Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 70528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I don’t own it, and
His place is so much grander than mine
I doubt he cares. I know he’s not judging me, but his place is so huge compared to mine. My house is like a dollhouse compared to his.
I flip on lights as I move down the little hallway toward the kitchen then flip that light on, too. Davis trails behind me quietly, and I can hear him removing his sport coat and hanging it on the hook near the door. After that, I hear him removing his shoes and placing them on the mat.
Bending, I unbuckle the straps of my high heels—it feels heavenly taking those off. I don’t wear them often and my feet are killing me, especially since we danced tonight.
It’s more cardio than I’ve done in ages, ha ha.
“This is a cute place,” he tells me as he makes his way into my small living room.
Every so often I jokingly refer to the living room as “The Molecule,” for it only has space for a sofa, the coffee table, and the television that’s mounted on the opposite wall. There’s a very small fireplace in the room—my home is turn of the century—and the bedroom has a fireplace as well. It’s how they used to heat this house, but not anymore.
The landlord closed off the flue, rendering it impossible to light a fire (unless you want to burn the place down), I’m sure due to liability with renters.
Fortunately it’s not a duplex and it’s not an apartment.
It’s a cute, nuggety, little house.
“Is this where you grade papers?” He’s staring down at a pile of essays I am indeed grading, and picks one off the top of the heap. “What were they supposed to be writing about?”
“Students’ choice. Anything as long as it’s five hundred words, double spaced.”
He skims it several more seconds before returning it to the pile.
“Seems simple enough.”
Yeah—you’d think. Unfortunately with middle schoolers, nothing is ever as simple as you try to make it. Inevitably there will be essays in that pile that do not meet either of the criteria; some may only be written with one hundred words and will be triple spaced. Some of them will be two hundred words and single spaced. Some of them will write in such a large font, hoping to trick me into thinking they’ve met the criteria when in fact? They only managed to make more work for themselves than was necessary.
“Make yourself comfortable.” I finish removing my shoes and place them near his by the door until I can stick them back in my closet. “Would you like anything to drink?”
Having him in my house is making me want a shot or something stiff. I’m not necessarily nervous but it is different having this large man in my space.
“Sure, do you have any bottles of water?”
“One bottle of water coming right up!” I grab two then head back into the living room to join him on the couch.
“This place is really cute,” he says again, glancing around. “How long have you lived here?”
“Not terribly long. Just a little over a year, I think? Since going from elementary school to middle school—I had a small bump in pay so I thought, shit, Juliet. Treat yourself. So I moved out of my apartment and moved in here.”
We both twist off the tops of our water.
“I love old historical buildings. I’ve always wanted to live in something mid-century. Remodel it so it retained all its retro vibes or rent it out as a vacation rental.”
Dang. “Sounds like you’ve actually thought about this.”
“I have. I have a buddy who renovates houses that also plays pro, but that’s his full-time off-season gig—I’m only thinking about doing it for fun. So we’ll see, there never seems to be a good time for that.”
“Newsflash: there is never a good time to pull the trigger on anything. There’s never a good time to schedule a trip or go out of town. There’s never a good time to leave your job. There’s never a good time to sell your house.” I shrug, feeling wisdomy. “I say do it.”
Davis laughs. “You’re not wrong about that. I think the one thing I’m missing is a partner. Think it would be a hell of a lot more fun, don’t you?”
Awww—he’s so sentimental!
I scooch over on the couch and smooch him on the lips. The peck on his mouth turns into a sensual make out session; the kind where I inevitably end up on Davis’s lap instead of on my own side of the sofa. His hand runs up the length of my calf and over my knee, until it’s firmly planted beneath my skirt. His palm finds its home on my thigh, warming me to the core.
Delicious.
Tonight he smells like cologne and a little bit of sweat from dancing and being in a room crowded full of people—which isn’t a bad thing. I lean closer and give him another whiff: fresh air from standing outside and talking before I invited him in.