Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“We can be friends.” Cal’s voice was gruff, but I still felt like I’d won a major victory in the war to break through Cal’s defenses.
Chapter Ten
Cal
I was bored. Rest made me itchy, like an allergy attack I couldn’t shake. I wanted to get started on my new job with Knox, wanted my replacement dive suit to arrive, wanted my stitches to heal, and wanted something, anything to do on this sleepy, dreary Monday. But no, I had to wait.
Alone.
Knox had called first thing, offering me the chance to work on a remodeling project, which was undoubtedly Holden’s doing. However, Knox had ordered me to rest until Wednesday, when he could use me for painting prep. I didn’t buy that he had no use for me until then, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to argue. Man wanted to give me a job, so I promised to rest even if my skin started crawling before I ended the call.
Holden had left for campus after taking me to the RV to collect my clothes and personal items. As he’d gathered papers and his laptop case, he’d added to Knox’s rest orders with an invitation to help myself to the fridge, avail myself of his many streaming options, and make myself at home, like I had the first clue how to do that.
Six years in my grandparents’ house, and I’d never once felt at home. Barracks rooms had been just that, rooms. And my RV was secondhand. Supposed it was as close to home as I’d come as an adult, but five years on, it continued to feel borrowed. And now it was done for, so it was probably for the best that I wasn’t sentimental.
And making oneself at home seemed to imply an ability to relax or perhaps an assortment of hobbies to fall back on. My weird nap the day before notwithstanding, I wasn’t the lay-around-all-day type. I did Holden’s breakfast dishes, gave the floor a good once-over because I hadn’t gotten to that the night prior, scrubbed the dining table, and finally gave up on cleaning after one too many protests from my neck.
Venturing into the living area, I perched in the center of the couch. I had limited taste in TV, having little regular access to recent shows, and strangely, I wanted to wait for Holden that evening to follow Timber’s dating adventures. We had a bet going that Eva from Dallas was a plant to stir up drama. He favored Marie from Tennessee for the final winner, while I thought she was too flashy. I thought the quieter Brandy from Minnesota might be a dark horse contender and, holy hell, how had we managed two episodes last night? Since when did I have opinions on dating shows? And why the hell had I been so…aware of Holden’s larger body next to mine? It was a tossup as to which had kept me more riveted to the TV for the second episode, Timber’s antics or the crackly awareness of Holden’s every breath.
Deciding my brain needed a purge from reality TV, I watched some of a World War II documentary, but my restlessness persisted. The living room felt too hollow, too big, too…something. Clearly, I was out of practice with being in an actual home, a place with multiple rooms, throw pillows, and surround-sound speakers. If possible, it was too welcoming, too spacious, and too cozy at the same time.
I headed back to my room. I’d already made the bed, placed my clothes in the dresser, and neatly stowed my duffel bag and backpack in the closet. Duffel. Unbidden, my mind drifted to a few specific items hidden deep in the bottom of the bag. Huh. That was one way to pass the time.
Others might call my twitchy inability to settle down horniness, but that wasn’t how I usually operated. An orgasm was a decent pinch-hitter for a sleeping pill and a good tension reliever, but on its own, it wasn’t something I often did as a time waster. Average porn clips did nothing for me, ditto dirty stories.
Add rope, though, or handcuffs, or any other type of restraints, and suddenly, I was plenty interested, dick included. Watching others be tied up wasn’t nearly as satisfying as doing it myself, although it was good for gathering ideas for solo rigging. I wasn’t sure when I’d first discovered that trapping one of my hands did it for me, took jerking off from perfunctory to mind-blowing, but over the years, I’d gone from lying on my right arm to tucking it into a loop of rope or tie to using a few specialty items, especially an electronic key case on a countdown timer.
Yeah, that was what I wanted, a solution to restlessness, inability to nap, and boredom all in one. Resolved, I spread a towel on the bed, stripped down, and used the headboard to stage my rigging. Since I had hours in front of me, I went for securing both hands and lying on my stomach. I found a comfortable position that didn’t put undue stress on my neck or stitches, even with my arms outstretched. If my key safe failed, I was a SEAL, and I could be free long before Holden came home from dinner.