Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
An angry purple and black bruise has formed where Jess hit the floor yesterday, and the anger toward the men that hurt her comes back, covering me in a hot burst.
“I don’t even know.” Jess pokes at the spot inquisitively, like she’s unaware of how she got the injury. “I bruise so easily these days. I could have bumped it on a butterfly and ended up with a bruise.”
She waves her hand dismissively, as I fight back the urge to tell the truth.
But what good would that do? Would Wanda the home health aid have some superpower connections that would solve all our problems?
No. But I might.
At least, from the messages Erik sent me last night and this morning, there’s some hope. Yesterday, my hope well was running empty.
The aid packs up, leaving an envelope from her agency. I know our overdue bill is inside. We say our goodbyes, I tear open the envelope, and then toss it on the stack as Jess pulls a fleece blanket from the back of the sofa and settles it around her thin legs.
“I’m always so cold.” She shivers as my own core heats, thinking of how Erik brushed his fingers down my neck when he helped me with my coat yesterday, and rubbed my ankle like it was some sort of foreplay.
I felt that touch down into my toes. That’s new. A part of me knows it’s dangerous, but I also don’t seem to care.
He’s older. I’d say twenty years maybe, and older men have never appealed to me until I saw him walk into Cassie and Magnus’s house while I sat on the counter like a toddler, sucking on my grape Tootsie Pop.
From that second, something about him made me think of how it would feel to have a father that made you the center of his universe. Then, shame drowned me when my next thought was how it would feel to have that fatherly figure on top of me, taking what he needs and telling me what a good girl I am.
But after the kinky shameful thoughts as the night went on, I imagined he would be the kind of father that came to every parent teacher conference, gave you piggyback rides at the zoo, taught you how to parallel park so you could pass your driver’s test and took you for ice cream when you came home crying because Tiffany Myer and her mean girl clique dumped lemonade in your lap in third grade, so you had to walk around the rest of the day looking like you peed your pants.
Not that I had any experience with that last one.
Oh wait, yeah, I did.
Fucking Tiffany Myer. There’s always a Tiffany Myer, isn’t there?
Erik would have been that kind of father, I can see it in his dark eyes. Though, I know from the few questions I managed with Cassie, he’s not a father, and has never shown any interest in being one.
But, clearly, the kind of father I’m fantasizing about when it comes to him is not the conventional version at all.
Still, in the dominant way he towered over me but made me feel small and safe, there was something new born inside me. Like he could see into my heart, and since I left his office yesterday, not five seconds have gone by without me thinking about him.
Wanting to be close to him again.
And what did he mean about taking me up on my ‘I’ll do anything’ offer?
Or, the better question is, what did I mean when I offered?
I can still feel the sparks he ignited on my skin where he touched me. The musky, sexy scent of his cologne. The way his Adam’s apple moved just under where the sharp, shaved line of his beard started.
“I’ve been thinking,” Jess says as I stare at the blank screen of my phone, waiting for it to light up with another message from Erik. “Maybe you should go to New York. If I sold everything, I could manage a few thousand, and truth, the house is gone. I’ve made peace with it, and you shouldn’t be hanging around a broken old lady like me. Go chase your dreams.”
I snap my tongue against my teeth on a smile. “And you will live where? In a box?”
I shake my head, pushing from my place on the creaky wooden chair and heading toward the small efficiency kitchen where the coffee maker is beeping. I’m still in my fleece heart pajama bottoms and an oversized, vintage Led Zeppelin t-shirt I picked up at the thrift store last week.
I may have aspirations of walking runways wearing couture, but my heart is more in vintage and retro fashion.
Anything circa 1980s through Y2K is my jam.
Jess sighs. “I’m going to call that Buffalino man and see if I can still take the offer on the house. I know the paperwork came through, and it’s basically done, but maybe he will take pity.”