. “And me… sort of. It’s not like we hang out. I’m rambling. Please feel free to tell me to shut up.”
“I don’t want you to,” I say.
She smiles and looks down at her drink, just like I did the first time I realized she wasn’t a kid anymore. “That’s how you do everything, anyway, right? By logic.”
“I fell in love with boxing, but I wasn’t going to be the best. So, I started MMA. I had a talent for it. It made sense.”
She takes a sip of her coffee. I’m trying to pretend that everything is logical and clean. I’m trying to pretend there isn’t something completely illogical and so dirty that we need a burning, hot shower. “I’ve made up your room,” she says.
“Thank you, Mary, but it’s not my room.”
“The guestroom, but you’re the only one who ever stays there.”
She seems to get a little sassy. I wonder why. Maybe I’m sending out some vibes I’m not aware of. She bites her lip, almost making me erupt. It’s so effortless to imagine her biting it like that for me when I’ve got my hand on her sex, rubbing her gently, massaging her clit, feeling her pleasure in her thick trembling body, and hearing it in her singsong voice.
“Anyway, I’ve got work,” she says, standing up. “I’ll be back later. I can make some food if you want?”
“Sure,” I say, wanting to follow her so damn badly. “Thank you, Mary.”
She turns and walks down the hallway, giving me the best view of her ass, that light fabric resting against her round globes. I never thought I’d be at Brad’s table, looking at Mary, his kid sister, the one who wouldn’t stop crying, looking at—I’m fucked, this is fucked—her ass. I want—need—to chase after her, bend her over, pull her dress up, rub my dick against the outside of her underwear, get her wet first, and get her as hungry as I am.
CHAPTER
FOUR
MARY
I walk through the lashing rain, my body aching from sitting behind that desk for so long and looking up at customers. It’s mind-numbing work, and maybe that’s why I like it. It gives me an extensive amount of time to dwell on my unhealthy obsessions. It allows me to wonder if Rust, sitting at the kitchen table in his faded blue jeans and baggy white tee—letting me see the outlines of his throbbing muscles—was looking at me funny. Almost like he was interested? Or is this some major projection?
Putt, putt, putt.
Ah, great. The engine sputters and dies while the rain hammers against the car’s roof. I try it several times and then groan, laying my forehead against the steering wheel. How perfect is this?
I could run back through the rain and see if one of my coworkers could give me a ride, but I don’t want to impose on them. We don’t have Uber or a real cab company out here. Could I call Rust? On the surface, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just me calling a family friend for help. I’m unsure how my twisted thoughts could make me feel guilty about that. It’s not like I’m going to do anything. I’d never act on these urges. I can’t.
With no other choice, I take out my cell phone and call the home landline. After around thirty seconds, he answers, “Hello?”
“It’s me,” I tell him.
“Is something wrong?” I’m more projecting and wishing, but he almost sounds protective when he asks this. It’s almost like he’d go into a warrior rage if something were wrong.
“No, it’s just my car. It’s died on me. I was wondering…”
“I’ll be right there. What’s the address?”
I give him directions. Saying nothing else, he hangs up. I try not to let the silly crush whelming inside me take that personally. It’s how he’s always been since I’ve known him: quiet and to the point. It’s nothing to do with me, with us.
As I wait, I read a book on my Kindle. Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of Regency love stories, simple and sweet tales about noblemen who claim their woman with minimal effort, with lots of nice scenery, and hardly any drama at all. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out I’m maybe trying to escape my own predicament.
Finally, his headlights appear, cutting across the darkness and the lashing rain. Thunder claps, and a bolt of lightning streaks across the sky. Okay, I’m not a baby, but that was close. Lightning strikes again as Rust walks toward the car. He’s wearing a light jacket, but I can see he’s brought one of my big coats for me. My chest tingles just like my downstairs often does when thinking about him. A coat, a small gesture, maybe, but it means a lot.