Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, Benny,” she says.
“I know that. I wanted to.”
Daisy leans across the seat and takes my arm, leans her head on my shoulder for a minute, hugging my arm. Honestly, it feels better than anything I can think of right now. It’s pure affection and happiness. She’s light and energetic, tells me about her client yesterday who wanted a style Daisy didn’t think would work for her.
“I talked her out of it, but it was a close call. She would’ve been unhappy with it, and when people asked who did her hair…it would’ve been me. That’s not good word of mouth advertising,” she says.
“You did the right thing,” I say.
“Thanks,” she says. “Do you mind if I--?” she indicates the radio. I nod.
Daisy turns on the radio and flips through stations until she finds a song she likes. She leans back against her seat and belts out the lyrics.
“Still a Chainsmokers fan,” I say, cutting my eyes to her. She doesn’t stop singing, just grins at me.
“You look surprised.”
“That you remember what bands I liked years ago, yeah,” Daisy says.
“I paid attention,” I say with a shrug, trying to make light of it.
“You always did,” she says, and she sounds a little sad.
I take her to my place, let her in to the brownstone and turn on the lights. “It’s beautiful,” she says. “I love the floors—are they original?”
“Yeah, I had them refinished, they were pretty beat up when I moved in.”
She takes in the deep green walls, the wide white trim, an approving gaze. Then she goes to the photos on the wall, the moody black and white ones. She studies them, looks over her shoulder at me and then back at them.
“These look familiar,” she says.
“Sure, they’re of Coney Island,” I say, waiting to see if she recognizes them.
“I took these, Benny,” she finally says. “I remember this day. We went to the Wall of Remembrance—this one here—that’s one I took of the Cyclone lit up at night, and that’s the parachute jump. Why do you have these on your wall?”
“The photographer had a great eye. You sent me the black and white edits you did—I think it was when you were into Lightroom for a while. I printed them, and I was gonna frame them, surprise you or whatever.”
“But I left,” she supplies.
“When I moved in here, I found the prints in with some papers. They’re on my wall because I like them.”
She sets her coffee down on an end table and turns to me. “That was a good day, wasn’t it?” she says with a sigh.
I come up behind her, wrap my arms around her. She leans back into me, we fit together perfectly. It takes my breath away how good this feels, how right. I want to ask her to stay with me. I tell myself to slow down, that we’re different people now and she’s not here permanently. Our time is short, and I won’t waste any of it talking about what we failed at, what we can’t have.
I whisper to her, “Do you want to take this slow?”
“We never did take it slow,” she says with a soft laugh. “It sounds stupid, but I’m so used to planning everything out and controlling every last detail. I don’t want to make a timeline or a checklist for this. I want this the way that comes naturally. I didn’t see this coming, never imagined I’d be back with you or that you’d be on my mind all the time. “
“Careful, you’ll crush my ego, making it sound like you haven’t pined for me every day since you left town,” I say, kissing her neck. She tilts her head to give me better access. I take the encouragement and slide my hands up to cover her breasts, loving the heat of her skin, the weight of her breasts, her nipples tightening, stiff when I pluck at them.
“I could do this all day,” I murmur against her ear. “You’re so sensitive. Look at you, so beautiful.”
Daisy reaches back for my neck, bringing my face to hers for a kiss. It’s a relief, that kiss, and I realize how badly I need her. I want to say things that would scare her off. Instead, I kiss her deep and slow, working her mouth even as I track my hand down her belly and dip my fingers in the front of her shorts. Instantly I’m rewarded with her slickness, how wet she is, how much she thinks of me, and how excited our arrangement makes her.
“You can have this anytime you want,” I tell her, nipping her earlobe.
“Really?” she says. “I’m supposed to call you up anytime like I’m ordering an Uber”
“If Uber is providing this kind of service you need to tip really well,” I joke, sucking her neck in a way that draws the sweetest sound from her lips. She turns to me and puts her arms around my neck, her face tipped up to look at me seriously.