Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 81745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
I ride until my legs are jelly, then step off and grab a towel. After wiping my face, I finish off a bottle of water. Looking up, I see it’s almost eleven o’clock, and I smile, knowing I’m about to talk to Layla.
Walking over to the bike, I grab my phone and sit down on the workbench to call her number. I don’t know if she’s going to answer. She usually sends me to voice mail. Fuck, it took me two months to finally figure out her number, but I did.
As the phone rings, I put it on speakerphone and look out the window at the shining sun. After the fourth ring, I’m about to hang up when she answers the phone. “Hey there, hotcakes.” She laughs, and I groan.
“It’s all fun and games until people get naked,” I tell her, and she laughs even louder. “How is Grandma today?”
“She’s fabulous,” she tells me. “Slept twelve straight hours, then woke up and decided to do a little yoga in my living room.”
“Jesus, I guess Luigi really wore her out.” I shake my head.
“You didn’t let me get to the best part of the story. She did her yoga on her canvas that you left on my front lawn.”
It’s my turn to laugh now. “It’s not funny.” She tries not to laugh. “Do you know how much bacteria is on the mat?”
“I mean, the bodily fluid alone will have your house lighting up under a black light.” I point out, taking another gulp of water.
“Yeah, whatever,” she says. I hear her taking a sip of something, and I wonder where she is right now. Is she in her kitchen at the table? Is she dressed or still in a robe? “At least I didn’t want to cry when I saw a man naked.”
“What are you talking about?” I huff out. “I see naked men almost every day.” She laughs. “Not like that, pervert.”
“According to Grandma, the minute you saw Luigi’s sausage, you looked like you were going to cry.” I love hearing her laughter. It’s so carefree, and she’s never really laughed around me before. I’m used to seeing her glare and having her be snippy.
“It was shock.” I gape. “Shock at seeing not one person naked but two people in front of me naked. Two people I just met,” I say, my voice going louder.
“Oh, please,” she says, and I can almost see her rolling her eyes. “Like you’ve never had a threesome before.”
“Okay, one.” I start. “I’ve never been in or had a threesome.”
“Yeah, right.” She sings the words. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
“Gorgeous, there is one thing I never do, and that is lie.” I look out the window. “There is nothing worth lying about. With that said, I’ve never had a threesome.” My voice goes low. “Besides, when I’m with a woman, I want to spend all my time worshiping her. You’ll see,” I slip it in and then continue. “So when are you going to make it up to me?”
“How about tomorrow or the next five days?” she says.
“I get home Tuesday night, and then we have games on Thursday and Saturday. But I have Sunday free before we leave on Monday for an eight-day road trip. God, this month is going to suck so bad.” I close my eyes. Usually, I’m okay with travel. I’ve gotten used to it as the years passed by, but lately, it just sucks.
“Oh, stop acting like you don’t like it. Besides, don’t you have someone in each city to hook up with?” she asks, and I get up, walking downstairs.
“I used to.” I am not going to lie to her. “When I was younger.”
“Oh, because you are tipping the scale at thirty now.” She laughs as I set the phone on the counter and open the fridge.
“Should I have chicken or steak?” I ask, looking down at two prepared meals. I usually get them five nights a week, so I know they are healthy and ready to eat. Otherwise, I would order pizza all the time.
“It depends,” she says, and I hear rustling. “How is the steak cooked?”
“Medium with steamed veggies and a sweet potato,” I tell her and then open the chicken one. “Grilled chicken, basmati rice, and steamed broccoli.”
“Um, I would go for the chicken,” she says, and I make a mental note of that. “I only like steak when it’s grilled in front of me.”
“Same,” I tell her, putting the steak back into the fridge. “Now, what were we talking about?” I ask after I put the chicken in the microwave.
“I was trying to get off the phone with you when you started blabbing your mouth,” she says, and I know she’s lying. “But since you want to talk, we were discussing all the women you have sex with in the different cities.”