Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“No problem. Gutting the kitchen might get moved up the list sooner rather than later. I’ll also need to work morning, noon, and night, weekends and holidays. Don’t tell Mom, though,” I tease, though the potential really is there.
“Your secret is safe with me. You should have a text. It goes without saying, you’re not hurt, right?”
“Oh, I’m fine. My pride and wallet are taking the biggest hit. Thanks, Pops. I’m going to make a call, get the ball rolling so I can get back to work. Love you,” I respond, looking around the kitchen at the disarray. It’s going to stay like this, too, until I study my bank account and finagle a few things around.
“Good, I’m glad. Love you, too, sweetheart.” We hang up. I look down at the phone and see his text.
Dad: Blue Valley Contractor.
With the number following.
10
TRACE
I should not be running the risk of a neighbor noticing my truck driving through the neighborhood more than once a day. Too bad I’m thinking with the head between my legs instead of the one on top of my shoulders, doing anything for another glance of Josie, any way I can have her. After working at Cooper’s all morning well into the early afternoon until we had to stop for the day, knowing when we took this project on it would mean starting around seven, right as the sun was cresting over the horizon and closing down after lunch. Cooper’s Steakhouse opens around three in the afternoon during the weekdays, and he and Gia didn’t want anything to deter their customers from enjoying their time eating. We knew this ahead of time. It also helped me out, big time, being able to jump back and forth between job sites while still getting off early enough in the day. Hell, it’s still early for me. After this drive-by situation, I’m going to head home, open the garage, and work. My hands are itching to build something new, to switch my mind off from everything swirling around.
My truck turns into Whispering Pines, the blinker the only noise in my truck, choosing to drive with the radio off and my phone on silent. My mind is enough of a jumbled mess on its own; I don’t need music or talk radio to add to it. If things progress the way I want them to, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do as it is, mainly to Wes and my parents. I’ve got a feeling my folks won’t have an issue. Wes, on the other hand, that may be a different story entirely. It won’t matter that he and Raquel are engaged. He’ll still be pissed that I broke his trust in a roundabout way.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, seeing a neighbor wave to me as I drive further into the development. I return the salute knowing this will have to be my last time coming around this area until Josie knows exactly whose town she’s in. I only hope is she doesn’t see Wes and go running. From what he told me, once they were both back in college, she dumped him over a cup of coffee, and the two never saw one another again. Of course, bringing that up wasn’t easy, having to ask in a way that didn’t raise a suspicion. Thankfully, he didn’t think anything of it, and he was already on to the next girlfriend the next time he was home. I take the winding curve, following it until I hit the same spot I was in last night, backing my truck in, hopeful to get another look at Josie. I should have brought my damn binoculars, then I’d be guaranteed a glimpse. It’d also move me more into a creeper status versus the semi-state of stalker behavior I’ve adopted. It doesn’t take me long to back into the driveway once again, noticing it’s Daniel’s sign in the front of the house, meaning he’d have no problem covering me should a neighbor start making some kind of noise. Clearly, yesterday and this morning, my vision was only on one person—Josie Prescott. I don’t bother pretending to work; there’s no use in that. Instead, I get comfortable for a few minutes, my body perking up when I see movement through the front street-facing window.
The door opens, and there Josie is, hair piled on top, wrap of some kind of floral fabric around her head, cheeks flush, a white tank top plastered on her upper body. My cock lengthens in my jeans. My thoughts are running wild with what she’d look like if I had a better view. Would her nipples be tight and pebbled? Would her skin still feel as soft as it once did? And would she respond to me like she was made for me and only me? Remembering the heat, the chemistry, the air surrounding us was coated with the scent of her arousal. My eyes drop to her lower abdomen, bare from her shirt riding up.There’s a new adornment that wasn’t years ago, the metal shining with the reflection of the sun. My mouth waters, wanting to see Josie in nothing, body slick with sweat and desire, watching me the entire time as I lick a path from the pulse point of her neck. Then I’ll slide down the slope of her chest, stopping along the way, getting a deep pull of each nipple in my mouth, sucking the tip until her core is rising against my body, trying to get herself off while I do my damnedest to control the situation. It’s been too many years since I’ve had a taste of the woman I’ve currently got my eyes on, and now I’m dying to see if that piercing is her only one. “Fuck,” I groan, licking my lips. The shorts she has on do nothing to conceal her tight body. Josie turns around in that moment, bending over, giving me and the whole fucking neighborhood a bird’s eye view. Not for a second do I think these old geezers aren’t sitting on their porch ecstatic their new tenant is giving them the view of the Goddamn century. When she turns back around, her hands are full of broken-down boxes. She looks exasperated with the amount under each of her arms, pushing her breasts up in the sweetest fucking offer. Christ, I’m not sure how I’m going to last until I get home. This woman has a hold on me that I never saw coming. Josie walks around the side of the house, flips the lid open, and stuffs the boxes inside, pushing each one down until it’s practically overfilled, getting annoyed for some reason. She has me going from groaning in need, growling at the thought others are watching her, to now chuckling she gets flustered over cardboard boxes. A fucking anomaly I’m going to learn about in every way possible. I watch as she finishes beating her fists to push it down, and with a move I’d never thought possible, both her hands grip the sides of the recycling bin, lifting her body up until her feet are planted inside, and she’s jumping up and down.