Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 19169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 96(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 96(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
When I crawled into bed last night, god help me, her tight shirt and rolling curves were still at the forefront of my mind. I managed to keep my hands off my dick, but after a while, instinct took over. I started grinding my dick against the bed, imagining April beneath me. Her soft thighs cradling my hips as I drove my cock home, hard and deep, until I made a mess of my sheets.
By the time her truck pulled into my driveway at six-thirty sharp, I’d convinced myself she was a cosmic prank. A fever dream cooked up by my unconscious on account of not having gotten laid in over two years.
But April wasn’t a dream. She was there, at my front door, with a box in her arms and a smile on her face, far too bright-eyed for just past the ass crack of dawn.
I carried her mattress upstairs and showed her where the vacuum and other cleaning supplies are stored before I left for work. All day, I’ve been picturing her alone in my house, dusting and vacuuming her new bedroom, carrying boxes up and down the stairs, working up a gorgeous sheen.
The light turns green, and I hit the gas. I tell myself my mouth is only watering because I can smell the hot pizza on the seat beside me, but my body’s not convinced. The closer I get to April, the faster my heart beats.
Seeing her truck parked in my driveway brings me far more satisfaction than it has any right to. I park in front of the barn and pop inside to toss some kibble into the cat’s dish—no sign of the furry beast today, but he’s been known to go MIA on occasion.
The air inside the house feels charged with anticipation. I leave my boots and tools in the mudroom and bring the pizza to the kitchen. Besides the clean glass in the strainer, there’s no sign of April’s presence.
“He—” I cough to clear my throat, not used to having to yell in my own house. “Hey, I brought dinner, if you’re hungry.”
Silence.
I scrub my beard and sigh. Maybe she’s in class, or on the phone with a friend—or a guy. The thought of some greasy philosophy major reciting his overplayed schtick in her ear sharpens my hackles into spikes. Practically speaking, I’ve got no claim to April. I’m just her landlord. It’s not my place to be jealous of other men in her life, just like it’s not my responsibility to feed her.
But part of me likes the idea of going out into the world every day and bringing home sustenance. It’s a primal feeling, like returning from the hunt, only instead of a wildebeest, I’ve ventured into the wilds and brought back pepperoni with extra cheese.
I’m aware of how pathetic that sounds as I comb my fingers through my graying hair. A luscious young thing like April would never be interested in a roughneck like me. I’ve been an old dog for so long, I’ve forgotten how to be a predator. If she’s Little Red Riding Hood, skipping through the forest in a short skirt, I’m the hulking wolf in her grandmother’s nightgown, salivating over her thighs from the next room.
What I wouldn’t give for a taste of what’s between them...
I’ve gotta get a fucking grip on myself. Any other night, I’d crack open a cold one and eat the whole pizza without her. But I want to at least try and set the precedent that I’m not just the old guy she lives with. I’m the old guy who cares about whether she goes to bed hungry. What’s mine is hers, even if she isn’t. I’ll go check on her, let her know there’s food, and be done with it.
I march upstairs and knock twice on her bedroom door. It swings open, thanks to the broken latch. I hear water running in the attached bath, which explains why she didn’t hear my first announcement. I spot the orange tabby I’ve been feeding, sprawled out on her bed like he owns the place.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” I mumble. He yawns at me.
A splash of purple above April’s bed grabs my attention. She’s hung a tapestry on the wall and brought in a chair and a small bedside table with drawers. The wood floors look cleaner than they’ve ever been, and while the purple curtains she put up are a few inches too long, they take attention away from the dated floral wallpaper.
My gaze snags on the tripod and light setup next to April’s bed.
“What the hell...” I move into the room to get a closer look at the expensive-looking Nikon camera. From this angle, it’s clear that the purple tapestry has been hung as a backdrop for whatever’s happening on the bed.