Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
There goes my only source of income, I think as my anxiety begins to rise.
Most eighteen-year-olds could go to their parents at a time like this, but my dad left my mom when I was ten, and my mom died of cancer when I was sixteen. I had to finish the last two years of high school on my own while working a job to pay rent on the crappy studio apartment where I still live.
The crappy studio apartment where I still owe rent that I now can’t pay.
When I reach the bus stop, the bus is already there.
“Wait!” I shout, waving my hands like a crazy woman. I can feel the tears behind my eyes just ready to fall, but there’s so much going on that I’m simply not able to cry. “Please, wait!”
I slip in the mud, almost eat shit, but somehow manage to stay on my feet and reach the bus just as the doors hiss and begin to close. I see him, my mysterious stranger, sitting where he always sits, but in the state I’m in, this is the one time I don’t want him to see me, so I take the rear door and go to the seat at the back of the bus and slump down so I’m as hidden as I can be.
And then the tears begin to fall.
Not a flood, more like a trickle. I’m not giving in to my emotions—not yet. But the reality of my situation is that I was just fired because Mr. Baxter is an old pervert who was ready to cheat on his wife, and she would rather fire me and continue living a lie than face that reality.
“Hey, sweetheart.” An unfamiliar voice shakes me out of my thoughts, and I open my eyes to an unfamiliar face looming over me. A man with eyes like a coyote looks down at me and licks his lips. “You look like you could use some cheering up.”
Oh my God. Really?
“No, I’m fine,” I reply, turning away.
“You sure are,” he replies, giggling strangely. “But I’ve got an eye for these things…when a lady is in need of a man’s assistance. And you look like you could use mine.”
Creep-o!
“No, really, I’m fine.”
“Well, why don’t you just let me sit down?” he asks, taking a seat beside me. “Sometimes a little company is all we need to lift our spirits. After all, humans are pack animals.”
“She said no.”
I don’t know how I know, but as soon as I hear the second voice, I know it belongs to him—my mysterious stranger.
I look up and see him standing there like a superhero, arms at his sides but looking somehow ready for anything, eyes on the man beside me, staring him down as if to say, “This is my bus and she is my woman.”
My body instantly comes alive.
“Now back off before I make you.”
2
Cane
I should have known when I saw Pesky Pete get on the bus that he was going to pull some shit like this. I should have told him to get off before my angel got on, but I didn’t. I guess that’s what I get for having a tiny amount of faith in people. Now he’s harassing her, and it’s my goddamn fault.
Pesky Pete’s a regular around town, usually in coffee shops and outdoor patios. He likes to pester women who are alone and has gotten handsy once or twice, which had landed him in jail, but today I guess he decided he’d switch things up and try the bus routes. But if he thinks I’m going to let him try his game with her, he’s got another thing coming.
“Before you make me?” he asks, almost laughing. “The hell you gonna do, pal?”
I feel my blood starting to boil. Clenching my fists at my sides, I bare my teeth and take two steps forward so I’m practically on top of him.
“Stand up,” I growl. “And get off at the next stop, or you’re going to find out.”
Pete’s expression shifts slightly. I see his false confidence shift into something beginning to look like fear. He glances over at her, and I quickly snap in his face, redirecting his attention at me. Just seeing him that close to her has me right on the fucking edge.
She’s beyond beautiful; she’s my little slice of heaven that I’ve been lucky enough to enjoy every day I lay eyes on her. It’s like she just stepped out of a Renaissance painting. I know she rides the bus every day to the Heights where all the old money lives, but if you told me she was an international runway model, I’d believe you.
Her curves make me want to wrap my hands around her thin waist, lift that maid’s skirt of hers up above her perfect perky ass, and pump my cock inside of her. Christ, I want to make her moan my name while I make her come over and over until she can’t even remember her own. How she hasn’t snatched up one of those old rich guys as a sugar-daddy by now I don’t know.