Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 49294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
There are still some places in my house that are bare, but it’s nothing I can’t fix over time. The majority is done, and I can’t fathom shopping or painting for a very long time. Except I saw the state of the exterior while pulling weeds and setting up the patio furniture. Sometime soon, I’ll either need to get quotes to have it professionally painted or do it myself. I’m sure I’ll get sticker shock, so I’ll instead rent a pressure washer and spend every spare weekend painting it on my own.
I grab my phone and book off the telephone table, a gift of sorts. Aunt Estelle left a few pieces behind. This one has to be my favorite and makes me wish I had a house phone like Clay does. I don’t need one, but I’m thinking the next time I have a few extra bucks and time to peruse the thrift stores, I’ll find an old rotary-style telephone. For now, I’m using it as a resting place for my cell phone, book of choice, notepad, and a pen.
My phone lights up with an alert. I look at the screen expecting it to be an e-mail or a notification about a game I play where you blast blocks. It’s not; it’s the family group chat.
Children of the Johnsons is the group chat name instead of Children of the Corn. Apparently, Trey is the culprit of coming up with this name, whereas before, the name was Family Herd. A too basic and boring name for the Johnson brother. The messages start coming one right after the other. I unlock my phone and scroll to the top to read the first one.
Momma Catherine: Hey, just checking in with everyone. How’s everyone doing?
Lawson: That’s good. Everything is good here.
I see that he’s sent a picture of his family of three—him, Juniper, and their daughter, Jasmine.
Momma Catherine: I sure do miss my grandbabies.
Ryland: Same here. No fires to put out. That’s a win in my book.
Poppa Russell: Don’t be talking about no fires, boy. You know what that’ll do to your mother.
Mae: We’re at the cabin, checking in and having a quick getaway. I hope you’re enjoying your trip.
JW: Muting y’all. It’s time for me to have some fun with my woman.
“Well, just tell everyone exactly what you’re up to, JW,” I say with a chuckle.
Minnie: TMI! Love you all. Check in with pictures tomorrow.
My sister sounds like me when she went on her cross-country trip.
Me: Ditto to Minnie on all of it. Love you guys. I’ll check in after work tomorrow <3
More messages come across the screen. I push the button down on the side, muting the pinging noises. I’ve got a couple of more things to do before I’m going to bed. I walk to my bedroom, tossing my book and phone on the bed before skirting toward the window. This room is the only one I installed room-darkening curtains. I’m a light sleeper as it is, and come the weekend, I love nothing more than to sleep in past the time the sun rises.
The floral curtains work well with the wall color as well as the bed set. Luckily, I had those two items already and didn’t have to purchase anything else for this room. The other day when we were working in my room, it was hard for me to keep my eyes on the walls instead of sliding to Asher’s backyard. At that time, I hadn’t met him, but I sure enjoyed the view. I also thought he was a single dad and felt very pervy for watching him in the pool in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks.
Then I met him, in practically nothing.
“Asher Fontaine.” I say his name aloud much like I did the night he introduced himself to me. My traitorous hussy of a pussy clenches thinking about him all over again. My libido has been mute, gone, sayonara, see you later for more months than I care to admit. Nothing interested me. Until him.
As Catherine would say, he’s a tall glass of water on a hot summer day, yet to me, he’s a walking orgasm. I know because my sex drive is now in overdrive. My toy has gotten a workout each and every night, not to mention when I shower in the morning after waking up from a deliciously naughty dream. My body is dripping with sweat, my core is aching, and I’m running to the shower to use my hand-held showerhead.
The curtain is closed, so now there’s nothing left for me to do except shower and hit the hay. I start stripping out of my clothes, leaving a pile in my wake as I walk toward the only bathroom in the house. That mess can be picked up later. Right now, I’ve got a building ache in my body that’s trying to consume me whole.