Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
And she thought that I’d been talking about her weight when I’d been talking about how much room I’d given her with my legs.
How awesome of me.
“Shit,” I muttered, scrubbing my hands over my face. “Where does she live? I’ll go talk to her.”
Jubilee smiled. “She used to live near me. But when all that went down with my attic friend, she moved at the same time that I did.”
Jubilee’s ‘attic friend’ was actually a stalker that had been living in her attic. For months, her stalker had used a collapsible ladder to get in and out of the attic, making it nearly impossible for Jubilee to realize it was even going on.
The man had been good at hiding his whereabouts, as well as his movements. If it hadn’t been for her father finding the collapsible ladder that he used to reach the attic of her house underneath the deck they’d torn down, as well as the pole he used to attach and then un-attach the ladder, they might not have ever known that he was there.
“Well, where did she move to?” I questioned.
“Last I heard, she was glamping at the lake,” Jubilee interrupted my thoughts.
“Which lake?” I asked. “And what the hell is glamping?”
“Glamping is glamour camping. And she’s in her daddy’s RV on Lake Pyrtle.” She paused. “You’ll have to go to the big campground, though. The RV won’t fit at their normal sites.”
I frowned. “How big is this camper?”
Her eyes went wide. “Big.”
***
I found out just how big two hours later when my shift ended, and I arrived at the lake.
I was standing in front of what had to be the biggest, most beautiful camper I’d ever seen.
And there was no way in hell any normal chick could afford something like it.
She had to be rich off her ass…or her daddy was.
Either way, I already kind of hated her.
My ex-wife was a rich girl, and ever since then, I’d had an aversion to that lifestyle.
They just thought they were better than the rest of the world, and honestly, it was kind of disappointing that Turner turned out to be one of them.
I thought she was different.
But I knocked on her door anyway.
I may not feel the same way I did before I’d arrived at her humble abode, but I did owe her an apology.
I didn’t want her thinking that I meant those words in a derogatory way.
She opened the door and stared at me with a blank expression on her face.
“When I said ‘tight fit’ earlier, I didn’t want you to think I was saying it to you to make fun of you,” I said. “I was curious if you needed me to move my leg or not,” I explained.
Turner seemed to deflate.
“Okay.”
So that was exactly what she had thought.
Good God, did this woman not see herself?
Did she not know that she was beautiful?
Jesus Christ, just seeing her here, dressed so casually in a pair of black yoga pants and a large t-shirt…yeah, that did it for me.
My ex-wife, Cher, hadn’t even left the confines of our bedroom before she was dressed so immaculately that nobody would dare say that she was slacking.
Even when we weren’t leaving the house, she’d be wearing something that resembled a church outfit or fine dining wear to anybody else.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I appreciate you coming over here to clarify your words.” She paused. “And I did take them personally.”
I felt like I’d been stabbed in the gut.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I never meant for that to happen.”
She smiled, then shrugged her shoulder like she hadn’t just admitted that she thought I’d called her fat. Just like that, she let it go.
Cher would’ve held a grudge to end all grudges.
“But this doesn’t make us friends,” she added in, almost as an afterthought.
I snorted. “No, it doesn’t.”
I glanced around to add emphasis. “We’re definitely from two different classes of people.”
My eyes stopped on her computer screen as I glanced around the interior of the camper, and I frowned at what I saw.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Turner asked, sounding confused.
“It just means that we don’t mesh.” I shrugged. “What are you doing here?”
I gestured toward her computer screen where a woman with her t-shirt in her hands, barely exposing her breasts, stood. Her eyes were pouty, and she looked like she’d been interrupted having sex.
What the hell was the woman doing with porn on her screen?
Turner looked over her shoulder. “Oh, that’s my job.”
Instead of asking any more about her job—or her for that matter—I decided to leave.
“Anyway, have a good one.”
Then I was gone, closing the door not just on her, but also her overly large, beautiful, I’m never going to get something like that trailer, and I didn’t look back.
Chapter 3
If it doesn’t bring you income, inspiration, happiness or orgasms, leave it in 2018.