Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
And then, silence.
Not in my head, of course, where my thoughts were swirling. But silence from my phone. No answer. Nothing.
With a sigh, I drained the pasta, cooling it just enough so that I could handle it without burning my fingers. A lesson learned the hard way.
I was just popping the lid on the pasta sauce when there was a knock at my door.
My hand went automatically for my frying pan as I pocketed my phone, inching toward the door with an all-too-familiar trepidation.
But when I went up on my tiptoes to look out the peephole, I didn't see my past standing there.
I saw Cam.
I fumbled with the locks for an embarrassingly long moment, maybe a little grateful that I knew he couldn't hear me.
Then there he was, looking as stupidly gorgeous as I remembered, a laptop propped up under his arm, something I didn't give too much thought to, thinking maybe he was going to do some work on it or something while I sat there awkwardly mumbling to myself because I never could get comfortable with silence between two people.
"Hungry, huh?" I asked, enunciating the words so that hopefully he didn't have any trouble reading my lips.
To that, I got a quirk of the lips and a small nod before he stepped forward.
For a blindly dumb moment, I thought he was going to try to kiss me.
The disappointment - and internal chastisement for thinking he would want to kiss me - was strong for a long while as I made my way over toward my kitchen, pretending not to watch him glance around my place.
I didn't have much. That was mine anyway. The apartment was likely exactly how he remembered it - had he ever been inside - except for my guitar, the sheets of music scattered across the scuffed surface of the coffee table, my shoes beside the door, the fluffy blanket I draped over the back of the couch to make the whole place just a tad less depressing.
I didn't buy household items, as a rule. Sure, they would make me feel better temporarily, but knowing I would likely have to leave at the drop of the hat - and leave them behind - filled me with sadness. Not just about the money wasted by doing so, but because I tended to get attached to things, want them with me. It was why I still had a little beanie baby tucked into my single bag of luggage just inside my bedroom door. My mother had gotten it for me on my eighth birthday. I had never been able to leave it behind.
So, yeah, my apartment looked like an old man lived there. No frills. Nothing pretty or soft or all that homey even.
Cam moved over toward the TV, opening up his laptop, producing a wire from his back pocket, fiddling around for a long moment before the Netflix logo on his laptop magically appeared on the TV.
Satisfied, he straightened, reaching for his phone, shooting off a text. In my back pocket, my phone dinged and vibrated.
Cam - You got the food handled. I got the movie.
- Sounds perfect.
And it did.
Only when I felt his gaze on me did I realize I was smiling down at my phone. Like a weirdo.
Shaking my head a bit at myself, I tossed it up on the counter, washing my hands, and getting back to work as Cam clicked his way through the offerings Netflix had.
He seemed just about finished as I put the ziti in the oven. And, well, that was right when he decided to stretch, arms raising up over his head, his shirt sliding up a bit, giving me a delicious view of his hard abdomen, complete with that too-good-to-be-true V of his Adonis belt, something about it - and knowing where it might lead - making my sex clench hard.
It was about then, too, that I realized his focus wasn't on the TV at all. But on me.
Watching me drool over him.
"Great. Just great, Annie. Eye-bang the nice neighbor guy. That isn't rude at all," I mumbled to myself as I bent down to retrieve the baking sheet from where it was hidden in the warming drawer under the oven.
In my embarrassment, I stood a bit too quickly, the cookie sheet catching the ledge of the counter, knocking right out of my hand, clattering toward the floor.
I missed it.
Right when it happened, I missed it.
Because it was so natural, something you would never stop to think of because it was what always happened when a loud noise ripped through a comfortable silence.
But it wasn't natural, normal.
It wasn't how he was supposed to react.
Yet it didn't click as I bent down to retrieve it, still mumbling to myself. "Why not just admit to him that you had a sex dream about him last night while you're at it?"