Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“I’ve got availability on my schedule tomorrow. Pretty open in the afternoon. Say about three?” Well, this conversation is at least going by fast. Kind of hard to complain, especially because I didn’t want to make it in the first place.
“Um, can you do closer to five? I’ve got work.” It’s not a lie, but it’s also not the truth. I could work around the time he set, but the bad part about being self-disciplined is I wouldn’t. I’m a ‘fake it till you make it’ person. Given the chance I can slack of, I’ll take it. An appointment in the middle of the day means I’ll slack the rest of the day and not finish what needs to be done. I don’t need that kind of temptation.
“That will work. What’s your address?” the man on the other end of the line grunts out, making me think he must really not like his job. Hopefully, he handles the scheduling and isn’t the actual person who will be here tomorrow. I rattle off my address, ready to put this conversation to rest. I’ve got a date with myself, making a big Southwestern Tex-Mex salad and watching the next drama series is calling my name.
“The Miller house. Got it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, see you tomorrow.” The succinct click in my ear is the only answer I get. I’m seriously thinking about looking for another carpenter, maybe one outside of Blue Valley who doesn’t have the disposition of a bear, and I’ll be known as Josie Preston, not the Miller house. I’ve been here two full days. I should expect much more. Small town living means you’re known how you’re known. There’s no way of changing a simple thing like an old owner’s home. Instead of harping on the issue as stupid as a name, I get to work, pulling out the chicken to air fry, the salad mixings, and of course cilantro. The only bad thing is, I’m not sure where everything is, especially the blender to make my own salad dressing, meaning this dinner is going to take that much longer. I’ll procrastinate even more and won’t step foot back into my office tonight. I’m trying to gather up enough gumption to care, but once I start getting all of my dinner items together, it soars out the window, and I’m happy with my Alexa playing music in the background while I cut and chop. I’m in a rhythm, even with a jacked-up kitchen. A sense of pride comes over me. It may nickel and dime me to death, but it’ll be my money pit, and it’ll all work out in the end.
12
TRACE
That was hard as fuck. I answered the phone like I normally would toward the end of the day—hot, tired, and horny as hell. The number on my display was one I didn’t know, not a local one either with the area code, so I figured it was a telemarketer asking me to extend some damn warranty on a vehicle I don’t even own anymore. Josie’s voice had me reeling, stopping me from walking any further, stuck in a vortex where the last memory I had of her voice before she claimed what we did was a mistake, the soft tone of my name, dripping with lust and desire slipping from her sweet lips. It took all I had to hold back a groan, being gruff, straight to the point in order to conceal my voice, not even giving her a single clue as to who she was talking to. Doing so without giving my name wasn’t easy, nor did I even like it, but I knew if I did, it would be over before it even began. Josie would be blocking my number or me out of her life, still wouldn’t stop me from going after her.
I was already in my bedroom, undressing, done with the day after working on a piece of furniture, unable to keep my thoughts off a certain blonde when I veered off track, put my clothes back on, and headed to my truck. Fifteen minutes later, I was backed into the driveway, the neighborhood dark except for the few porch lights, not even a streetlight. Which is why I’m getting the perfect fucking view. Sucks that every Peeping Tom, present company included, could see what I am right now, and it’s by sheer fucking luck that I got here when I did. The view she’s giving me, I’m thanking God for the lack of curtains. Josie’s shadow is leaving nothing to the imagination as she pulls her hair up in a ponytail on top of her head, the perfect handle for me to pull back as I’m fucking her from behind or taking her sweet little mouth while she’s on her knees in front of me, gagging in order to take my cock to the back of her throat. Feeling that pleasure has me unbuttoning my jeans. The hiss of my zipper is the only noise in my otherwise quiet truck, and when Josie starts taking off her clothes, I’m fucking gone. Slowly, ever so slowly, my hand wraps around my cock, but I’m not jerking it, yet. I’m too enraptured in seeing what Josie is going to do next. Fortunately, the wait is minimal. Whether she realizes it or not, her undressing is one of the hottest sights I’ve ever seen. Even if it’s nothing but a shadow, my imagination is running wild at what she’d look like taking off her shirt in front of me. Instead, I’m watching her silhouette, tits falling free, then I notice she’s not taking another article of clothing off from her top. My mouth waters, salivating at the thought of my lips wrapping around one taut nipple, then the other, wondering if she still smells the same, already knowing her body has changed to more curves, and I’m fucking here for it. I slowly start working my cock, twisting my wrist as I slide my hand up, using the precum from my head to use as lube. The amount pouring out is damn ridiculous, kind of like what I’m doing here, watching as Josie peels down her shorts, doing a shimmy of her hips until I assume they drop down to the floor. My show is going to be over before I’m ready, and it’s a damn good thing I’m more than ready to take matters into my own hands, literally.