Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
This is all useless information that for some reason I took in today, because… I liked her. I even talked about myself, which is something I’ve never done much of. I don’t share myself with others easily—it’s different with Joy for some reason.
Still, I don’t need to tie myself up in knots over a girl and I don’t have time to invest in a long term thing. Today was good, but without a reward I don’t need to waste the effort. I have a damn deadline looming over my head.
I stare at my laptop. I could write, but I’m not feeling it tonight. I’ll take a shower, clear my head of all things Joy and start fresh tomorrow.
It sounds like an excellent plan, but when I get there even the hot water and steam fails to remove Joy from my mind. The feel of the water moving over my skin just makes me think more about her. Drying off, I imagine her drying me.
Christ. I need to get laid. I’ve been without a woman for far too long and for some reason Joy has started a fire in my blood. One that apparently she’s not willing to quench. Damn her.
I toss and turn for a few minutes and curse all things Christmas and blond women everywhere when I decide to quit fighting it. I flop to my back and grab my cock in my hand, closing my eyes and picturing Joy between my legs with those thick, lush, wet lips about to slide down on my cock and devour me.
I’ll make her swallow every drop for punishment.
Chapter 11
Joy
I’m insane… or maybe bipolar. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Especially since I’ve had one date with the man. Actually, I’m not sure you can call the day we’ve shared a date. Eh, it doesn’t matter either way. I’m going to his house to get laid after one non-date, first date. I’m pretty sure that equates to me being one of those scarlet women my grandmother used to talk about with her church friends, while shaking her head and clicking her tongue in disgust.
Luckily, grandmother is long gone and will never know her granddaughter is one of those fallen women. Of course she never liked me much either and now I’m probably going to hell for loose morals and thinking it’s good she’s dead. I guess I’ll see her again after all.
I stop raging a war with my brain when I come to Eb’s door. He didn’t close it. It’s pulled together, but not shut, there’s about a two-inch crack. Surely he didn’t mean to do that. It can be dangerous and his electric bill will skyrocket. He can’t mean to heat all of the outdoors. I frown at that thought, because now I’m even starting to sound like my grandmother.
I tighten my hands into fists a few times, trying to gather together my courage and then I knock on the door. I look, but I don’t see a doorbell. I wait for him to show up, or at least yell a response but a few minutes pass and there’s nothing. I knock again. Still nothing. I know he’s here, maybe he’s done with me since I just turned him down. Not that he knows this is me. I don’t think he could—unless there’s a camera around here. I look around trying to spot a security camera. How embarrassing would it be if Eb is watching me from his computer and laughing because I turned him down, but changed my mind. I frown, when I don’t see a camera or anything. I start to turn around, but instead I knock one last time. I need to get a grip. Maybe he was just in the restroom or something. He could be asleep, which is just another reason the door should have been closed and locked. Eb could be murdered or anything with his door open like that while trying to sleep. I start to pull it closed and then freeze. Images of Eb, lying in a pool of blood, bludgeoned to death by a hammer, which is lying close to his lifeless body, flash through my mind.
I watch way too many true crime shows, but still I am panicking. Before I can second guess myself I push his door open the rest of the way and walk through.
His house is dark. I use my hands to pat the wall, finding a light switch. Pale light floods the room. There’s a desk with a computer on it, and it looks like sticky notes have exploded all over the room. There is, however, not one sign of a murder or break in.
I start to back out of the room and run to my house, before Eb finds me and decides to call the police on me for breaking into his house, when I hear a moan. It’s faint but clearly a moan. I take a hesitant step forward when I hear it again. Now those visions of Eb’s bloody death come back to me and I walk hesitantly toward them. I see the canister of cookies I brought the other day, sitting on the edge of the desk. As self-defense goes it sucks, but I grab it. Maybe I can throw it at him and distract him enough to get away if he turns his knife on me.