Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“I also love…” her breaths fall heavily on my skin as I slide the crotch of her panties aside “…when you call me baby.” Her head falls back, eyes closed, when I push inside her.
I love her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Anna
It’s been nice visiting my heart. Eric effortlessly took it three years ago. Even if he crushed it in his hand, he never let go. He idly waits for me to walk away. And he’s doing it again.
But I’m not leaving today.
Not after making love in the living room.
Not after taking a bath together in Shaun’s soaker tub.
And probably not after this trip to the grocery store.
“This is why I get grocery delivery.” I huff, blowing my hair out of my face while Eric deposits groceries into the basket of the motorized shopping cart. I can’t believe he talked me into this. There’s probably a little old lady being forced to push a big cart around the store because Eric insisted we make a trip to the store, followed by his refusal to let me navigate the store on my crutches.
“I’m so turned on right now,” he says while reading the label of the salsa verde. “You handle that scooter like a boss.”
“Stop,” I giggle, shaking my head.
“I’m banking at least fifty different wet dreams.”
“Eric … stop!” I speed ahead of him before someone hears him and associates him with me. I live around here, but he can be obnoxious without embarrassing future repercussions.
“Anna Banana, are you pretending we’re not together?” He hollers so anyone within a three-aisle radius can hear him.
It reminds me of when he called me out to our neighbor after I screamed, “Eric Fucking Steinmann,” during an orgasm in his apartment.
“I’ve threatened to tie you to the bed but never followed through. Today feels like that day. Don’t you agree?”
Jesus. I hate him almost as much as I love him. Almost.
I snag items from the shelves without completely stopping and toss them into the basket.
“Anna …” He’s catching up, so I speed up.
When I make a quick right, there’s a grunt, a crash, and a shatter.
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry.” I try to stand, but Eric grabs my shoulders, guiding me back to the scooter seat.
“There’s glass, Anna. Just stay put,” he says.
Several bystanders and an employee converge on the scene of the accident. A woman, probably in her fifties, hugs her elbow and winces from the pool of pickles, pickle juice, and glass on the floor.
“You have no business being on that,” she seethes, scowling at me while Eric helps her up with her good arm. “I bet that’s a fake boot. You’re pathetic.”
“She’s not. Just reckless,” Eric murmurs. “Is your arm okay?”
“I don’t know. It hurts, and YUCK! I smell like pickles. This is a brand-new shirt.”
Biting my lips together, I fight something between tears and laughter. It’s almost an out-of-body experience. Did I really just mow down a lady and her jar of pickles with the store’s motorized shopping cart?
Eric Steinmann continues to bring out the worst in me. Once a drug. Always a drug.
The lady moves her arm back and forth a few times.
“Probably just a bruise,” Eric says, digging his wallet out of his front pocket. “Will five hundred cover the blouse?” He holds up a wad of cash.
She stares at it, then at him, and smiles with a tiny nod. When her gaze shifts to me, her resting bitch face returns.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
Eric puts his hand over mine on the handle and reverses the cart. “We have enough groceries for today. Let’s go check out.”
“No. Let’s leave it and go home.”
“What? No. It was an accident. All is good.”
No. It’s not good. And here I thought his embarrassingly suggestive comments would ruin it for me to ever return to this store. I never imagined it would be a hit-and-run.
Okay, I didn’t run, but only because my crutches were in the back of my car, and I couldn’t run.
On the way home, I keep my sunglasses on, and my head turned toward the window, but I feel Eric’s occasional glance in my direction. I know he’s grinning.
My phone vibrates.
Shaun: I’ll be home tomorrow. You doing okay?
Anna: I’m good. How’s ur mom?
Shaun: She seems to have rebounded
Shaun: My sister’s here, so I’m coming home for a few days to take care of some business
Shaun: I’ll be back here next week or sooner if anything changes
Anna: Safe travels
Shaun: Thx
“Everything okay?” Eric asks.
“It’s Shaun. He’s coming home tomorrow. His mom is doing a little better, so he’s going to take care of some things before going back there next week.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah,” I murmur.
We pull into the driveway, and Eric jumps out like it’s a fire drill, bringing me my crutches before I can open my door.
“My lady,” he says, opening the door.
I roll my eyes. “Chivalry won’t work this time.”