Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“They’re temporary! They’re temporary!” Veronica yelled, running in behind them. She was barefoot, wearing that flowery skirt and top again, the one that tied behind her neck and back and showed some of her stomach if she moved in just the right way. Her hair was up, but damp pieces fell in soft curls around her face.
“I hope so,” I said, setting my saw aside to examine Owen’s skinny right arm. “You’ve got more ink than Uncle Xander.”
“Look, this one is like yours, Daddy.” Adelaide shoved her elbow in my face and pointed at her deltoid. “It’s a bear.”
“I see that,” I said, although the smiling animal on her arm looked more like Winnie the Pooh than the grizzly on my shoulder.
“Do I look like a rock star?” Owen asked, playing air guitar along to the music on my speakers.
“Totally.” I looked up at Veronica, who seemed relieved I wasn’t mad. “Got any tattoos?”
Her cheeks turned a little pink. “Uh, none that are visible.”
Great, now I could add that to the list of things about her body I fantasized about. I’d managed to respect the physical boundaries we’d set without any problem so far, but my mind? That was another matter entirely.
If I had to add up all the minutes I’d spent thinking about her over the past fourteen days, the sum total would be embarrassing. But I couldn’t help it. There was something about her that got to me. It was her looks, sure, but it was also the easy rapport she had with the kids and my dad, the kindness she showed to everyone around her, the way she remembered everyone’s names and something about them, how quick she was to offer a hand with anything. She’d signed herself and the kids up to walk a 5K benefiting a nearby animal rescue, and said yes to a request that she teach a free dance class for senior citizens at the weekly 65-plus mixer at the library.
With every passing day, I was more impressed by her generosity, her work ethic, and her ability to find silver linings. Sometimes I’d overhear the kids ask about her childhood or life in New York City or what it was like to perform on stage every night, and she answered all their questions with patience and excitement, like she was glad to be asked. One night I overheard her telling them how an occasional shoe would fly off into the audience during routines with lots of kicks—the sound of the kids’ laughter made me smile.
There were things I wanted to know about her too, but I tried hard to maintain a professional distance between us.
Especially after dark.
After saying goodnight to the kids, I’d usually go back out to the garage and work on something. I would see her walk from the back door of the house to the stairs leading up to her apartment, and she always lifted a hand and called goodnight, but she never stopped to talk.
I’d hear her feet moving around above me, and I’d turn off my music so it wouldn’t keep her awake. Sometimes I heard the TV, sometimes I’d hear her talking with a friend, and I’d go perfectly still, trying to hear what she was saying about her life here or catch my name, but I couldn’t ever make anything out.
Then the shower would come on, and I’d imagine her taking off her clothes, getting beneath the water, and moving her hands all over her body. After a few minutes, the water would shut off and I’d picture her stepping out, dripping wet, reaching for her towel. After rubbing it all over her skin, she’d hang it up and walk into her bedroom naked, where she’d pull that white T-shirt over her head before crawling into bed. (In my fantasy, she never wore underwear.) Then she’d lie there and think about me in the garage beneath her and hope I’d come up and knock on her door.
I’d be hot and sweaty after a day’s work, covered in sawdust and grime, but she wouldn’t care. She’d act surprised to see me, maybe she’d even pretend she didn’t want this. She might say things like we can’t, we shouldn’t, we better not . . . but all the while she’d be backing up toward the bedroom.
She wanted this. Of course she did.
And I would—
“Austin?”
Jolted out of my daydream, I realized I was standing there in front of her and my kids. Immediately I went and stood behind the table I was working on, since my dick was clearly trying to get her attention. “Sorry, what?”
“Is it okay if we order pizza for dinner?” She sighed. “I think the kitchen and I need a little space in our new relationship.”
I laughed. “It’s fine with me. Xander is supposed to stop by, so get enough for him too.”