Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
“Don’t spill, don’t spill, please don’t spill,” I say a little mantra as I head back toward Fletcher’s bedroom. I’m shuffling my feet instead of taking full steps, worrying the coffee will slosh over the side of the mugs and burn my hands. Luckily for me and Fletch, he doesn’t have a massive house. I’d probably be up shit’s creek without a paddle. Especially if he had a two-story house with a master on the top floor. Me and stairs are not friends. I learned that lesson when I was a teenager at my grandparents’ house. A broken arm and badly bruised tailbone from running up and down the stairs with my cousins taught me a valuable lesson. Sadly, it’s one that has stuck with me, and till this day, I will be overly cautious when at the rare occurrence I have to use them.
I enter the bedroom and stop abruptly in my tracks. Fletcher is standing in the doorway of the bathroom, hands up and resting on the frame, wearing nothing but a towel, and I nearly swallow my tongue. A tremble works its way up my body. The mugs clinking together spurs Fletch into action.
“Woman.” He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth. My eyes eat him up with every move he makes toward me. I have no idea where to keep my gaze. He pulls me in without so much as a whisper of a touch. “You’re going to burn yourself. Don’t do something like that again, especially when I can easily help.” My hands are divested of the cups of coffee, and Fletcher puts them on the dresser, uncaring that the heat could ruin the wood, before he repeats the process with the plate.
“I had it.” Probably not the best response, but you look at a man like the one before me and try to formulate a full sentence.
“Yeah, you do have it, Delilah.” We’re not talking about what I was carrying. “I take your mouth right now, I’ll be late for work, and after taking time off, the last thing I can be is late.” I glance at his alarm, noticing that time is dwindling down, and move to sit on the dresser in preparation of watching Fletcher’s every move.
“Alright.” His hands go to my hips, helping lift me up on the dresser, then he proceeds to give me the show I’ve been waiting for. My hand reaches for my mug of coffee, and I take a sip while I watch every step of Fletch getting ready for work. He drops his towel, not in the least bit abashed by his state of undress, and it’s clear as day I’m not the only one feeling the need to feel him between my legs again. What I don’t expect is to enjoy the show of Fletcher Wild getting dressing in his uniform. As a little girl, when I watched my father do similar, it was with hero worship and stars in my eyes. As I got older and noticed the dark circles beneath Mom’s eyes, I knew the reasoning. We all did. He’d kiss us both goodbye, and maybe he’d come home after his shift, maybe he wouldn’t. There was always a piece of me that said I’d never put myself in the same boat as my mom. Except I’m watching Fletch step into a pair of denim jeans, then grab his uniform shirt, all crisp lines and with his name attached to it. The shirt does not wear him; he wears the shirt. And now I know without uncertainty that there’s no denying it’ll be me up pacing the floors late at night when I’m waiting on Fletcher to come home. My thumb goes to my mouth, and I nibble on my nail, nerves starting to take over. We haven’t even said I love you to one another, yet I can already feel them ready to slip off my tongue.
“You good, Delilah?” He takes me off guard after he buttoned up his shirt.
“Me? Yeah. Actually, I probably should be getting ready, too.” I move to hop off the dresser, my stomach in knots, but he blocks my path. Thinking about loving and losing someone in the same breath isn’t for the faint of heart.
“Stay as long as you want. I’ll leave you a set of keys. You can come and go as you please.”
“Are you sure about that?” I ask.
“Yep.” He’s direct and succinct in his statement.
“I’ll make you a key for my place, too.” Fletch tilts his head to the side. He’s about to say no, so I do what I always do when it comes to getting the last word in. I place my finger on his lips and say, “I know things will be tricky right now, but one day, you’ll be able to use it, too.” His hand finds my wrist, pulling my finger from his lips, and he nips at the tip. He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he steps closer, kissing me into silence and telling me in a different way he likes my idea.