Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Finally, it’s over. I peel my eyes open, seeing I’ve come all over the sheets like a goddamn loser, somebody with no self-control. With Emma, that’s the truth. I can’t control anything.
I clean myself, then strip the sheets. It feels pitiful, knowing the real Emma is just a few doors down. It feels pathetic, indulging like this when I should be losing myself with my woman for real. I should be sliding my finger gently over her lips, then her hole, then…
I’m getting hard again. Am I really going to do this?
I leave my bedroom quickly before I get carried away again. Rusty is sitting in the hallway, head tilted, a pretty judgmental look on his face, truth be told.
“I know.” I rub his head. “I’m more of an animal than you.”
He whines, basically saying yes. It’s not like he’ll argue with me on that one.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MIKE
With the snowshoes on, I walk over the snow, making for Little Hope. With the map saved on my phone, it’s a simple matter of braving the cold and rucking some basic supplies in case I need to hole up. It’s only ten miles, and somebody is waiting for me on the road. Some would say this is foolish, but it’s like destiny. What are the chances? Seriously? If somebody calculated them, what are the chances? It’s impossible even for an accountant to say.
The snow is coming down more rapidly now. I might’ve done the foolish thing of walking directly into a blizzard. Even if I’m an accountant now, it’s not as if some snow will stop me. Maybe I should’ve told Jacob and Emma, but I’ll be back soon.
Will I, though, with this snow coming down? I can’t turn back. It’s like a hot piece of metal is in my chest, and my destination is a magnet, pulling me closer and heating me up even more with each step. I can’t stop, one foot coming after the other.
I’ll message or text them if I’m back too late. It’s not the end of the world. This isn’t me being exactly what Vanessa called me, is it? Ridiculously, pathetically selfish? Maybe it is. I can’t stop to think about that. Finally, I reach the road. There’s a snowmobile parked next to a tree, a figure leaning against the tree in the shadow of the sunlight blistering through white clouds.
The figure kicks away from the tree. My heart starts to pound so hard. One foot after the other, feeling like a newborn lamb, I walk toward the figure. I have to do this—no turning back. There’s no other choice.
CHAPTER TWELVE
EMMA
Rusty barks loudly at the door as the wind whips at the cabin. Jacob marches around the house, slamming the shutters closed. I can see his figure moving past the windows, then disappearing when he closes them.
I walk down the hallway. The blizzard came on so fast. I was almost asleep, slipping into a dream where Jacob was holding me, loving me—so far from reality—when a gust of wind hammered against my window.
“Dad?” I knock on his door. No answer. How is he sleeping through this? Dad has always been a hard sleeper, so it wouldn’t be surprising. There’s no way I’ll be sleeping if this carries on. I knock again. “Dad?”
Rusty stops barking when Jacob comes back into the house. Even after being out there for only ten minutes, he’s covered in snow from head to foot. He shakes himself off in the entranceway, his heavy coat sending snow into the air. Rusty grins and leaps up, trying to catch it.
“Is he still asleep?” Jacob asks, taking off his coat.
I turn away. Why does he have to be so rugged and handsome all the time? “Yeah.”
“He could always sleep through anything.”
“I’ll wake him for dinner,” I say. “What do we do now?”
“This blizzard is our friend,” he replies. “If those assholes want to get to us, they’d have a hell of a time now. The only downside is I’ve lost the internet and my cell signal.”
“Me too,” I tell him. “But that’s okay, right? It’s not like we need to call anyone.”
“No,” he says, walking into the kitchen and glancing at the table. “Is this for me?”
I made him a coffee when he was outside. “Yeah, I set it there to cool. I hope it’s not too cold.”
He raises the mug and takes a sip. The smile that touches his face is enough to melt parts of me. It makes me forget about the wind hammering and snow flurrying outside. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s just coffee.”
He takes an exaggerated sip. I laugh. He’s so much more playful than I ever imagined he’d be. “It’s perfect coffee.”
“I guess I’ll go do some reading.”
“What are you reading?” he asks.
“It’s nothing.”
Another smirk. I wonder if he’s intentionally doing this, messing with my head. Surely, he knows how much these smiles mean to me. Surely, he knows how much they make my heart sparkle. Or maybe he doesn’t. Perhaps he’s trying to be distant, too, but he can’t.