Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 104327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
When I got back to the lodge, it was suspiciously silent until I heard enthusiastic sex sounds coming from the direction of the kitchen. I quickly turned on my heel and went right back out the front door, deciding a nice nature walk would do me some good before dinner.
It was hard not to be, well… hard… after hearing that. Tiller was a professional NFL wide receiver with a killer body, and Mikey was small and flexible. Even though I had no real-life interest in sleeping with either man, it was hard not to imagine how hot the two of them would be together. Tiller’s hands were multimillion-dollar assets, and I was fairly sure they were just as talented on my best friend’s body as they were on the football field. Mikey always got a dreamy look on his face when talking about Tiller’s hands, and it was enough to set my imagination in motion.
I forgot the walk and threw myself down in one of the wooden rocking chairs on the front porch instead. The afternoon light was turning that magical golden color that signaled my favorite time of day. I propped my feet on the porch railing and tried to relax and enjoy the moment with a few deep breaths.
There was a fresh herbal smell coming from something nearby, and I wondered if Truman would be able to identify it with only a sniff. Probably.
And he’d lean over to sniff the mystery plant which would stick that sexy ass up in the air again. It hadn’t been that long since I’d hooked up with someone, but for some reason, Truman Sweet’s slim form was doing it for me. It had stuck to my brain cells like a very sexy Velcro strip, and I was having trouble plucking it off.
I forced myself to remember I was just passing through. Work had been hectic lately, and the situation with my sister had done a number on my stress level. All I had was my reputation as a hard worker and a contractor who came in on time and under budget. I didn’t have a lot of capital. I had business loans that I was constantly juggling between sending out invoices and getting paid. My profits either went into the business or went to my mom and sisters.
I couldn’t keep going like this. Something had to give.
Even though I knew I deserved a vacation, waves of guilt still came over me when I stopped to think about it too much. What if one of my clients had a catastrophe? What if one of my family members needed me?
But that was part of the problem. I’d spent the last several years dropping everything to either help my family or put out fires at work, and I’d spent even more years than that trying to protect my family from danger.
Was that why I was attracted to Truman? Because he needed someone to rescue him?
I pushed the porch rail with one boot to start the chair rocking. No. No, that wasn’t why I wanted him. I didn’t want to rescue him. I wanted to fuck him. There was a difference.
And then I was back to picturing Truman bent over a garden plant in shredded shorts.
There was no telling how long I sat out there trying not to jack off to thoughts of Truman’s body and sweet blushes. I may have even dozed off a little bit, but eventually Mikey texted to ask where I was, and the buzz of my phone startled me fully awake. The air was much cooler, and the light was fading.
I made my way into the house and lifted a knowing brow at him. “Feeling better?”
Tiller snorted from inside the fridge where he was most likely doing recon to find out what Mikey had in store for us tonight.
Mikey nodded his head with enthusiastic exaggeration. “Soo much better. Thanks for asking. You should try it.”
“Getting dicked down in the kitchen?”
He continued the nod but added a maniacal grin. It was Tiller who had the decency to blush. “How’d it go at Truman’s?”
I told them about my visit, leaving out the part where I’d attacked his face with my lips. I also left out the part where I’d imagined bending him over his butcher-block kitchen island and sinking into his hot body. It galled me that my friends were living my fantasy while I’d had to settle for blue balls on the porch.
Tiller handed me a beer. “So, he’s going to file a witness report for your bike?”
I took a deep sip of the crisp pale ale and shook my head as I swallowed. “No. I told him it wasn’t necessary.”
Mikey looked relieved. “Good. Because there’s no telling what Patrick Stanner would do if Truman got him in trouble. The man’s unstable, and his brother’s just as bad.”