Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Now, my fantasies spiral with a specific face in mind. I imagine Fletcher grabbing my hips and pushing me against the car. I imagine him driving his lips against mine, moaning huskily as he presses his manhood against my body. I imagine the feel of his lust, how hard he’d be for me, just for me. I can’t think about another woman touching him.
Jeez, am I going nuts? As I get closer to my house, I try to push away these silly thoughts. I try to remind myself that I no longer exist, as far as Fletcher is concerned. I was a bad date for his son. That’s all.
Mom’s waiting for me in the living room when I open the door. I stop quickly. I was heading for the stairs with a vengeance, desire bubbling through me. My hand is desperate to slide down between my legs, rub slowly at first, then faster, as I sink into the steamy fantasy, the impossible dream.
Mom smiles when she sees me. She already has the Scrabble board set out. In the light of the lamps, her wrinkles stand out more. She’s recently had a bad bout with the flu. She’s never been the healthiest person. Her smile fades a moment later. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you forget?” She’s already leaning forward, ready to clear away the board.
“What?” I say, trying to laugh it off. “No, obviously not. I’ve been looking forward to this all night.”
I join her at the table. Usually, I do pretty well against Mom, but tonight, she schools me. I don’t stand a chance. If I had the letters, every one of my words would be the same—Fletcher.
I sit at the edge of the gym, stroking my brush across the canvas as Lexi hits the heavy bag. She’s on the taller side, built athletically. We became friends during our still-life course last year. I still think it’s funny she took that course because Lexi is rarely still.
I’m trying to catch the frenzy of her workout on the canvas, the play of the sunlight slanting into the gym. This is the same gym James goes to, but I’ve never seen him here or his dad. I would’ve remembered that.
It’s difficult to focus on my work, Lexi’s dyed purple hair bobbing behind her in a ponytail. Last night, after Scrabble, I did it. I locked my bedroom door, closed my eyes, and disappeared into dreams of Fletcher. By the end, I was rubbing between my legs so hard it felt like I would create sparks. Then, after, it felt so hollow. So not-him. I want the real thing.
“Was the date that bad?” Lexi says, wandering over when the round buzzer goes off. We’ve been talking between bouts, picking up where we left off each round.
“Worse,” I say, smiling.
“You don’t seem too upset.” Lexi wipes herself down with a towel. “I’m sorry, though. I knew James could be a douche, but I didn’t think he’d be that rude.”
I wonder if I should tell her what he said about her fighting training, but that would create needless drama.
“Maybe he was just nervous,” I say.
“You don’t have to make excuses for him,” Lexi replies. “Nervous or not, he shouldn’t have left you waiting, and if he had to be late, then he should’ve apologized, at least. It’s just common courtesy.” She takes a breath, glancing up at the round timer. “How can you paint me when I’m moving around?”
“I’m not trying to copy you one-for-one,” I tell her. “It’s more about inspiration.”
The buzzer goes off, and she returns to the bag. I try my best to focus on my work and use Lexi’s flurries to fuel the flow of my paintbrush. It’s so tempting to let my brush take a different direction and paint Fletcher’s firm muscles instead—his tight arms and big, powerful hands. Imagine those hands smoothing up my legs toward my center, making my thighs ache.
Somehow, the round is over already.
“At least he stopped when you told him no,” Lexi says. “Small bar, right? Say no, back off. Maybe it proves he’s a socially awkward dweeb and not, you know, a monster.”
“Or maybe he’s just a monster who hides it well,” I counter.
Lexi puts her hands on her hips, breathing hard. “It’s possible. I hope not, though.”
“Are you close with him?”
She shakes her head. “Not really, but he was always a nice enough kid. He never really tried in practice, but he was friendly. No offense, but I set you up because I thought he was bland.”
“None taken,” I joke.
She gently touches my arm, then whips it away. “Sorry, I’m sweaty.”
I laugh. “It’s fine.”
“I don’t think you’re bland. I thought, for your first date, it might be good to go with somebody who doesn’t have an overwhelming personality. You said his dad picked you up?”