Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Though, if he started pitching in a little with the things he can do, like putting things away after he uses them, a cleaning service might not even be necessary. Even a little help from him would make a difference.
I jokingly sang Barney the Dinosaur’s clean up song the first time he stayed over for a weekend. He laughed it off like it was a joke as he tidied, but I worked at a daycare center part-time when I was in college and that song worked like a charm to get toddlers to put things away. I was half-serious because although Adam seemed to have it together pretty well, it was like I fit the default role of cleaning up from early on. And that isn’t what I’m about. Or… it wasn’t. I grew up in a house where both parents worked, and Mom didn’t have to come home and do it all. She and Dad took turns cooking and once we were old enough, me and my brother were added into the rotation. We all cooked, we all cleaned. There weren’t girl chores and boy chores, either. Dad taught me to use the snow blower and lawn tractor and he ironed his own shirts. Until Bryan got really sick. Then I took on everything for a while. I shake those old thoughts off.
Adam and I bought one of those robot vacuum cleaners when we moved into the house, and I can keep up with the mopping. We have one of those furnaces with the air cleaners, so dusting is manageable, but maybe it’s time for him to pitch in on laundry. Would it be too much to ask for him to wipe the sink down after he shaves in the mornings? To not leave toothpaste in the sink? To bring the dishes out of his office when he’s coming to the kitchen anyway? I’ve seen him fit snacks on his lap on the way to his office, why not use the same lap for the dirty dishes when he comes back out instead of letting them pile up until I decide to clear them out?
I’m feeling so neglected in my relationship that I’m starting to feel bitter and petty about things I wouldn’t have cared so much about before.
And here I am, still in my hall pass’s apartment, letting petty thoughts invade. I shove those thoughts away, grab my purse, and venture out of Derek’s room.
He’s frying eggs while wearing just a pair of tight, blue boxer briefs.
Mercy!
He catches me ogling him. I clamp my mouth shut and smile.
“Coffee?” He gestures to a single serving coffee maker. “I put a cup there for you. Plenty of choices in the drawer.”
I put my bag down and pull on the drawer under the coffee maker, revealing a variety of tea and coffee choices. I pick a dark roast Colombian pod and open the top of the coffee maker.
“Good choice,” he says as I pull the exact same used pod out of the coffee maker before putting the new one in.
He sips from his mug and then leans over and kisses me quickly before turning his attention back to the eggs he’s scrambling.
My brain feels a little scrambled, too, as I look around.
Definitely a corporate apartment / hotel suite feel to this place in daylight, too. Kind of sterile. But it is spotless and drenched with light, which is nice.
I press the brew button and watch the coffee pour into the mug for a few beats before I ask, “Oh, where are my clothes?”
“Threw them in the washing machine for you,” he says.
“That probably wasn’t necessary.”
He shrugs. “How else would I get to admire you wearing my shirt? Seein’ you in my shirt all sleepy and cute was part of the fantasy.”
I laugh.
He goes on, “Seemed like you were ready to bolt so figure doing the laundry will keep you here another hour at least.” He shrugs.
I bite my lip and wag my finger at him.
“So? You ready to bolt, little bunny?” he asks and abruptly hooks an arm around my waist, yanking me to him.
I wince, placing my palms on his chest hoping it’ll soften the blow. “Um… about last night, Derek? We should talk.”
He throws his head back and laughs as he lets go of me and twists the burner off, moves the frying pan, and pushes the button down on the toaster. “Let me guess,” he says, “You don’t usually do things like this.”
As I shake my head, heat floods my face. “No. Never.”
This man did things to my body last night that were entirely new. I’m not sure my booty hole will ever be the same. But I liked everything he did. Beyond a lot. I felt like I was finally having sex with someone whose appetite matched my own. And he actually surpassed it, exceeding expectations. But I can’t let myself dwell on just how incredible it was because it might make me want more.