Dammit.
As much as I try, I’m unable to push away thoughts of Lyndee and seeing her in person for the first time in so many years. She’s exactly as I remember her, yet with new, unfamiliar curves to her petite body. I’m rather annoyed I even noted the swells of her breasts and her hourglass hips. Oh, I always notice those attributes on women, but this isn’t just any woman.
This is Lyndee.
My intent was to take a quick shower and head down to make something for dinner, but the moment the jets hit my back and chest, my body starts to relax a little and I feel myself letting go of the day’s stress. Well, all except one particular element, but I refuse to think her name. Or of those luscious tits I’d kill to get my hands on. Or the way her paint-splattered leggings molded to her round ass.
“Fuck,” I groan, leaning my forearms against the cold tile. The shock of cool on my skin does nothing to alleviate the fire suddenly racing through my veins. I try to ignore it, but there’s a familiar throb in my groin that won’t let me forget.
I take my hard cock in my hand and give it a squeeze. My balls draw up, anxious for release. I move swiftly, the water making it easy to slide along the rigid length. I can feel precum beading on the tip as the familiar tingle sweeps up my spine. I try to think about anyone else, but I just can’t do it. Lyndee is front and foremost, the fantasy of her pouty lips wrapping around the head of my cock, her warm tongue dancing down my burning flesh. When I close my eyes, she’s all I see, all I feel, as if she were literally on her knees in front of me.
Unable to hold back any longer, my orgasm barrels through me like a tornado, ravishing and destroying everything in its path. I call out the only name on my lips and mind, both a blessing and a curse. I come harder than I think I ever have, my legs wobbly, my body sags against the wall for support. It’s hard to breathe.
“Shit,” I grumble, reaching for the bar of soap and rewashing my body, as I wait for the guilt to slide in. It doesn’t, however. I’m left feeling sated and rejuvenated, ready to tackle every obstacle before me.
Except Lyndee.
That’s one hurdle I need to avoid like the clap.
Nothing good can come from befriending her once more, not that we were ever really friends. We never got to know each other personally, outside of school, and were more adversaries, both in the kitchen and out of it. We kept our battle friendly, pushing each other’s buttons without letting it turn bitter or nasty, and at the end of those years, walked away without so much as a backward glance. Oh, I’ve thought of her over the years, dreamed of her narrowed brown eyes when she’d dispute something I did and remembered the smile she’d give when she got the highest grade on a lesson. Yet, I’ve always been able to push those remembrances to the back of my mind, locking them up behind a thick wall.
Now, she’s here. In Stewart Grove. Directly across the street. There’s no way to hide from her. Not that I’d want to. I won’t let her wield that kind of control over me.
I’ll do my thing and let her do hers. It’s not like we run in the same circles or anything. I’ll go on with my life, running and continuing to build my business, without giving the small bakery across the road any thought. That means not letting her gorgeous face infiltrate my private, dirty thoughts in the shower, or out of it.
Except, I know that won’t happen.
What is the saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Should be easy, considering I’m helping her set up her front area tomorrow morning. I’ve got this.
Lyndee Gibson, prepare to be brought closer than ever before. If you have something planned, I will figure it out and won’t let you get away with it.
Chapter Four
Lyndee
I slept horribly last night. I was plagued with images of Jasper standing in my kitchen, staring at me with those consuming dark eyes and condescending smirk. The exact same grin he always wore back in school. The one that said he was better than everyone else there, including me.
In some ways, he was.
I’ve never seen a more naturally skilled chef than what I witnessed when Jasper was in the kitchen. He was calm, collected, and under complete control of his environment. Witnessing him work was like watching the sun setting over a crystal blue ocean landscape. It was gorgeous and serene, a sight to behold. I can only imagine what he’s like now, as an adult.
Back then, he was driven to be the best, which pushed me to be even better. He used to focus his culinary skills on appetizers and entrées, while I worked on perfecting desserts. Oh, he gave them his best shot, but he could never top me in that department. Especially his pecan pie. It was the one dish that I was able to best him at.
Glancing out the window, I see the light dusting of freshly fallen snow covering the ground. I knew it was coming but had hoped it would hold out just a little longer. As pretty as it is, I’m more of a spring kind of girl. Bring on the scent of impending rain and blooming flowers. Sure, the snow is pretty for a short time, but then it turns dingy and dirty. Not to mention I have the coordination of a baby deer learning to stand for the first time each and every time I try to walk in it.
It’s not pretty.
“Dustin,” I holler in the hallway, just outside his bedroom door. “Do you want to go with me now, or would you prefer I come get you later?”
His door opens immediately, and he appears at the threshold with a smile. “I want to go now,” he says, using his walker to exit his room. “I really liked Jasper. I was hoping to talk to him more,” he adds, stepping past me and heading down the hall.
My heart hammers in my chest. I want to shield my brother from Jasper, but I know I can’t. He might be my little brother, but at twenty-eight, he’s still an adult. And, I think he’s lonely. Sure, we’re close and spend all of our free time together, but there was no missing that flash of excitement and longing in his brown eyes. He hasn’t made any friends since we moved to Stewart Grove, and that’s my fault. I should have done better introducing him to people in the area. A fresh wave of guilt settles in, making me feel like I’m failing him.
When he reaches the end of the hallway, he stops and glances back. “Do you think he likes baseball?”
His question saddens my heart. Dustin loves baseball, even though he was never given the opportunity to play. When he was younger, Mom couldn’t afford a lot of the physical therapy he required to make him stronger. Often, we were without insurance, the cost well outside of her monthly budget as a single parent. So, he had to watch from the bleachers or couch. When he was seven, he decided Cincinnati was his team and has been cheering for them ever since.
“I don’t know, Dust,” I answer honestly.
“I’ll ask him,” he replies with a shrug, turning back and moving through the condo. When he reaches the kitchen, he stops in his tracks, his eyes widening with worry. “What if he’s an Indians fan?”
I bark out a laugh. “Well, I guess you’d have someone to dispute favorite players and weird stats with.”
He makes a face, one of annoyance. “It’s not weird, Lyn, it’s great. Plus, we all know Frank Robinson is the greatest Reds of all time.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “If you say so.”
“Come on, a thousand and nine RBIs in five thousand five hundred twenty-seven at bats. Three hundred twenty-four home runs, Lyn, with a .303 batting average. How amazing is that?”