Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
In my dream, it had felt like heaven.
I groaned, rolling over onto my back again so my own hand could snake down, over my stomach, my fingers tracing the lines of my abs the same way dream-Joanne’s hand had just done. The lower it had gone, the bolder she had become, making me moan when she had finally—finally—started those long, slow strokes that she had somehow known I loved.
It had been perfect; the way dreams always were.
My cock pulsed in my hand, and my hips thrust up to meet my strokes. I was fully awake now, fully aware that Joanne was nowhere near, but unwilling and unable to let go of the fantasy.
Not yet, anyway. Not until I’d found my release.
And that was the only thing left for me to do.
“Joanne,” I moaned, the name coming to my lips just as easily as the woman’s face had appeared in my dream.
The urgency I felt building inside me was mirrored in her look. That look that said she wanted me to come, needed it as much as I did. It was more than I could handle.
I pumped harder, faster against my fist as I kicked away the remaining covers. My hips bucked wildly. The bed springs groaned and creaked under my weight, but I barely noticed.
All I could focus on was that image of Joanne, ready, waiting, wanting.
“Oh, fuck,” I grunted, thrusting into the air and gasping for breath as the orgasm rushed through me and spilled out over my fist.
For several long seconds, I lay perfectly still, shivering slightly as my body finally registered the cool air from the room on my glistening skin. For just a moment, I could still see Joanne perfectly in my mind’s eye, but as the rush of my climax faded, so did the image.
Reluctantly, I opened my eyes with a sigh.
The fantasy was over, and all that was left was the evidence of my arousal, still streaked across my hand and stomach.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stumbled to the bathroom for a towel to clean the mess I’d made of myself.
But no matter how hot it had been, it was only a fantasy, and that’s all it could ever be.
No matter how much I actually enjoyed spending time at the shop with Joanne, the month would still pass, and I would still sell Patty’s Petals. She would be pissed and hurt all over again, and even though I would feel like an ass, I’d still move away to the little cabin in the woods I’d imagined.
That little, imaginary cabin suddenly seemed more remote and lonelier than it ever had before.
Before I’d met Joanne.
Still, it was the plan I’d committed to, and it still made the most sense financially, especially given the debt my father had saddled me with.
And if there was one thing I’d learned playing football, you made a plan and stuck with it—at least until the situation on the field changed. And right now—my own mixed feelings notwithstanding—the situation in Castle Falls was pretty much the same as it had been when I’d arrived.
The little thoughts and dreams I’d been having about Joanne were just that—dreams. Fantasies.
Not the kinds of things I could plan my life around, no matter how fun or real they might feel in the moment.
Why, then, couldn’t I stand to look at myself in the bathroom mirror? Why did the thought of hurting a girl I’d known for just over two weeks make me want to throw up?
How could it be that one person could make me question everything?
Chapter Twenty-Five - Joanne
I sat on the stool behind the counter and did my best not to scowl at the burly men who walked past me to the back staircase. All morning long, they’d been going back and forth, hauling boxes and furniture from the small apartment upstairs out to the big moving truck in the parking lot.
And even though I knew it wasn’t their decision to move Henry’s stuff, I couldn’t help but resent—just a little—that they were there.
Brady was around somewhere, too, but I had barely caught a glimpse of the man all day. he was no doubt busily taking the place apart, piece by piece.
I had to try really hard not to resent that, too.
It was Brady’s apartment, after all, and the place had to be cleared out sometime. I just hadn’t been prepared for how it would make me feel. And I hadn’t been prepared for it today. In fact, up until the moment I’d arrived at work and seen the moving truck, I’d actually been looking forward to spending another workday with Brady.
It had felt like we’d sort of had a breakthrough over the previous few days; that we were starting to understand each other a little better.
Brady’s style was night-and-day different from Henry’s, for sure—he was quiet and laid-back where Henry had been loud and opinionated—but it was at least nice that he didn’t really feel like a stranger anymore.