Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Does that mean I should tell her what happened between her mom and me? I can’t. It’s not my place, dammit.
I don’t think he’ll tell her, I reply. Not until we’ve talked about it. It’s not his style.
Great, that fills me with confidence. I smirk as I imagine her sarcastic, sassy tone. I wish you’d spoken to me before you told him.
I should have, I reply. It’s difficult to explain why I had to share it.
Then why didn’t you?
I sigh and lean against the balcony railing, looking down at the city. This is usually my spot for writing breaks. I’ll let my head clear, and my thoughts drift.
Normally, I can rely on this process. My thoughts will drift to work, the characters, and the plot. Now I’m wondering if that’s because I never had my own things to worry about, my own life, my own woman. Now, she’s all I can think about. The crazy thing is, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Jax?
Keeping it in felt like letting something gnaw away at me, I type. Remember, Peter and I were both close with your dad. We both knew him how you could only know somebody when you’ve served with them. Now I’ve kissed his daughter, kissed you. I can’t explain it any better than that.
She takes a while to respond, leaving me pacing the balcony, my fists clenched at my sides, not in anger. There’s no rage trying to bubble out of me. It’s something else, a feeling I’ve never experienced before. Nerves, I realize, a very specific type—the type that tells me I might have ended the most important relationship in my life.
I get it, she replies, and I let out a long breath. I told my friend Natasha, but I trust her not to tell Mom.
If your mom finds out, we’ll have to make a choice. Are we in this for the real thing or a fling? How far do we want to take this heat?
Deleting the message is the right thing to do, but it also feels odd.
As I said, I highly doubt Peter would do that without talking to me first.
Maybe this is my chance to give you the silent treatment, she replies, but I don’t think I could. Texting you is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.
You’re not happy usually? I ask, dropping into the chair, wishing she was beside me.
I’m not sure. I’ve spent my life so anxious, so in my head. It’s good for writing. It means I have to retreat from regular life and put my dreams, hopes, and everything else into my characters. I know that probably sounds pretentious coming from a twenty-year-old.
It doesn’t. It sounds like you, Zoey. You don’t have to apologize for being you or explain yourself.
Thank you, she replies. With you, I feel different. I feel seen, no longer invisible.
I see you, Zoey, and I like everything I see.
You haven’t seen everything yet…
My manhood stiffens again, the base throbbing as I read her words over and over.
You should be careful with that kind of talk. I don’t want to turn into an animal again, not when you’re supposed to be mad at me.
I’m not mad. Maybe I should be, but I’m not, and I don’t think I want to be careful either.
I shift in my seat, my balls expanding, the need pulsing deep inside me. It’s a signal I can’t ignore.
You’ve got no idea how crazy you make me, Zoey. The thought of you even THINKING about sending a dirty text has me thinking about racing across the city.
Mom’s home, Zoey replies. She just came in. I don’t think that would work.
This could be a harmless lie to keep me away while she wrestles with her nerves, but just like she accepted me telling Peter, I accept this aspect of her personality. For now… until the desire becomes overwhelming and texting isn’t enough.
Anyway, I wouldn’t even know where to start with that sort of thing.
Is she hinting at me to take the conversation to steamy places?
I get the sense you’ve relived what we did a thousand times, just like I have.
A thousand? Try a million.
Are you trying to take this conversation somewhere steamy, Zoey?
Three dots appear and then disappear. At my age, I never thought I’d be so enthralled by texting, staring at the message box as my heartbeat thuds in my chest and my manhood gives me clear instructions to claim her.
Texting isn’t enough, but it’s much better than anything I’ve ever experienced with any other woman. It’s so much sweeter than anything I thought I could experience. I’m like a caged beast, and the message will kick the door open and let me out.
Maybe I am. Maybe I’m lying here wondering what YOU’RE thinking about.
You just told me what I’m thinking about now—you, lying in bed, hot and bothered, and wishing we were together.