Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“She sounds like a drag.” I dip my head lower, lips skimming hers before I pull back. Deepening our kiss would only make it worse in terms of actually leaving tonight.
“Nah, just a workhorse, about broke my dick between yesterday and today.” My words are teasing Josie. I like the way her cheeks pinken.
“And you don’t want a repeat performance?” she asks. This woman, she’s going to wear my old ass out, make me feel every bit of my nearly fifty-year-old self. I’m not telling her that. She’ll do her best to make comments, and there’s no way I’ll ever admit I need some damn sleep in order to give her what we both want and need.
“Hey, melon girl!” The hell? I look up at hearing one of Josie’s neighbors call out, wondering if it’s to her or someone else on the street.
“Hey, Merle!” Josie’s hand lifts, giving him a wave. My body locks up tight. Who the fuck calls someone that? I look at my woman again. She’s not wearing anything revealing, a loose top, nothing to show off her breasts.
“What the fuck?” My voice is laced with venom. I start to move away from Josie, and her hands disentangle. A need to make my presence known and beat his ass consumes me, to let this Merle character know Josie is mine. Calling her something like melon girl in reference to her tits is not how you talk to someone, especially a lady, my fucking lady. My fists tighten. This is what Josie does to me. I’m so wrapped up in everything she is that I see red the minute someone does something to hurt her, my son in-fucking-cluded. A talk will be happening with him. It won’t do a lick of good, but it’d help calm my ass down, which is not happening currently. It doesn’t matter that Josie is scrambling behind me, that I hear her feet pick up the pace as I make it to her mailbox. The guy is sitting on his front porch, in a rocker, ignoring me at present. He won’t be soon.
“Trace, stop.” I keep moving. Josie is somewhere; I’m not entirely sure where. My only goal is to plant my fist in the old fucker’s face. Her arm wraps around my waist from behind, one then the other, holding me back in a way she thinks will actually work. Newsflash, it doesn’t. “Trace, no, you’ve got the wrong idea. Please stop. I can’t keep up. I’ve got these tiny legs compared to your long ones. Don’t make me jump on your back and bring you down with me.” She thinks that would hold me back. It wouldn’t, but the begging in her voice does.
“Talk, fast, or I’m gonna lose my shit, babe.” I turn around, hands wrapping around her while walking us back toward my truck, my back to the neighbor. One more look at him, and there’ll be no going back.
“Yeah, I can tell. I mean, wow, anyone tell you you’re strong?”
“Quit stalling, Josie.” She wrings her hands together, eyes moving up and then down, unable to look me in the eye. I’m beginning to think this whole melon girl shit is not a misunderstanding.
“Fine, but you’re going to be upset with me.” I’ll just fucking bet. She continues, finally looking at me, giving me her pretty, blue eyes. “So, the stairs you fixed, well, the first day when I moved in, after everyone left, I went grocery shopping, buying more than absolutely necessary, but I was tired of eating out and junk food.” I raise my brows. Josie nervous means Josie babbles. “Anyways, I was trying to bring the rest of the bags in with one last trip to my car. Well, the small watermelons I bought broke free and started rolling around. One got under my foot, and there I am, flailing around like a fish out of water. Merle there witnessed the whole scene before he could come to my rescue. That’s where melon girl came from, so please do not go around growling and looking like you’re going to brawl with a man in his seventies. Just because you’re closer to age in him than I am, it doesn’t mean he’s got a fair advantage.” That last part has her doubling over in laughter. Funny girl thinks she’s funny.
“Woman, you realize this shit isn’t comical.” I dip my knees, hand grasping her chin, lifting it so I can see her eyes. There are tears surrounding her lashes, her chest is shaking, and it’s got me looking at her tits. The white thin strapped tank is holding them up, no bra beneath, and I swear I can see her cherry-colored nipples, watching as they pucker with each calming giggle when she realizes where my eyes are. My mouth salivates, and I’m about to say the hell with working late into the night. Tossing her over my shoulder and heading straight inside seems like a much better idea.