Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 47615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Both of us eventually shoot each other a guilty look.
My own for completely different reasons.
What the hell, Kane? It’s Jen…Abby’s best friend. Stop being a fucking caveman and act your age.
“That’s fine, Jen,” I let her know, pulling a smile and lowering my brow to follow her baby blues as they dart away and down again.
“It’s fine,” I affirm again, trying to relax her while studying all of her features now. Not just the baby-bearing parts.
Jen’s grown into a beautiful young woman, alright.
Short, sure. But most people are when you’re my height.
Petite, I’d call her.
Small but curvy. Curves a man could actually grab hold of with both hands and still have change left to lose himself in.
Not like those stick-thin women in the pictures the guys on the rigs have plastered everywhere.
Fake tits and orange spray tans with lips that look like someone just gave them a right hook?
No thanks.
I never knew I had a ‘type’ either. But the more I take in the sight of Jen, the more I think I’ve found it.
It’s her.
She’s my type—nobody else.
Her dark hair has grown crazy long, but she still wears it up in a ponytail.
She blinks a lot, but I’m not sure if it’s because of the start we just gave each other or if she might wear contacts now instead of glasses.
At least, I think she used to wear glasses.
Shaking my head, I can’t believe this is the same Jen.
Abby’s Jen.
My Jen….
The thought should shock me. But it only makes me smile wider, even letting out a low grunt of satisfaction at the thought.
The very words.
“What is it?” Jen asks, glancing to the side as if she’s waiting for something else to jump out and surprise her.
“Nothing,” I chuckle. “Sorry if I startled you. I came back a day early. I was going to surprise Abby, but she’s not home, I guess?”
Jen shifts from one foot to the other, knotting her smooth features into an uncomfortable grimace.
Uneasy about being alone with me in nothing but what she has on, I guess.
“I’ll just…. I mean, I should really…,” I start to say, meaning to stand and exit the kitchen.
Leave her to do whatever she was doing.
But the edge of the polished counter clawing at the swollen helm of my unexpected erection has me taking my seat on the kitchen stool again.
No point in making a bad situation worse by letting Jen see that.
But damn if she doesn’t make me harder than steel.
Something I’m still not sure she’s aware of by the time she finally smiles awkwardly.
“It’s okay. I’ll leave you to it. I should really get some clothes on,” she murmurs.
“Me too,” I echo back, having no intention of doing that right this second.
And seeing her move to go only makes me realize how much I don’t want her anyplace right now except right where she is.
“You don’t have to go. But, I mean, if Abby’s not home, maybe you could…I don’t know, talk to me?”
Wow. Real smooth, slick. You sure know how to talk to the ladies.
Jen hugs her elbows and looks down again. Pushing her full breasts together and almost making me groan aloud.
She shivers.
“Cold?” I ask, not meaning to draw attention to her nipples that are giving the aching ridge of my cock a run for its money.
“I came down to see if I could find the thermostat,” she confesses. “It did get chilly in here awfully quick.”
Her face flushes deeper as her eyes shift across my chest again, straying down as far as they can before I clear my throat.
I can see she’s uncomfortable but curious, and although it goes against every fiber of my being right now, I concede defeat.
For now, anyway.
“Maybe we should get some clothes on, I mean…,” I trail off.
Wanting to say a thousand other things to her but reminding myself in big neon writing in my mind that this is my daughter’s best friend.
“I’ll be right back,” Jen smiles knowingly, giving me a little look. I take it to mean she wants to keep talking, just not in her underwear.
She turns quickly, trotting off with a sense of urgency and vowing to return, which pleases me more than anything.
Almost.
Having the perfect view of her rear end and full hips that move in time with her shimmying steps across the tiled floor does a little more than just please me.
It fills me with an urge I’ve never felt for anyone.
Something that seems so right in my mind, but I know it could never play out in reality.
I mean, my daughter’s best friend who’s half my age?
Try telling that to Mr. Hard as Fuck here under my towel. My hormones feel like they’ve been slotted into a time machine.
Making me feel twenty years younger and all of it burning for her.
But it’s an inferno that could turn into a dumpster fire if I say or do anything stupid.