Chapter 2
Eb
I rub the tension at the back of my neck. It’s been a long fucking day. I’m working under a deadline. I need to have the first draft of this damn book finished in two weeks and the way things are going, there’s no way that’s going to happen. I had to be fucking insane to plan a move this close to my contractual obligations. I wish I had never signed that damn contract. There was a time writing was fun for me, but it’s been so long ago I can barely remember it.
Now it’s all about the Benjamins.
The thing about money is once you have a taste of the good life, you keep wanting more of it. It’s a vicious damn cycle.
Still, today I seemed to have gotten in a groove. I’ve knocked out chapter after chapter and I’m actually liking the direction of the story. I’m typing away when… all at once I hear it.
Outside my window there’s… singing. Several people singing actually, and at least two of them have to be completely tone deaf. All thought processes screech to a halt suddenly and as someone’s voice cracks on Silent Night. Screech seems to be a good word to use. Jesus.
When I asked my agent to help find a rental that was in a quiet town in Nowhere USA, I thought she had finally come through with Juniper Springs, Colorado. I should have been more specific, however. This whole place has gone Christmas crazy. My neighbor’s decorations alone hurt my eyes to look at. I’ve had to have total blackout blinds installed and I swear there’s still traces of light that seem to infiltrate my house. How the fuck they manage to pay their electric bill is beyond me. The place should be declared a national security risk. I’m pretty sure that there are planes above mistaking their yard for an airport runway, all because of the fucking lights.
I stand up, stretching muscles which are sore from lack of use. I don’t know how many hours I’ve been sitting at my damn computer, but I’m pretty sure when I started that it was barely daylight. One glance at the clock tells me that night will be falling soon.
No wonder I’m fucking sore.
I might as well take a break and regroup since no more writing will be done today. I walk into the kitchen wondering if there is anything in here worth eating. I pull back the lid to the pizza I had delivered yesterday…or maybe a couple of days before. I can’t really remember. When I’m writing I tend to get lost in the story and lose track of time. There’s still a piece left and there’s no mold on it, so I figure I’m good. I don’t bother heating it up. Warmed up pizza is for men who shave their balls.
I walk back towards the front door, pizza in hand. As I go I’m sifting through my outline in my head, mentally going back through what I’ve written and trying to see where I still need to go. This is my process. It’s also the reason why after I write a book that I do nothing for months afterwards—my brain needs a vacation. I open the door to check to see if the mailman left mail out front. The first couple of days he knocked. I don’t remember him knocking today, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t. I trap the piece of pizza between my teeth and lips and open up the metal mailbox which is mounted beside the door. There’s some mail in there, so I guess the guy did come by. I dig out the magazine and a few sales papers and one envelope. The only real mail seems to be a letter from my agent. I wasn’t expecting one, so this could be good or bad. I take the last two bites of my pizza, tossing the leftover crust in a trashcan I keep by the entryway. I wipe my hand on my sweats, to rid it of at least some of the excess pizza sauce, and then I tear open the letter.
I read over the note, frowning because my balls are itching. Hearing from my agent has that effect on me. She’s not bad to look at, but she has that hungry look about her that scares the shit out of me. Not the kind that says she’s up for sex anytime and every time and will wear your dick out. The kind that says she’d chop your dick off if it meant she’d get further ahead. It’s a scary fucking look for a woman, but a great one for an agent and the one simple reason I hired her. I move my hand down, sliding it between my stomach and sweats, scratching my balls, still reading the letter.
“Oh!”
A startled gasp comes from my left. I look over and see a sexy little blond holding a large container decorated in Christmas crap. She’s wearing tight jeans that cling to her, an oversized white sweater, that sadly completely hides her tits from view, though I’m sure they are under there… somewhere. She also has some weird little Santa hat on that’s red and complete with a white puffy ball on the end.
Suddenly I have the strangest urge to get on the naughty list.
Chapter 3
Joy
I spent more time than I should have visiting Mrs. Reynolds, but she was lonesome. Still, as a result I’m really pushing it trying to get home before it gets dark. I don’t normally drive, even in the colder weather. It just seems like a waste, because I don’t live that far from town. But, now I’m really hoofing it to get home before dark. Juniper might be a quiet neighborhood, but a woman walking home alone after dark isn’t safe anywhere these days. I turn the corner, deciding to go straight to my neighbor’s house. I can deliver their package of Christmas cheer and hopefully help push him into the spirit and then go home and crash. I can already hear my large soaking tub calling my name. When I look up at my neighbor’s door, my breath stops in my lungs.
He’s standing at his mailbox, in sweats and he’s not wearing a shirt and… he’s delicious. That’s the only word that comes to mind. Delicious. Because he is. He’s like a Greek god—an Adonis in the flesh. His skin is a golden bronze, and looks so inviting… almost like candy because all you want to do is lick it. He’s got wavy black hair that looks months too late for a cut, but the long, messy locks is sexy and screams with masculinity. There’s traces of gray here and there, but that only makes it more appealing.
His face looks as if it was chiseled by an artist. It’s just that perfect. He even has this perfectly symmetrical indention on his chin that makes me wonder what it would feel like to slide my tongue against it.
I find myself hoping he’s single. I find myself praying he’s the answer to the long dry spell I’ve been having.
I start to speak up to announce my presence when I see him move his hand inside his gym pants. I blush slightly, but even though I know I shouldn’t—I still watch. He moves his hand down, adjusting himself and I swallow, because my throat is suddenly dry.
Then he does something that completely floors me.
His hand moves in his pants and I can see him actually stretching out his shaft. It’s not hard—at least not completely—but, even through the loose sweatpants that he’s wearing you can tell he’s packing. He’s big. Really big.
I can’t stop the startled, “Oh!”, that comes out of my mouth, or the way I feel flushed, weak, and yet strangely energized all at the same time.
He turns to face me then and I can feel heat fill my face. His gaze moves up and down my body. It lingers on my breasts and the look in his eyes excites me. I should be ashamed at the wetness gathering against my panties, but I’m not. It’s been a long time since a man has looked at me and even then, he looked nothing like this man. This man is…