Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
“Well. I’d like to shake his hand is all. Anyone who saves my daughter’s life like that and doesn’t stick around for recognition? That’s a true hero,” he says, creasing a smile.
Now it’s my turn to get emotional again, and only because I know he’s right.
But Ash didn’t run away, I did. How could I possibly try to explain that to my Dad, let alone Ash?
Not that it looks like I’ll have the chance to anyway.
My Dad doesn’t say much more after that, and he politely pretends not to notice my tears. Letting me deal with things in my own way, I guess.
We get home long after dark, and Mom only gives my Dad a look that tells me it was her idea for Dad and me to spend some time together after what happened. Mom’s never been great at dealing with other people’s needs, and she’s never been one to manage a crisis.
That’s what Dad’s there for.
“I think I’ll turn in early,” I yawn, relieved that nobody minds and that neither Mom nor Dad even hint about wanting to talk more about what happened today.
It’ll all still be there tomorrow.
With a headache that feels permanent, sore lungs, and a belly full of all the wrong food groups, I still manage to slip into a deep but uneasy sleep. Still feeling like Ash is watching over me somehow, but telling myself that’s wishful thinking after I ditched him by being such a prude.
It’s not until I see his card on my dresser the next morning that I realize.
Not only has he called around, but it somehow slipped my Mom’s mind to even tell me about it.
Great.
Thanks, Mom.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ash
Watching her house now, Ash? What’s next, breaking into her room, sniffing her goddamned panties?
I push away a million similar thoughts as I watch Bridget’s place from the rear. Many things I tell myself sound more like Stack is talking than my own inner dialogue.
I know what I want, and I’m just waiting for her. Plain and simple.
I’m on leave from the department, so this is all on me, and nobody’s complained.
Yet.
I take back what I assumed about her neighborhood, too. A lot of folks obviously work for a living, and as the daylight fades, I can see almost every driveway filled with people coming home, doing their own thing.
It’s quiet. And despite my earlier judgment, I don’t think this is half as bad an area as I made it out to be in my mind.
Maybe I’ve been living in the city too long.
It’s well after dark by the time I see the beams of headlights pull into Bridget’s drive. Her dad is coming home with her, I tell myself.
I know I’d look like a total lunatic if I knocked on their door now, at this time of night.
But waiting for her, knowing exactly where she is, it’s some comfort at least. I’ll have to be content with that unless I’m prepared to drive home to my apartment and stare at the ceiling all night.
Wondering about her.
Needing to see her again more and more as the minutes turn to hours.
Failing as I try to ignore the undeniable and constant aching dick in my pants.
The memory of her sweet, thick little body bobbing up and down against me as I carried her.
Hell, I wanna rescue her from my own thoughts even. Claim her properly, so I don’t have to be tormented like this.
The things we’ll do, Bridget. The things we’ll do….
My lip curls at the ideas, and although she didn’t stick around today, I still know. I just know that she feels the same way about me somehow.
A working neighborhood is an early night one on a weeknight, and it’s a short time before I see house lights switching off as every house visibly turns in for the night.
Sleep’s the furthest thing from my mind, and I know it’s gonna be a long night with Bridget just yards away. And me, powerless to do anything but watch and wait.
It sounds stupid, but even watching her house, watching the dark shapes of her windows, is enough to be satisfying and replace the real thing for one night.
I could watch Bridget all day and all night, doing or saying anything. So what’s the difference in watching her house while she sleeps? It scratches one itch in my brain, but it also breeds about a million other thoughts throughout my entire body. And all of them can only be soothed by Bridget. I know that now, having held her for as long as I did.
Nothing has even come close to how good she feels in my whole life. How great her hair smells. Everything about her makes me want to grab hold of her and….
And what? Tell her I “love” her?
Normally I’d push anything like that down and try to call it something else. But with Bridget, that’s the closest I can put this feeling into any words. Words that keep me awake with the energy I would’ve been envious of even twenty years ago.