Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
It wasn’t completely free of fear, though. The drive to the lake had me second-guessing things a few times.
Seeing the water as I walked through the crowd made my stomach churn. Sweat poured down my back. My skin felt far too tight and my heart beat a little too fast. I thought back to all my therapy sessions after losing my dad and tried to use the tools I’d been given.
Ground yourself.
Breathe.
Affirm.
I traced the trail of oxygen through my nose, down to my lungs, out again. I envisioned it all happening over a beautiful bright green meadow. I looked up at the sky and pictured my dad watching me, smiling, cheering both me and Ryan on.
I love you, Dad.
Tears had slipped down my cheeks. Anyone glancing my way probably assumed I’d been staring at the sun for a few seconds too long.
But the tears slowed to a stop almost instantly. A sense of calm filled me. It was as if my dad was giving me an invisible hug, his warmth slaying the fear that had resided in me for so long.
I’d made the right choice. I’d done it. I conquered my fears, and I was there to see my baby cross the finish line first. It was beautiful. And not just the moment, but the lake itself.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been to Starwood Lake. My family had spent a lot of days out on the lake, coming back in for a picnic. I hadn’t been back since my father passed.
Still, returning to the lake wasn’t the hardest part of today. I realized under the fear was a simmering excitement that burned bright now that I was back.
“Okay, keep the blindfold on,” I said as I drove us to the first part of the surprise. It wasn’t too far from the lake, only about fifteen minutes. I kinda lived for this part of California. It was nice. Much calmer than San Luco and more inland, so the beachy vibes weren’t as strong here. I drove into a residential neighborhood clustered with beautiful Spanish-style homes, of all different kinds of sizes, with beautiful landscaping and expensive cars sitting in the driveway.
“Where are we headed?” Ryan asked, smiling.
“None of your business,” I teased. My hand was in his, my thumb making soft circles against his skin.
“Okay, I’m pretty sure that’s what a serial killer would say.”
“Probably.” I chuckled and lifted his hand up to my lips. I kissed him. But I didn’t stop there. I took one of his fingers into my mouth and sucked, swirling my thumb around him, tasting his salty-sweet essence. “Would a serial killer do that?”
“Honestly… yeah, probably.” Laughter filled the car before Ryan spoke. “Do it again.” I smiled as I listened, giving Ryan what he wanted as I slowly pulled into the driveway.
“Alright,” I said, already getting hard at imagining something else between my lips. “You know, when we first met I thought you were a serial killer for a second. That or straight.”
“And there I was thinking you were some celebrity’s secret son. You walked around like you were already famous.”
“Damn, now I feel bad.”
“You should,” Ryan said, sticking out his tongue in my general direction. “Apologize to me.” He opened his legs, clearly teasing me.
“I’ll apologize later,” I reached for his lap and grabbed a handful. “I promise.”
“Mmm, keep doing that.”
I slowed into a parking spot. “Oh look, we’re here. “ Ryan groaned as I took away my hand. “Keep your blindfold on.”
“Oh man, I’m scared.”
“You should be,” I said, putting the car in park. I hopped out and went over to the passenger-side door. I opened it and guided Ryan out of the car and to the front door of the house.
The key was left inside of a lockbox. I put in the passcode and grabbed the key. The street we were on was a cul-de-sac tucked away at the top of a high hill. The neighborhood was quiet, with a chorus of loud cicadas being the loudest things around. The street lamps were already beginning to click on as night started to fall.
I opened the door and led Ryan inside first before I turned the lights on.
My eyes went wide. Even I was surprised. “Okay,” I said, turning to a blindfolded Ryan. “You can take it off now.”
“Perfect,” he said, and started to unzip his shorts.
I laughed at that. “The blindfold. Although you can drop your shorts if you want.”
“Eh, fuck it.” He did exactly that, unzipping and letting his shorts fall to his ankles. He wore a sexy pair of all-black Armani briefs, his package making them seem full as fuck. He then went for the blindfold, untying it and dramatically taking it off.
His eyes opened as wide as mine had. “Holy shit,” he said, grinning wide.
We stood in one of the more difficult Airbnbs to snag. A home put together by a famous Palm Springs designer, merging modern art deco together with mid-century modern designs. All throughout were beautiful sculptures of naked and half-naked men, and pops of color from paintings that were likely more expensive than the car I drove here in.