Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Her eyes get wide, outraged. I know what I’ve said was risky, but it’s true. She shouldn’t be this mad about a baked item. It was a simple accident that won’t be repeated. Next time she makes a cake, I’ll ask before eating it. Jeez.
“Give it back.”
I shake my head. “No.”
Somehow, by the grace of God himself, Posey manages to get the cake back into the garbage bin with my hands still in the shape of holding it. It all happened so fast.
Posey goes one step further. She reaches for the aloe plant on the windowsill and dumps some of its dirt into the trash on top of the delicious, moist cake.
“There. Now you’re done eating it.” She’s so satisfied, smiling like the Cheshire cat.
“You monster,” I hiss. “What do you plan on servin’ your friend Jana now, eh?” I purposely fuck up her friend's name, knowing she’s good and riled up. The claws on this house cat are suddenly virile. Her audacity to toss that cake in the trash has my head spinning.
Then to add insult to injury, she throws dirt on it?
Something my mother would have done to my pops when he pissed her off.
“How about you not worry about what I’m gonna do for my friend Anna, and worry about the fact that I’m mad at you?”
Well, duh. I shift on my heels and raise my arms a bit to show off my palms. “Can I at least wash my hands?”
She’s blocking the sink.
They’re full of frosting, and while the frosting is tasty, it doesn’t beat the taste of actual cake: my favorite part of the cake is cake.
As Posey steps aside so I can get closer to the faucet, I catch a whiff of her. I hadn’t noticed her wearing any kind of perfume before, but I’m noticing it now.
She smells like…good.
She smells good.
Maybe it’s the cake frosting, though; it’s everywhere in the kitchen, and she’s gonna have one hell of a time cleaning up the mess. After she tore the hunk out of my hands to toss it back into the trash, it made a mess all over, falling on the floor, frosting splattering on the cabinet front.
Bet she regrets it now, I chuckle to myself as I elbow the faucet on, squirting my palms with foaming soap, then rubbing them together.
Rinse.
Repeat.
Rinse.
Repeat.
She’s still standing close, clearly posturing by taking up more space than she needs to let me know who the boss is. Whose house this is.
Her rules.
Her cake.
Fine.
“I won’t eat nothin’ else without your permission.”
Posey rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say you couldn’t eat anything without my permission, but the cake, Duke? Come on, you don’t just grab the first thing you see and stick it in your mouth.”
I do, though.
I can.
Clearing my throat, I turn, taking the terry cloth towel she’s holding, and dry my hands. “I live alone, so I don’t have to share.”
“You’re not living alone right now.”
“I forgot.”
“So it seems.” Her lips are pressed together, and I notice that her lips match the bow in her hair.
A bow?
It’s cute—appropriate for a teacher who teaches small kids. Not sexy, though, but I doubt she gives a shit about that.
Posey is proper.
Proper Posey.
Josephine.
The name echoes in my brain as I watch her watching me, a blob of frosting on the front of her basic white T-shirt.
I reach to wipe it from her but remember myself. She likely doesn’t want me to touch her, and if she did, she’d likely want me to ask for permission.
I pull my hand back. “You have something right there.”
Awkwardly, I point, feeling stupid when she glances down. “Where?”
“There.”
I point again to her left breast, noticing it’s a decent-sized tit, pushing on her basic white T-shirt.
Both of them are.
Her jeans are cute. Tight.
My eyes stray to her feet. They’re bare, and her toes are painted hot pink.
Huh.
Cuter than a button, those toes.
I ‘huh’ again, forcing my gaze to the backyard. “Thinkin’ bout hangin’ that hammock between those trees—or should I hang it on the deck so it’s closer to the house?” I muse for her input.
Posey crosses her arms. “Think it’ll hold your ego up? It weighs a ton.”
“Sure, it’ll hold me—and my ego—just fine, don’t you worry.”
“Oh, I’m not worried. I wouldn’t mind watching you fall on your ass.”
She stomps off in a mood, leaving the lingering trail of her perfume behind.
And cake.
It’s everywhere, and someone has to clean it up off the floor. Judging by her departure, that someone was clearly meant to be me.
6
posey
I’m still pissed Friday night, though plenty of time has passed for me to get over the ‘Cake Incident’—a story I cannot share with Anna because then I would have to explain what Duke Colter is doing living in my house.
Duke Colter.
First-round draft pick.
Heisman Trophy Award winner.
One of four brothers.
Son of Derek Colter, legendary professional football player, four-time Super Bowl champion, three-time MVP, Hall of Famer, and famous sports broadcaster—may he rest in peace.