Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Because I knew that the women I took to my bed in the past weren’t going to be staying, I never really put too much effort into remembering certain things about them. They were there for a purpose that lasted only a couple of hours and, if some were lucky, a few days, but not this time.
With Stephanie, I remember every damn thing, her laugh, her smile, her scent, the way the wind blows in her hair, that light in her eyes when she’s happy, the little hitch in her voice when she knows I want her, and most of all, that look in her eyes when she wants me.
It’s funny how people always talk about a woman in the first blush of love, but you hardly ever hear anything about what happens to the dude she’d snookered. I guess no man wants the world to know how weakening this shit is. The crazy thing is, though, that along with the weakness comes a strength all its own.
It’s hard to explain that juxtaposition, so I won’t even try. The weakness comes from realizing that there now exists someone who means more to you than you ever thought possible, almost more than yourself. Then you realize that you can’t put that person in your pocket and keep them with you at all times to ensure they’re safe from the rest of the fucked-up world we live in.
Your mind is filled with all the ways to please them and make them happy; you only want to see that certain smile on their face that makes you warm inside; at least, that’s how it’s shaping up to be for me.
The strength comes from knowing that there’s someone out there who belongs to you, that you’ve found that special someone who’s supposed to walk with you until the end. That special someone who’s going to face life’s trials and happiness with you, and that still doesn’t put all that I’m feeling into words because there are none.
I’ve been in lust before, especially in my younger days when sex was my new favorite thing, but this wasn’t it. This went beyond that but was still hard to put into words. There’s this feeling of never-ending happiness mixed with just a slight dose of fear, fear that it can’t be real, that something is going to go wrong and screw things up and take this happiness away from me.
Then there’s the need. Not just the physical need to be inside her, but to just be with her in her presence all damn day. How many times did I have to stop myself from picking up the phone to call her? How many times did I have to remind myself that we both had businesses to run, and I couldn’t just haul her off somewhere in the middle of the day?
Only one person was brave enough to mention the permanent smile on my face, which disappeared as soon as he asked and the ass-chewing he got for disrupting my daydream of my girl in that dress was enough to send him scampering to warn the others to steer clear.
That was the only instance like that, though, because the rest of the time, I was more mellow than I’d ever been. Things that would usually cause me to fly off the handle were handled with ease and understanding. I didn’t miss the looks of surprise on some of their faces when they came to talk to me about something they were sure I was going to yell at them about, only to be told that it was okay, I’ll take care of it.
I’m sure most of my staff already thinks I’ve lost my mind anyway, as much as I’ve changed in the last few days. I’d overheard some whispers about my new easy-going attitude, and more than one person had rightfully assessed that it was Stephanie’s presence in my life that had brought about the change, and they were pleased with this turn of events.
One of them even proclaimed her wish that Stephanie stayed around longer than my usual fare since it seemed she was good for me. Why couldn’t my sister be like that? Why couldn’t she see Steph for the person she was instead of going after her about something as stupid as her weight? And why the hell do I keep thinking about that shit? I can’t go more than a few hours without it cropping up to mess with my head.
It was on the ride home that I finally got what was bothering me so much about the whole thing with Roz. It wasn’t my guilt for not sharing what happened with Steph; it was my anger that it had happened at all. I was angry that someone, even my sister, had the audacity to do that shit in my place.