Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
My mind also felt the need to conjure scenarios that hadn’t happened, in which we laughed off the whole weekend and called it a hookup. We ain’t right for each other, I heard him say. I agreed with him, the surroundings fuzzy, but I smelled coffee. Were we at the diner? Why did my stomach hurt?
Two Tops. More than that, two Tops who were into the same BDSM kinks. Two Tops who saw those kinks as more than kinks. It wasn’t role-play; it wasn’t a spice. It was a lifestyle with which we identified.
My headache had only grown worse when I woke up around seven to take a leak and call the office.
I promised I’d be there tomorrow instead and give a detailed report of my Georgia trip.
A couple Excedrin PM knocked me out till lunch.
“Ouch…” I groaned as I rolled out of bed.
A shower was in order, and it lasted long enough that the air in the bathroom became difficult to breathe. But at least the water had loosened the tension in my neck, and I felt marginally awake.
I needed to do laundry today. With a towel wrapped around my hips and Colt in the forefront of my mind, I picked out a pair of sweats and a tee from my closet and forced my sluggish mind to put together a list of things for me to do today.
I had to prepare the work report, so I powered up my computer before I left my bedroom. Colt had called me a city boy, and perhaps I was, but the Mercedes didn’t represent how I lived. It’d been a birthday present slash thank-you gift from my father when I turned twenty-five. I’d worked day and night for months to rebrand his agency, to give it a modern design and logo, including a new website and everything they produced in print, from business cards to the agents’ profiles. I’d also designed a guide for potential clients that many agencies tried to copy today. A guide with questions, explanations, options, and suggestions that could lead the way to a potential buyer’s dream home.
I hardly had a dream home of my own. I had a rather small one-bedroom apartment, but because the living room and kitchen blended together, along with a nook that was supposed to be a dining area, it felt more spacious.
My building was also old, and when they renovated a few years back to meet the demands of the fire department, they’d only retired the fire escape that ran vertically along the back. They hadn’t removed it. Meaning, the tenants now had a makeshift balcony.
Granted, you had to climb out the living room window to get there, but it was still a popular feature when I entertained friends here. My mother had made the area cozy with a chair, bistro lights, and some potted herbs that a neighbor of mine took care of. She watered my plants, and I fed her cat when she was out of town. It was a good deal.
Making my way to the kitchen, I could visualize Colt taking in the place. He’d criticize the walls, I was sure. White-painted brick with absolutely nothing on them, not counting the flat screen in the living room. I…just hadn’t gotten around to it. I would have to buy a drill bit that went through brick. I’d tried to compensate with tall shelves and a couple floor lamps, though it was still pretty bare.
As I waited for the coffee to brew, I surveyed my living room and wondered if there was anything here Colt would like. Or if it was all too modern for him. The floor, I guessed. A cowboy would like rustic wood. Right?
I shook my head at myself and—then my phone rang. I grabbed it off its stand on the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the space and saw my parents’ number on the display. I wasn’t surprised. By now, my parents had completed their lunch routine. He called her every day when he ate in his office. It was sweet.
“Afternoon, Mom.” I cleared my throat and grabbed one of the mugs that hung underneath the cupboards.
“Hi, honey,” she replied. “I spoke to your father. He said you’re sick? Is there anything I can do?”
“Nah, I’m okay.” I yawned and poured a mug. “The trip just knocked me out for a bit.”
“I figured it was somethin’ like that,” she murmured. “Are you still coming over for dinner later?”
Fuck, I’d forgotten. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
It was a reminder. Not only of dinner, but of the fact that I had my own life to get back to. I had a dinner party at a friend’s house next weekend, lunch plans with a few people from my kink community on Thursday… We were planning an event together.