Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
A knock sounds from the stairwell, and my head snaps in that direction. I freeze, crouched down in the small kitchen. Do I answer it? Holler “come in”? No, I can’t do that. I should go see who it is, I don’t know anybody to be shouting come in to. Setting the rag I just found on the counter, I kick the cabinet door shut and hurry down the stairs. The dark stairwell darkening more the farther down I go. Who all knows I’m here? Fuck, what if it’s my dad?
Hand on the door handle, I stop myself from opening it. “Who is it?” My voice carrying down the steps and reverberating back up.
“Thane.” His rugged voice replies back, and my stomach drops as if I were on a roller coaster ride. Will it ever get easier seeing him? Masking my emotions, I unlock the door, he steps back giving the door a wide birth and I can’t help but notice his hair is damp as if he just showered, his pretty boy eyes shining like a Ken doll this morning, well one fresh out of jail with that heart tattoo next to his eye. His unbuttoned white dress shirt gives the pleasurable view of his hard chest with washboard abs tapering down into a pair of light washed jeans, you’d think he was sculpted from the gods if you could see what I do.
“Hey, get settled in okay?” He raises his hand and ruffles his hair, eyes looking me up and down. God, things change over time but some things don’t, like the way he looks at me.
“I um, I just started unpacking actually.” I prop my hip on the doorframe, crossing my arms.
God, his eyes, they’re still so blue. Upon closer inspection, they have gold flecks in the irises. Were they always like that? It reminds me of treasure in the deep depths of the Mediterranean Sea. Good Lord, listen to me melting over his eye color, what’s gotten into me. I force myself to look away and remind myself of the hurt I bore after he vanished.
He places one hand on the wall just above my head and leans closer to me. A citrusy clove scent taking me down memory lane to when him and I fooled around in the front of his truck, I can’t help the long inhale my body forces me to take. My skin smelled of him for a couple days until it faded and I could never get that smell back. I’d lay on my bed and try to remember that scent for far too long. I can’t believe even after all these years he still wears the same cologne. I’ve never smelled anything like it before, it’s very distinct.
“Need any help?”
His face inches from mine, my body coming alive from his nearness. My nails dig into my palms to keep my inner slut at bay.
“Nah, I don’t have much,” I respond, barely able to get the words out because the look he’s giving me is telling me he doesn’t have any intention of helping me unpack my things right now. He wants more. He wants to fuck. My tongue slips across my bottom lip and my body flushes with the thoughts of re-kindling an old flame, but everything that happened afterward years ago reminds how burned I got and I duck out from under his hovering body.
I’m not sixteen anymore. I don’t have to jump at the first guy I see, afraid there won’t be another opportunity to be with someone. Besides, I know these biker guys. He probably has an ol’ lady and because we have history, I’m a pass or some shit.
“So, are you married? Got kids?” I carefully ask, trying to take a turn from the sexual tension escalating in the room to a possible family he might have waiting for him at home.
“Fuck that! I got way too much going on to settle down and fuck no to any kids.” His answer is so cold and blunt I feel as if he just pulled out a knife and slit my throat for asking.
I’m not about labels or anything, but he practically just said he has better things to do than get to know a female any farther than their panty line. Wow, maybe not finding him when we were kids was for the best. If I had found him and he said that to me at such a vulnerable age, I probably would have broken. Fucking boys, they’re such assholes. I should consider myself lucky being able to pick myself up and move on (for the most part) from the guy who was my first.
Reaching for the door, conveying I’ve got everything handled and we’re done here, I start to close it on him. I need space from him. I wasn’t expecting him to be here to begin with and now he’s hitting on me. I can’t handle this shit. It’s taking everything I have to keep the sixteen-year-old girl within me from slapping him across the face. Then again, my brother cutting him up probably didn’t help things either. I know if I were him, I wouldn’t be reaching out for a second date after something like that happened.