Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Instead of wanting her less, I just want her more.
Man oh man am I in trouble.
3
Becca
It’s a very strange feeling looking at my father’s bedroom door and feeling turned on. It almost makes me feel perverse, guilty, or twisted in some way, but then I remind myself that it’s not my father who’s sleeping back there today, but his gorgeous, sexy, fearsome friend Dax who’s come to protect and watch over me while he’s away.
Dax doesn’t know I was watching out the window last night when he got rid of Trevor. He doesn’t know how badly it turned me on to see him stand up for me like that or how I could barely sleep last night thinking about the display of raw, unbridled masculinity he put on out there. And what’s worse is the fact that I can’t get it out of my head that it was all for me.
I woke up when the sun was just creeping over the horizon, feeling hot and bothered and tingly all over. I took a colder shower than normal, but it had no effect on the foreign feelings coursing through my body.
I spent a half hour on my makeup and then another twenty minutes trying to figure out what to wear for him. Finally, I settled on a pair of shorts like I was wearing last night, but lime-green instead of red, a pair of striped high socks and a simple white T-shirt. It’s oversized and comfortable but also has been washed so many times that it’s practically see-through, and I’m not wearing a bra underneath.
It’s perfect. If Dax says anything, which he won’t, I can tell him the socks are because my feet are cold, and the T-shirt is just really comfortable. But of course he won’t say anything because he’s my dad’s best friend, and that would be irresponsible of him to comment on what I’m wearing.
But he will notice. I want him to notice.
I want him to drag his eyes over every inch of my body and then do something about it. I don’t know what. I couldn’t say. I’ve never had any real experience with a guy before, let alone a real man like Dax. All I know is that just being in his presence has awakened a feminine side of me I never knew existed, and I can’t stop thinking about making meals for him, ironing his clothes, or massaging his big, muscular back.
What’s wrong with me? I think as I shift my position on the couch. I should be thinking about how my dad’s doing in jail, not about whether Dax likes his eggs scrambled or over easy.
Just then, the door to my dad’s bedroom opens, and Dax walks out wearing a pair of gym shorts and a wife-beater tank top stretched over his broad chest muscles. I never realized how big his arm muscles were until this moment.
Does he work out or is he just genetically gifted? I can’t see a man like Dax actually going to a gym.
“Morning,” he says simply as he enters the room. “And happy birthday. I, uh…I didn’t get you anything.”
“Oh, thank you! That’s fine, I didn’t expect you to.” I reply cheerfully. “And I’m so sorry about last night. That’s Trevor, and he’s always been harassing me and—”
“Don’t,” Dax interrupts with a shake of his head. “Don’t ever apologize for the actions of dickhead guys.”
This makes me smile, and I try my best not to blush as I catch his eyes wandering over my body as he checks out my outfit.
It’s working…
“Want some breakfast?” he asks.
“Oh, no!” I reply, jumping up. “I’ll make it. How do you like your eggs?”
I quickly grab a pan and put it on the stove. Dax cocks his head to the side and examines me like I’ve lost my mind.
“What?” I ask.
“You can cook?”
“Don’t act so surprised,” I reply. “My dad taught me a few things.”
Dax smiles, and I practically melt inside.
“Scrambled is fine,” he says.
“That’s how I like mine too. Great minds think alike?”
Dax doesn’t reply. He just heads to the cabinet and pulls out the bread, then goes to the fridge and finds the jam. “Strawberry okay?”
“My favorite,” I say as I begin scrambling the eggs. “I can make bacon too.”
“That would be great. But you have to let me help—”
“No, I don’t,” I reply quickly. “You go sit over there at the table and let me cook. It’s the least I can do for what you did last night – for everything you’re doing by even being here and looking after me.”
Again, Dax smiles as he goes and takes a seat at the table, and my stomach gets all bubbly as a sense of pride swims through me. I’ve made breakfast for my dad before, but never for anybody else, and certainly not for a man as astonishingly handsome as Dax.