Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 161899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 809(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 809(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
It was going to be awesome.
Now it’s gonna be safe.
We’re professionals.
I didn’t say you weren’t. And
don’t get pissed at me, Ryn
is great. But she isn’t Cirque
du Soleil.
He had me there.
It’s still weird Ian got so
pissed. I’ve never heard
him raise his voice.
When a woman you care about
takes a header, you react.
OMG!
What?
I hadn’t thought about that.
We’re all pretty tight with
Ian. I could so totally see
how he was upset that
she went splat on the mat.
You need to hang around me
more, baby.
Agreed.
Though I don’t know why
you said that in the current
context.
So you’ll have more
practice understanding
the way a man reacts and
you’ll get with the program.
Ugh.
I texted “ugh.”
But I so totally wanted more practice understanding the way a man (primarily, Auggie) reacted.
More, I really dug having something happen at work, and then I could text someone who knew the players, and we could talk about it.
For sure, I had my girls. I could, and we did, talk about everything.
It was just nice to have a man, a partner, someone in my life, to talk to about stuff.
No.
It was nice it was Auggie.
Splat on the mat?
Cirque du Soleil?
Are you dissing the Cirque?
No. Just surprised at
your reference.
Have you been to a show?
No.
Weekend away. Vegas and
a show.
I am SO there.
There was a lot more of that all day, through the evening, and Auggie demanded I text him when I got home so it went into the night. Because when I got home, we continued it until I was in bed and it was time for us both to crash.
* * *
The next day, I didn’t wake when my phone binged with his text. But when I did wake, the first thing I did was check my phone to see if he sent one.
He did.
Text when you’re up.
This I did.
He didn’t respond.
Not for an hour and a half.
And yes, I was timing it.
Then, after I’d finished meditating, journaling and was in the kitchen doing my breakfast dishes and pouring my second cup of coffee, the doorbell rang.
This was not unusual in our ’hood. A social development meant anyone could show at any time in need of something or just to chat.
Thus, I didn’t hesitate.
I wandered to the door with my coffee cup wearing a pair of brightly patterned sleep shorts and a chunky, cropped sweater.
I looked through one of the windows beside the door and saw Aug standing there.
So, obviously, I threw open the door.
“Hey!” I peeped.
His eyes went down, they came up, and he growled, “Get rid of the coffee.”
I froze for half a second before I whirled and ran to the stairs.
I set the mug down on a step, turned, and he was on me.
We made out and we made out some more and we groped and made out even more.
When I had my hand closing in on his package, he captured my wrist, pulled it around to the small of my back and stopped kissing me senseless.
I came out of the fog slowly, and when I focused on his eyes, he whispered, “Morning, sweetheart.”
Okay.
That was about 57,897 times better than a good morning text.
And then he said, “Now I gotta get back to work. Have a good day.”
After that, he’d given my ass a squeeze (because that was where his hand was) and walked right to the door.
Yes, that was what I said.
He’d come to me.
He’d pounced on me.
And then…
He walked right to the door.
I stood there with hard nipples and more than one set of flushed, swollen, quivering lips and lied, “I hate you.”
He turned in the door he’d opened, winked at me, then he closed it behind him.
Hot.
Annoying and frustrating.
But still so freaking totally hot.
To his first text to me a couple of hours later, I responded with:
I’m so totally not talking
to you.
Why not?
☺
Yes!
He ended that with a smiley face!
Because you’re a tease.
I worried he wouldn’t take that right, considering our history.
So I added:
Of note: I’m not talking to
you, but if you wanted to
come over and make out,
I’m down with that.
☺ ☺ ☺
Yes. Three smiley faces.
But he didn’t come over and make out.
It was Friday, my day on the go. Laundry. Cleaning the house. Getting to the grocery store. Generally preparing for that golden moment that would be Monday afternoon when my baby would be back home.
And I suspected Auggie was busy too, because after his smileys, which I let sit for a while, I’d asked if he might want to grab a quick bite on Saturday before I had to go to work, but he hadn’t answered quickly.
However, with spooky synchronicity, his next text came in right on top of one from Corbin.
Juno and Patrick were here
last night. They aren’t tonight.
By “here,” that meant Auggie was at the school on a Friday night building sets for the Thanksgiving show of a kid he didn’t know all that well.
And Corbin was wherever Corbin was, texting me: