Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
The bunny… Lord, that man… Mr. Kage Wilde… So damn sexy… I can’t call him though. At least not right now. I’ll call him next week when I have a little more time.
She inhaled the air, and slowly closed her eyes.
Her living room smelled so fresh and clean. The windows, wide open, allowed a sweet breeze inside the space. She ran her hand along her breast as she thought of Kage… the way his long legs splayed open on that couch as he spoke to her in that deep, rusty, gravelly voice of his. The big bulge between his thighs told her everything she needed to know: looked like a damn baseball with a fat, long sausage draped across it… Mmmm… those jeans of his outlined that dick and balls alright… I know that man is packin’! Then those black tattoos all over his body… That blond and silver hair that sometimes fell over his right eye… Yes, the eyes… Those damn piercing blue eyes…
She secretly loved his dark sense of humor, too. He was handy. A businessman. A brute. The whole rude, bad boy package. What a man, what a man! I would like to date again, but I’d never get involved with someone like him seriously, though. He has more issues than a magazine subscription. She silently chuckled as she observed the pale yellow curtains blowing, reminding her of some fabric softener commercial.
What if he bent me over that windowsill and fucked me real good from behind? Oh my God… I have got to stop this. Enough of those seedy, lust-fueled thoughts. I have work to do. I’ll write it down to remember to call him later about the greenhouse, though. Just business. I don’t care how attracted I am to him. Her breast was warm from her touch as she let her hand fall to her side. There’s work to do around here. I don’t have the time or emotional bandwidth to be foolin’ with some crazy ogre that lives in the middle of the woods like some Bigfoot. I need me just a regular, boring dude. Focus. Landscaping. Home improvements. She looked around her, admiring her digs. Feeling blessed and proud.
The house was ancient, but in the middle of repairs and remodeling. Some of which she was doing herself. She loved this old place. The character. The bones were strong. It had personality, and the rooms were huge, the architecture interesting and the house full of promise. It was in the middle of nowhere, and her closest neighbor was Melba, the bird-obsessed cat lover, about a quarter of a mile away, who lived with her bedridden husband.
“Poet?”
“Yes, Huni?”
“You look like your mama today…” Huni’s eyes smiled before her plump pink lips did. The crow’s feet bunched, and her spirit seemed to be leaping inside of her, rejoicing when the words poured out. Poet felt warm all over as she reached for her black leather corded necklace. A single pearl pendant on it. She sat down beside Huni and ran her hand along the older woman’s thigh. Huni had on some hip-hugging bell bottom khakis. She was short and thin, with oddly long legs for her small frame.
“I wish I remembered her more.” She looked off into the yard, seeing a portion of her field full of eggplants and melons. They were quiet for a spell, and then a dish detergent commercial came on in the middle of Huni’s show.
“She was a beautiful person. I miss her so much… so much.” She reached for her drink, her hand trembling. Bringing the glass to her mouth, she took a taste. Aunt Huni had Type 1 diabetes and a weak heart. She also had become forgetful, and had a touch of early onset dementia. She and her mother had been best friends, and had attended high school and nursing college in Dallas together. Huni, being Filipino, used to be teased for saying that Dominque, Poet’s mother, was her sister, but she meant that. Huni always said that Dominique had saved her life, but never explained how. Just said it was personal, but one day she may tell her. Both her mother and Huni had been married twice, though neither of Mama’s prior husbands were Poet’s father.
Huni’s first marriage ended because she said she was just too young, and she didn’t love him the way she should. Her second marriage ended after her husband, who Poet used to call Uncle Joe-Joe—his real name Joselito—had passed away in an accident sixteen years prior. A truck driver, he’d had fallen asleep behind the wheel. He had been a good person, too. Huni had no children. Her doctor had strongly suggested she not get pregnant due to her illnesses, so when Mama got sick and asked Huni to raise Poet, she agreed to it without hesitation.