Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
With that happiness, though, comes a teeny hint of longing.
I miss before and everything it entailed.
Saturday brunch with my family, Crew being the fifth member of it, with Drew in tow too on occasion. Sunday’s making donuts and quick dips in the cool bay waters. Weekly baseball practices and traveling for tournaments. Walking around selling beef jerky sticks to raise money, so Crew could play in said tournaments.
He never would allow my parents to cover him, and my dad would have done it in a heartbeat. He loves Crew as his own, even when he had to step into the fatherly role that made it a little less obvious. It’s like I said before, reprimand was new to him, so I imagine it was easy to sometimes confuse discipline with dislike.
Maybe that’s why he distanced himself from us after Memphis’s accident.
I had thought about it many times, assuming he didn’t feel right about being so easily loved by a man who suffered physical and mental pain loving his own son, but it could have been the opposite.
Maybe it was both.
A sudden wave of homesickness washes over me, so I pick up the phone and call my mom.
When she doesn’t answer, I try my dad.
He doesn’t pick up either, and I remember they joined a tennis club on impulse.
Maybe they’re with their new friends having brunch. Either way, they’ll call me the second they realize I tried them. They always do.
After clearing the table, I straighten the pillows on the couch and take out the garbage, mindlessly searching for something else to do, but I’m not a keeper of many things so my house pretty much stays clean and clutter-free, the most common mess being piles of papers and school supplies.
I’ve yet to experience a point in my life when I didn’t have something to study for, or a class or a shift at work to get to. I’m not so sure I like the whole “clear schedule thing,” especially now that I have a taste of what having someone I truly want to spend my time with is like.
It all reminds me I’ve been flying solo out here, something I never quite had the time to consider before now.
It’s with that thought I grab my keys, head out the door, and make my way across the street.
Maybe Rachel needs me at the diner today.
Maybe she’ll let me work a double.
Crew
“So, what happened, Davis had to work?” Layla asks, collecting our plates and dropping them in the sink.
Davis had to come, and when she did, it was with my name on her lips.
“Yeah. She had work.” Pretty sure that’s a lie. With school, she doesn’t work mornings and when I quietly snuck from my room this morning, she was still closed inside hers.
“Heard she was out with a good-looking pretty boy last night?” Layla crosses her arms over her swollen belly.
“Course you did. Your husband has a big mouth.” I think about what she said a second, adding. “And shitty taste in men. He wasn’t good-looking. He looked like a douchey motherfucker.”
“A tall, blue-eyed, chiseled-jawed, white-picket-fence-wanting, Polo-wearing douchey motherfucker.” Willie waltzes in with a grin.
My glares slices to him.
“Admit it, the dude had Barbie Dreamhouse written all over him.”
“I admit you’re a dumbass.”
Layla laughs, cupping her stomach. “So this is the friend that lives next door to her?”
“Yes, the Jess that is not short for Jessica.” Her husband thinks he’s fucking hilarious.
“I’m out of here.” I stand, turning toward the door.
“Love you, Crew.”
“Fuck off, Julius.”
Climbing in my truck, I pull out my phone, checking to see if Davis’s location tracker still works. It does, and when it shows me that she’s at the diner, I breathe an annoying sigh of relief.
With any luck, by the time I get home, Davis will be asleep.
I can’t look at her, not when I pictured her lips wrapped around my cock while I fisted her hair between my fingers and tugged to test her reaction. Not when I imagined she loved it and took me deeper. Sucked harder. Longer.
My dick hardens, straining against my jeans at the thought.
Pressing my palm over my zipper, I close my eyes, hers flashing behind the lids when they do. I lick my lips, and I snap out of it.
Throwing my car in drive, I pull away, trying to come up with a plan to keep my shit together. To keep my feet on the right side of the line.
To do what I should and not what’s so damn tempting.
’Cause, fuck me, the mere thought of Davis Franco, someone I’ve denied myself for a long fucking time because I know thoughts would lead to actions, drives me mad.
The damage the girl could do to me.
The damage I could do to her.
I need to keep my mind right, and my dick on the same page.