Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“You sound fun, and I sound boring as fuck,” I reply solemnly, and she laughs.
“No, you don’t,” she retorts, playfully bumping my side with her shoulder. “You sound like a good dad, who’s doing the best he can for his daughter. I’m sure Michelle would be proud of you. I am.”
That brings me up short. I’ve never really wondered what Michelle would think about how I’ve parented Grace. We stepped into that role together initially, but in the aftermath, I simply did my best. Admittedly, I haven’t always been good enough, but I’m still trying, every single day.
I smile as I confess, “That means a lot to me.”
“It should. I don’t hand out compliments very often,” she answers, her eyes sparkling as they dance over me, because yes, she does. And somehow, for such a landmine-filled conversation, she’s brought it back to somewhere safer and lighter. But there’s mystery building in her gaze. “You know what you need to do now?”
Fuck. Come hard and long, and probably a few times.
It’s my instant answer, and though I try to dismiss it just as quickly and even pretend I didn’t have the thought, it’s there. Loud and insistent. I’m ashamed to say that sex was a too-often coping mechanism for a while, especially when I laid off the drinking. It’s hard to be sad when you’re mid-fuck, but the rebound after it’s over is a cruel bitch.
Narrowing my eyes, I carefully ask, “What?”
She smiles fully, showing that cute little fang tooth I love to see, and then touches my chest with a single finger. “Tag, you’re it.”
And while I’m sitting here confused as hell, she runs off, zigzagging through the yard while glancing back over her shoulder. I watch her, running and laughing, then stopping to wave at me like ‘come on’ with a bright grin.
My thoughts whirl. Has she gone crazy? I’m a grown adult, one who just shared his biggest and heaviest trauma. I’m certainly not playing tag like a child at recess. The idea is preposterous.
But she could get hurt running around in the dark. She could trip over a rock—not that there are any in the perfectly manicured, artificial turf lawn—or more likely, trip over her own feet because she’s still looking back, trying to gauge whether I’m coming to get her or not.
I cannot believe I’m going to do this.
It’s for her own protection, I tell myself. It has nothing to do with having fun or being silly.
I am neither of those things, and acting as such won’t change that. Still, I switch off the fireplace and feign going for the back door like I’m heading inside. “Good night, weirdo,” I call out. I hear her tiny huff of disappointment and know she’s let down her guard.
And like the expert chess player that I am, that’s when I strike, spinning and giving chase. It takes her a split second to react, but then she jumps and exclaims, “Oh! Shit!”
She runs.
And I chase her.
It’s playful, and to my surprise, it is fun, cleansing tonight of the weight it’s held. But it also fires up a primal instinct I would’ve said I didn’t possess, because I’m not only trying to catch Riley. I’m hunting her, pursuing her around the yard like prey. Prey with jingling bracelets that taunt and excite me, getting louder every time I get close and she pumps her arms to run away faster.
So though we’re huffing and puffing, and laughing as she dashes out of my reach time and time again—which I’m letting her do because I’m enjoying the game—I am rock fucking hard as I reach for her pink hair, watch her curves sway with every step, and enjoy the occasional glances of her mischievous smile in the dim light of the patio.
She stops suddenly, bending forward to put her hands on her knees, and I can hear her panting. I slow, suspicious that it’s a trick. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she gasps. “I just don’t run every day like you do. Me and cardio are not friends.”
I chuckle. I never thought my daily treadmill runs would be training for this, but here I am. “You’re supposed to be the young one. I’m the old guy,” I joke.
Riley snorts a laugh. “You” —she peers up at me, pointing an accusing finger my way— “are not old. But right now, I feel ancient. Turn around.”
Not sure what she’s up to now, I give her my back but look over my shoulder in case she decides to sneak attack me. I wouldn’t put it past her. Hell, it’s basically her MO at this point, given the way she keeps shocking me.
“Good, bend down.”
I recognize the position she’s in and start, but force my smile to stay in place. Riley reaches for my shoulders and then jumps up, landing on my back, and I instinctively catch beneath her knees.