Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
“I take short road trips to visit estate sales. That’s what I do with my vacation days.” She tugs on the sleeve of her sweater, but I don’t look down. I can’t look at her breasts. Not with my dick beginning to get stiff for the first time since I was imprisoned and tortured. All over the mere sound of her voice. “Do you think that’s morbid? I just love to see what someone collected while they were alive.”
Silence falls.
I realize it’s my turn to speak.
This is a conversation. Not a one-sided shouting diatribe in a language I don’t speak.
Say something or she’s going to get uncomfortable.
“No.” I clear the cobwebs from my throat. “I don’t think it’s morbid to visit estate sales. I think…any kind of curiosity about other people is a good thing. It probably means you’re not a self-absorbed piece of shit.”
She sucks in a breath.
The people at the table to my right go silent.
But then, the girl across from me breaks into a giggle that she quickly catches with her hand. “You’re very blunt, aren’t you?”
“Sorry about that. It’s been a long time since…” I gesture to our surroundings. “I’ve been in the service for a long time. Too long, obviously.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “Dierdre didn’t mention you were in the service. Which branch?”
Fuck. I forgot she’s here to meet Kevin, the bastard.
Oh well. I’m not going to pretend to be someone I’m not.
“Army. Special forces.”
“I see.” This girl is smart and she’s beginning to realize something is up, but she’s not letting the suspicion show on her face. Not so much that regular person would notice. But I’m not a regular person. I’ve been trained in wartime interrogation. Not to mention, I had to rely on infinitesimal facial tells to survive captivity.
Any minute now, she’s going to ask me if I’m really her date. Or if she’s sitting at the wrong table. I’m not going to lie to her. Actually, I’m not even going to make her ask. For one, she seems too smart to believe a lie. And two, I want to get this Kevin bullshit out of the way. I like having this person across from me. I’m no longer sweating or stuck in fight or flight mode. Something about her is…restorative. So absorbing that I can’t manage to think of anything but her, especially my constant, impending sense of doom.
“I’m not Kevin.”
Her only reaction is to breathe faster. A single swallow.
She glances down the row of tables and I follow her line of sight, both of us noticing the clean-cut man in a suit, checking his watch.
“If you’re not Kevin, why did you let me sit here so long?”
“I didn’t want you to leave.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why’?” I scoff.
She blinks, obviously still confused.
I lean forward, the forward shift causing my dick to chafe against my zipper, the bulk of me beginning to swell in a way I haven’t felt in so long. It’s her. It’s everything about her. What is that smell she’s wearing? Smells like sugar cookies. “Because you’re a fucking knockout. Or haven’t you looked in the mirror lately.”
“I’m…” She starts in surprise, her knee bumping the underside of the table, rattling the silverware. “I’m not a-a knockout.”
“Yes, you are, baby.”
“Baby,” she mouths without sound, her spine straightening with some indignance. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you’ve been in the service so long, you forgot it isn’t polite to call a woman baby when you just met her.”
“I’m not going to tell you that.”
“You’re not?”
“No. I didn’t care much for being polite, even before I was in the service.”
She glares at me from behind those nerdy glasses and my balls start to pulse.
Jesus Christ, I’m hard. I didn’t think it would ever be possible again. Thought my post-traumatic stress had robbed my ability to feel arousal. I’ve been back on US soil for two months. During that time, some of my old friends have sent me pictures of single women, asking if I wanted to try dating. They’d even offered casual sex with some grateful—and apparently patriotic—friends of their wives. One friend even dragged me to a singles mixer, but I felt sick and impatient just being there. Porn has done nothing to encourage my body back to its usual state.
This girl, though.
She’s given me my first erection in four years.
I want to be happy about it, but…I’m suddenly very aware of my constricted balls. The weight of them between my legs, denim pressing in on everything.
“Stay where you are,” I rasp. “Pick me over Kevin.”
Twin pink spots appear on her cheeks. “I don’t even know your name and you’re telling me where I can and can’t go?”
“My name is Theo. Yours?”
She hesitates. “Maybe I shouldn’t say.”
My full concentration goes into staying still, instead of ripping the table out from between us and throwing it across the room. “I think you want me to know it.”