Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t comment.
Damn, now I’m stuck in this truck with him for the duration and he’s going to know where I live. Yep, I didn’t think this one through.
Mark works as an insurance adjuster in the office next to mine. He’s been asking me out for weeks and I finally told him yes. But only after he had checked off some of the items on my list. He’s older than me, but I like older men so that was never a problem. But something always made me tell him no. Obviously, I should have stuck with my gut on this one.
Almost twenty minutes from the time he picks me up, we pull into the tree farm lot. Stupidly I sit in the car, thinking he might come around to open the door, but when he stands at the front of the truck and throws his hands up, like, What the hell are you doing? I get out, shaking my head.
“Sorry, I thought you were coming around to get the door for me.”
He snorts. “What, your hand broke?”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. “Okay, so let’s get a tree.”
I walk into the entrance under the sign that says, ‘Mountain Christmas Tree Farm.’
There are twinkling lights everywhere. I hug into my jacket and take in the festive decorations, the families searching for their perfect Christmas tree, the people drinking cocoa, and all the fun things to do here. Memories hit me of my and my granny doing this exact thing and I rub my hand over my chest soothingly. If I had come alone, I definitely would’ve spent some time exploring. But now, I just want to get out of here.
Stalking over to the trees, I can’t stop my hips from shimmying at the Christmas music blaring through the speakers. I don’t look back to see if Mark is following. Honestly, I don’t care if he does.
When I get to some decent size trees, and I think I found the one, I look around for help, already doubting I’m going to get it from Mark.
Cane
As soon as I saw her, I turned the customer I was helping over to my part-time help and followed her through the maze of trees, watching her wide hips sway to the beat of the music. While she admires the trees, I’m admiring her.
Her red hair is in curls hanging down her back. Her fitted jeans cling to her round butt and thick thighs. She has black boots that go all the way up to her knees and a black jacket wrapped around her. It’s bulky, hiding her upper body from me, but I know already that I want to see more.
When she starts looking around, I adjust my cock in my pants and walk up to her. “Can I help you?”
Her eyes widen when she sees me, and I try not to act like I notice when her eyes stray down my body and back up. However, the longer she looks, the harder I get. I swear her eyes pop up to mine, wide and filled with lust, probably because she saw my crotch twitch at her gaze.
“Uh, yeah. How tall do you think this tree is?” she asks, and I swear her voice is the voice of an angel.
I take a step forward like I’m trying to measure it against my height. In all reality, I just want to get closer to her. “Probably around six foot three inches.”
She clasps her hands together in front of her. “That’s perfect. I’ll take it.” The smile on her face is contagious and I can’t stop myself from smiling back at her. Damn, she’s too cute.
A man walks up to her, sliding his arm around her waist, and instantly my fists clench at my sides. “Is this the tree? That’s going to be tough getting it up the steps to your house. Oh, you’ll definitely be putting out for this.”
She struggles to get out of his arms, but he only tightens his grip. “Let go of me, Mark,” she hisses. “And I think we’ve already discussed this. I’m not sleeping with you.”
I guess he doesn’t get the picture, because he holds a twig of mistletoe over her head. “Pucker up…” Since she can’t struggle from his grasp, she turns her head, disgust on her face.
Not able to stand by any longer, I reach over and dig my hand into his neck, causing him to release her and buckle to his knees. “I don’t think the lady appreciates the way you’re talking to her or manhandling her, son.”
Okay, he’s probably only five or ten years younger than me, but his behavior reminds me of a kid. He grimaces in pain, but I don’t let up. I grip him harder, all the time wondering what in the world she’s doing with this pansy. “Apologize.”