Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
The fridge is full of nutrients. That’s what he eats—food with a purpose.
I try not to be too nosey. I’m a guest after all, so I don’t open drawers I shouldn’t, or paw through shelves. And I don’t go upstairs. Still, my cat-like curiosity keeps rearing its head every time I pass the staircase.
On Thursday night, I stop and stare, my mind spinning in new directions. Is there a dungeon up there in his room? A sex swing? Would I like a sex swing? My chest warms. Maybe I would. Does he have a bed with those straps on it for tying up playmates? Now, my chest tingles.
I’ve read too many books. But even so, wouldn’t that be something, if he had a room full of accouterments? He did seem like the tying-her-up type. A delicious chill runs through my bones at the thought.
But he also seems like the bend-you-over-the-kitchen-counter-and-fuck-you-hard-after-work type.
A sharp, hot blast of pleasure rushes through me.
Once again, I retreat to my room under the stairs and picture our one and only night together. But even though he’s in Detroit or St. Louis or who even knows, I’m quiet as I come.
I bite back my moans. I can’t shake the idea that this isn’t my place and that somehow, someone could be listening.
Or really, that he could.
And that he’d know I was lying when I said I went to Frieda’s to give him a thank you gift.
On Friday night, I’m exhausted from an energizing week at the library, helping patrons. I also came up with an idea for a digital initiative to help enhance the reader’s experience, and Thalia gave it the go-ahead so it’s been consuming my mind. Wesley told me he’s not going to be home till late, so after I clean up my dinner so the kitchen is spick-and-span—I am Super Roomie—I settle into the couch, take out my blank book and my list, then flip through the course catalog from the Community Academy, checking out class offerings, wishing I could skip number two but knowing I can’t. I need to find just the right class for the item about overcoming a fear.
But it’s almost nine and a yawn overcomes me. I stretch then head to my room, grab some jammies, and take a quick shower before bed. I rub five different kinds of lotions and potions into my face, starting with under-eye cream, then serum, then night cream.
When I look dewy as fuck, I’m satisfied. I loop my brown hair into a bun with a scrunchie, slide my glasses back on, and return to the living room, stopping when I reach it, startled.
Wesley’s sitting on the couch. I gulp. I had no idea he’d be home now. He said late Friday night. Is nine-thirty late for him?
“I didn’t realize you’d be here,” I say, feeling…caught. But why?
“I live here,” he says, with a sly smile.
“I know. I just…”
“Flight was early.”
He’s still wearing his travel clothes, and they’re too sexy. I hope the league never changes its suit rule ever, since he looks so damn good in charcoal slacks and a blue dress shirt, with a couple buttons undone. They show off that silver chain on his chest. I want to tug on it with my teeth.
As he leans back against the couch cushions, legs spread, eyes gleaming, he holds a tumbler of something. Scotch? Whiskey? Does he even drink either of those? I don’t have a clue, but he holds that glass like a man who commands a room.
I’m not sure what to say next, but the air feels charged. Crackling. Especially when his gaze locks with mine, and he says, “I see I was number one on your list.”
17
THE NOT NOT EXCUSE
Wesley
Maybe I should feel terrible. After all, Josie’s standing frozen in place on the other side of the coffee table, dressed in white fuzzy socks with purple polka dots on them and cute matching PJs, and her eyes like a rabbit’s.
But I’m too intrigued to feel bad. “I’m at the top, and I’m the only item crossed out,” I continue, then take my time swallowing a sip of the scotch I poured. “Seems you’ve got a lot left to do.”
This list is too fascinating to let go of. I’ve never met someone with a list of…dreams. Adventures. Personal challenges. Josie isn’t like anyone I know, and I’m a little hung up on the way she’s chasing a certain kind of life.
“I do,” she says tentatively, but then her lip curls. “You really looked at my list?”
“I didn’t not look.” Should I feel bad? I don’t. This list is like a gold mine of Josie.
“You’re using the not not excuse?” She’s confused, and maybe hurt.
Okay, I feel a little bad now. I set down the tumbler on a coaster on the coffee table. “I sat down with a drink and it was there.”