Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 103537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
But Crisis was slowly showing pieces of a life that wasn’t all about being productive and survival. It was about the simple joy of living. I never could equate the two together before. But even looking at a cucumber made me smile because I didn’t just see its mundane function of being food. I saw it as something silly and funny. It also made me think about Crisis.
I rested my hands on top of the washer as it did the final spin and my body leaned against it as it jostled and shook.
He unhinged me. He teased, played, talked about chicks like they were playing cards, at least he had in the beginning, and then he pulled shit like he did yesterday and held me when I freaked out.
Crisis was supportive and knew what I needed even if I didn’t, because I would’ve never let anyone hold me. But Crisis . . . he was comfort and safety. He didn’t push me and yet he told me what he thought at the same time.
“Ice, are you really doing that? Jesus, even I wouldn’t get off in the fuckin’ hallway.”
I shoved away from the washing machine so fast and hard I hit the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. Words lodged in my throat as I looked at him standing at the top of the stairs a few feet away.
“I wasn’t . . . it was almost done and I was . . .” Oh. My. God. I never stuttered. Ever.
But, he saved me from any further stuttering as he winked at me and turned away saying, “Come on, babe. Let’s get you driving.”
Facing my sexual desire was a subject I was still tackling on the confidence scale. To me, sex was cruel and vile and I never once enjoyed it.
This . . . the clenching between my legs, the butterflies flapping madly in my belly, it was new, well, new since Crisis, and to my mortification, it started over texts. Crisis’ texts. Words on a screen typed by him and they hadn’t even been sexual. It was just the thought of him sitting back with his long, lean legs outstretched, hair falling haphazard over his head while he typed on his phone.
“You coming, Ice?”
“Umm, yeah.” I straightened and pulled my shit together, except I couldn’t do anything about the butterflies; they were out of control.
I followed him downstairs. “Are we using your car?”
He came to an abrupt halt, eyes widening. “Fuck no. Do you know what kind of car I have? Shit, it’s not for learning to drive. It’s not for any chick to drive.”
Oh, my God, he was totally being a guy. I may have been sheltered from what most girls did growing up, but I still had ears and many conversations revolved around guys and their cars. It was like they were talking about the most precious stone in the world. My ‘work’ at the club had afforded Olaf a really nice Audi that he talked about all the time.
We walked past the four-car garage that housed Ream, Kite’s, Kat’s and Crisis’ cars, but we failed to stop. Where were we going? We walked past the barn, empty of horses as they were all out in the pastures. I skidded to a halt, the gravel rolling beneath my feet as I saw exactly where we were headed.
Crisis stopped and turned. “What?”
“A lawn mower?” I choked out.
He shrugged then walked into the shed and threw his leg over the driver’s seat and started it up. It took a few tries before it smoked, rattled and puttered, then crawled toward me.
I stood staring at the little ride-on mower, Crisis sitting on it wearing his baseball cap and worn-out jeans with holes in the knees. Knees bent too high on the machine because he was so tall. It was ridiculous. The hot rock star with tats and the most stunning ripped body was driving a shitty lawnmower and he still exuded hot.
It was so ridiculous that I laughed. My smile widened first, then a strange bubbling in my chest that stole my breath and locked down in the center of my core as the sound emerged.
I laughed until my stomach cramped and my eyes watered.
The mower shut down beside me.
Crisis leaned back in the green plastic seat and crossed his arms over his chest. The tightness around my mouth felt funny as I stopped laughing and smiled. It was weird, smiling and laughing. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d laughed or felt the lightness hit me in the chest like it did now.
He cocked his leg and rested his foot up on the frame, appearing casual and relaxed but his eyes . . . they were intense as they drove into me. My smile faded and a tingling flared between my legs as I stared at him. We were both silent for a moment, merely watching one another, assessing maybe.
“When you laugh . . .” he paused as if thinking about it, “it’s like being handed a piece of you that no one else has ever seen.”
Those words held more truth than he could ever know and I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t.
He re-adjusted his hat that didn’t need re-adjusting then shifted to perch up on the back of the seat. “Come on, let’s get you driving.”
“Okay.” I slid onto the hard seat and was instantly aware of his thighs next to my shoulders and my head close to his abdomen, and therefore cock. I swallowed as the sensation in my sex intensified and I clenched, which only made it worse.
He leaned forward, his chest up against my back and my breath hitched. “You need to press down the clutch with this leg.” He put his hand on my thigh to indicate which one and I nearly shot out of the seat. “Whoa, what’s wrong with you? You’re all jumpy and shit.”
“I’m fine. Just nervous.” I added, “To drive.” But, I wasn’t nervous about driving. I was nervous of him, because what I was feeling was more than I knew how to handle.