Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
When it’s clear that’s all I’m going to say on the subject of my sobriety, Aubrey turns and resumes her work. Feeling a bit exposed and vulnerable, I open the cabinet nearest to me and scope it out, figuring the sooner Aubrey finishes her ridiculous task, the sooner I can go to bed.
When I finish scanning the empty cabinets closest to me, I turn to tell Aubrey it’s all clear over here. But when I see her bent over and peeking into a low cabinet, when I get yet another glorious eyeful of her incredible ass, my words lodge in my throat. Damn. That’s an ass I’d love to mark with my teeth. The thought sends tingle shooting into my dick. Yes, Aubrey’s a thorn in my goddamned side. But hot damn, she’s one hell of a sexy thorn.
As I’m still ogling Aubrey’s backside, she straightens up and checks a high cabinet, causing her to reach up and strain on tiptoes. As she stretches, her tank top rides up from the top of her shorty shorts, treating me to a delightful peek of her belly. It’s only a tiny swath of bare flesh. But it’s enough to send another round of tingles shooting between my legs.
I haven’t had “clean and sober” sex yet, but I’ve certainly thought about sex a hell of a lot the past few months, ever since my sex drive came roaring back after detox the first week of rehab. I suppose it’s possible I’m feeling this intense sexual attraction to Aubrey, simply by virtue of her being here with the right body parts for my innately wired sexuality. I can’t deny I’m a horny motherfucker right now. But I don’t think that’s it.
On the contrary, I’m pretty damned sure my body would be craving Aubrey’s with feral force, even if I had a world of women to choose from. Even if I’d had sex with someone, other than my hand, every night for the past few months. Even before rehab, with Mom living with me for so long, and with my focus on her and her downward spiral, I put my entire life on hold for quite a while, including performing and going out with friends. Which meant, for months, I was no longer engaging in the activities that most typically led to me meeting women.
“A little help, please?” Aubrey says, drawing me from my sexual thoughts.
I sidle over to her and easily reach the high shelf she’s struggling to sweep with her hand; and to my surprise, my knuckles clank against something hard toward the back of the shelf. When I grasp the object, I pull down a half-empty, cheap bottle of tequila. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
It’s a brand of tequila I wouldn’t dirty my mouth for, under normal circumstances. But I can’t deny, in this moment, the sight of the liquid sloshing around against the bottle is making my mouth water. Just this fast, after two months of daily counseling sessions and everything else, I’m suddenly feeling the primal urge to throw away all my progress by twisting off that cap and taking a long, thirsty guzzle, whether it’s the cheap shit or not.
“I had a feeling,” Aubrey says. “With this place being a short-term rental, the odds were high someone brought alcohol here to party with and forgot to take it home with them.”
She puts her hand out, and, much to my chagrin, I hand over the bottle; at which point, Aubrey strides to a window on the other side of the kitchen, twists opens the cap and pours every drop of liquid gold into the bushes below.
Fuck me. As I watch the stream of booze disappearing into darkness, my taste buds conjure the flavor of tequila. The unmistakable smell of it, too, even if I’m only imagining both sensations from this distance.
“I think I’ll head off to bed,” I blurt, my pulse quickening.
“Okay, let me do a quick sweep of your bedroom first.”
I rough a hand down my face, feeling like a trapped animal. Shit.
“You’ve got this, Caleb,” Aubrey says warmly. She places the empty bottle onto the counter and walks over to me. To my surprise, she places a reassuring palm on my forearm and squeezes. “I’m not your enemy, okay? When it comes to your sobriety, I’m your teammate. I swear, I’m in your corner on this. Not only for your sake, but for Raine’s.”
Raine.
It’s the magic word. The “why” my counselor, Gina, is always yammering on about.
Before now, I’ve admittedly been a distant, disinterested shithead in all my counseling sessions with Gina, since simply avoiding jailtime wasn’t enough of a why for me. Neither was the insurance thing. Same with not pissing off my bandmates. But Raine? She’s more than enough of a why for me to see this thing through now. I don’t know my daughter yet, thanks to my own terrible choices. But I don’t need to know her to love her, just this fast, and to decide I’m now going to do whatever it takes to become the father she deserves.