Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
An idea hits me upon my locking the door prompting me to excitedly scurry to the car to pitch it. Unfortunately for me, rather than finding my friend inside where it should be warm by now, I find him with his hands surrendered in the air, trying to calm down a screeching Mrs. Prescott.
This. Fucking. Woman…
“I’d like to report a theft in progress,” she snidely says into the phone while jabbing the edge of a broom Archer’s direction. “Yes, he’s a white male, green eyes-”
“Gwenith!” I loudly shout, interrupting her call, nearly causing her to lose her grip on the device altogether. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
“Saving your car from this thief!” She jams the cleaning tool at him again. “You should be thanking me! I saw this filth about to drive off with it – like the scumbag he is – and rushed out here to stop him.”
“And I politely told the woman wielding the weapon at an innocent man that I was asked to warm up the car.”
“You weren’t.”
“He was,” I swiftly reassure on a heavy sigh. “Now, would you please put down the broom? We have a fitness class to get to.”
She ends the call and places the object at her side, stare planted on me. “I don’t trust him. I know the truth about your little,” her sneer has me wishing I were a more violent person so that I could punch her in her face, “act. And one of these days, I’m gonna prove it. I’m gonna get him in jail where he belongs, and you kicked out of the neighborhood-”
“Because I don’t belong, either?”
The racial implication I suggest has her hurrying away in a tizzy.
Is it wrong to hope the woman her husband is having an affair with is not white? Just to add an extra sting to the mean-spirited stitched together hag.
Archer unlocks the doors granting us both access inside and swiftly apologizes. “I’m sorry I-”
“Don’t even,” I huff, tossing the objects in the backseat before taking the keys. “None of that was your fault. Her behaviors are not your fault. Her attitude is not your fault. I think she’s just so deeply unhappy that the mere thought of someone else being happy upsets her.”
“Probably because her husband has learned to be happy without her.” We begin fastening our seatbelts. “I mean I doubt its her he’s using that warming lube marked for his and her pleasure on. Or those nipple clamps.”
There’s no stopping me from squeaking. “Nipple clamps?!”
My housemate nods like it’s no big deal. “He left the instructions in the box. Found it in the recycle during my rounds.” A small shrug is wedged between statements. “I told you. Your garbage says a lot of shit about you.”
Does mine say I haven’t had sex once since Chris died? Would we just assume that by the different vibrator packages that I’ve put in the recycle? Ohmygod, has he seen those?! How long has he been digging in my trash?! Should I ask what he knows?!
“Why’s your face turning so red?” he cautiously inquires.
I do my best to play it off while fiddling with the defroster. “Is it?”
“And why is your voice so squeaky?”
The pitch hits an even higher level. “Is it?”
“Squeak toy level,” Archer lightly laughs and gently nudges my leg to collect my gaze. “You’re thinking about sex shit, aren’t you?”
“Why would you say that?!”
“Those are your tells.”
“I have tells?!”
“Most people do.” His smile remains. “Spotting them has been necessary for my survival – during and post service.”
Flicking away the curls that missed the memo to stay in my messy bun, I quietly confess, “I didn’t even know I did those things.”
“Maybe you just do them with me?”
So not the thing I wanna be doing with him.
“Maybe you’re not comfortable talking to me of all people about sex.”
His accusation instantly banishes the embarrassment. “And what is it you’re trying to say?”
“That maybe talking about sex with the homeless vet that lives in your garage makes you uncomfortable because you don’t really trust me as much as you think you do.”
“Or maybe it’s because talking about sex with the ripped, single hottie that lives within boning range makes me uncomfortable because I know he’s not attracted to me the way I am him.”
Archer’s stare suddenly darkens in a delicious nature. “Oh, he’s very fucking attracted to you, sweetheart.”
The new information has all the air in my lungs exiting.
And the muscles between my thighs dampening.
Okay…so…that happened?
Tension-filled silence fills the first stretch of our drive and songs like “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails – one of Archer’s favorite bands I added to our shared playlist – don’t exactly help to deescalate it. He struggles to casually adjust his crotch while I wiggle in my seat hoping to secretly do the same. Less than coy glances are repeatedly exchanged and the idea of testing my flexibility in new ways flies to the front of my mind.