Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Fuck! What am I doing? I can’t be having these thoughts. Yet, I know the truth, which is that Christy has everything to fear from me … and even worse, I can feel my control slipping.
2
Bart
I can’t believe this is my life. Natch. I can believe this is my life and yet there’s a dreamlike quality to it all because Christy and I live in close quarters now, and yet it hasn’t been awkward at all.
Everything works like clockwork, actually. In the mornings, Christy rises from the bed with a waggle of her big behind and a gentle smile at my huge form. She makes breakfast for both of us before leaving for work, which gets me agitated because I’ve never liked her boss, John Elliston. But he pays a decent wage at Tootsie’s, and that money supports us right now, so I guess I should be grateful.
Still, I hate the fact that my gorgeous stepdaughter is within spitting distance of John all day. That fucker’s probably ogling her and making all sorts of rude comments, but I know the brat’s more than capable of handling him.
Yet there’s no sense in getting steamed under the collar because what I need to do is to find a job so that I can get us out of this shithole, and Christy out of her craptastic job. As a result, I attack my employment search ferociously every morning. I write personalized cover letters, and I’ve polished my resume until it’s practically shining. But despite sending out over two hundred inquiries, I have yet to hear back. It’s pretty fucking disappointing. You’d think some of these places would at least be professional and send a rejection letter, but instead, silence reigns supreme. It’s as if I’ve shot my applications into outer space, and they’ve been consumed by the void.
But still, I continue. After all, what choice do I have? I want to provide for my beautiful stepdaughter, and finding a new job is the first step. So I buckle down and continue to send out resumes, even if it kills me on the inside.
But by the time my stepdaughter gets back from work in the evenings, my mood has lifted. I generally put away my laptop at around 4 p.m. or so and start cooking. Yes, I’m that kind of guy. I’m not afraid that domestic chores make me effeminate or weak. If anything, I like to eat good food and the food that comes from my stove is not only healthy, but tastes great too. As a result, I’m somewhat of a gourmet chef.
Besides, I love seeing Christy’s face when she steps inside and gets a whiff of the meal on the stove. Today was no exception. The door opened, and then the beautiful brunette pranced inside with her pretty features alight and brown curls bouncing.
“Let me guess – lasagna?” she asks while lifting her dainty nose for a sniff at the air.
“You got it,” I growl, prepping some veggies on the minuscule counter. “Go ahead and shower, honey. Everything will be ready by the time you get out, including some garlic bread that I just threw in the oven.”
“Oooh, garlic bread!” she squeals, clapping her hands like an excited little girl. “My fave! This is going to be so good.”
I grin lopsidedly at her.
“It will. Now git,” I command, nodding my chin at the bathroom.
With that, Christy rushes off to the bathroom, grabbing her towel and bathrobe from a hook on the wall. Then, the door shuts and I’m left to my vegetables once again. Goddamn, the air’s practically vibrating with promise because she’s home. She turns everything inside out, and what had been a bad day has suddenly become good.
But I turn back to my cutting board.
Stop behaving like a perv, I scold myself. You’re the brat’s stepfather. What would Sharon think if she knew?
Well, your wife’s dead, the devil on my shoulder whispers in my ear. So it’s not an issue because Sharon will never find out.
I stop, and press my fingers to my temples while closing my eyes. I can’t keep going on like this, with the devil and the angel having constant debates. But the problem is that Christy is so tempting, nubile, and young that whenever she’s around, I’m basically semi-hard in my pants. Fuck.
I shove the vegetables away and take a deep breath. My head’s pounding and the blood is rushing through my veins. I need to step out for some fresh air to re-set my brain because otherwise, this meal is going to be a disaster.
With a grunt, I pull my coat off the hook on the wall with every intention of vacating. But then my feet stop in their tracks because somehow, the bathroom door has swung open slightly. Christy must not have latched it fully shut, and now, I can see through a crack in the door. The shower’s right there, the air steamy and hot.