He turns and I get a full-frontal view. Do I stop? No. I’m going full pervert tonight. He has girth and length. Of course. Of course, he would have a perfect dick. Why couldn’t he have an ugly one with a kink in it? Because I’m not that lucky and the universe has a sick sense of humor. Now I’m going to picture him naked, that perfect dick of his swinging in my mind’s eye every time I see him. Damn you, Mona and these binoculars.
Shane closes the drapes and saves me from further debasing myself. I take a shower thinking about him. I get into bed thinking about him. I find my relax-her thinking about him. I feel guilty for about a whole minute. Why let a good fantasy go to waste, right?
Chapter 7
“Best I can do is deliver by two tomorrow,” the sales clerk informs me, his cheek stuffed with dip.
It’s already past 6 p.m. when I make it to the feed store. Mice got into the bags we had left and I need to replace them ASAP now that we have one more mouth to feed.
I went to visit Legend first thing in the morning. With the meds and nutrition he’s getting at the clinic, he’s already looking so much better and more alert. Tom says he’s making remarkable progress and should be able to go home by the end of the week. That’s when the hard road to recovery really starts.
It didn’t escape my notice that the Cobra is parked not too far from the supply store. I can only wonder what he’s in town for. And I do wonder. It takes up way too much of my time. It’s been days, and that dick of his is still never far from my thoughts. This is what happens when you have a complete lack of a social life. Maybe Jess was right; this man-fast is making me as thirsty as a fifteen-year-old incel.
“Fine,” I exhale tiredly, “but make sure you send someone to help me unload the bags.”
“I’ll do my best.” He grabs a pen from behind his ear and scribbles something down on a notepad. “Kinda short-staffed this week.”
Just my luck.
When I step out of the store, the vintage Mustang is still there. Shane Hughes is still that one word in The N.Y. Times crossword puzzle I can’t figure out for the life of me, an annoying mystery begging to be solved. One that makes me hot and sweaty even though the last thing I need is to get hot and sweaty over anyone, let alone a man so out of reach he may as well be a mirage.
I won’t allow myself to like him because I’m not in the self-harm business. That would be inviting a world of disappointment to waltz right in. But having him play the lead character in all my dirty fantasies isn’t out of the question. In fact, it’s the perfect solution. And I have the material taking up a lot of my hard drive already.
Naturally, I go looking for him because my interest is piqued and I’m a glutton for punishment. I don’t have enough to do that I need to add stalking to my list. On my way to The Local Cup to grab a latte, I walk by an outdoor restaurant and catch sight of the mirage himself out of the corner of my eye. He’s impossible to miss with his dark salted hair, tan skin, and sharp angular features. Even the scruff covering the lower part of his face can’t hide his near-perfect bone structure or the semi-full lips. If he fails as a writer, he can always get a job as a professional lip model. If there is such a thing.
That’s when I notice he’s not alone. He’s having dinner with a woman. And not just any woman––a drop dead gorgeous one with a perfect figure. Her long black hair is silky. Her eyes are equally dark and almond shaped. Her cheekbones are high and her mouth heart shaped.
If I were to guess, I’d say she’s Native American, but who knows. Whatever she may be, together they make every other power couple look ordinary.
I never even considered whether he was married or engaged. Huh, that’s weird. He doesn’t wear a wedding band, but that’s not uncommon these days. And I am one-hundred percent getting lover vibes from these two.
Hello, disappointment, my old friend. I feel let down even though I have absolutely no right to feel anything. Part of me is glad I got to witness it, though. It’s another reminder that as fun as fantasies are, they’re best kept as fantasies.
She brushes away a tear, clearly upset and on the verge of more. Reaching across the table, she takes his hand. He squeezes it and reaches across with the other, wiping another tear away on her stunning face. This woman makes suffering look sexy. I knew I was way out of my league.
I’m so absorbed in watching this drama play out that the sound of my cell phone ringing startles me. Frazzled, I hit accept without checking who’s calling.
“Is there a reason I haven’t received any of the pictures and videos I expressly asked for?”
Bloody hell… Cruella.
“Um… who’s this?” I say, trying to buy time. Cupping my ear to hear better, I ditch the coffee plans and head for the pickup truck.
“You know who this is so don’t play games.”
“Mrs. Izkov?” My voice is hitting that strange high note again, and fear is chum to people like Cruella. I physically cringe.
“Miz. It’s miz. But that’s not why I called, is it?”
“Right. The pictures. Yeah, we’ve been really busy taking care of the animals… and… you know, Aidan has been working so hard that we just… forgot.”
I mean, is she going to buy this steaming bag of lies? Probably not. Why am I even protecting this lazy you-know-what is the real question. If anyone deserves to be thrown under the bus, it’s Aidan. But some corner of the non-cynical part of my psyche still believes he just needs time to see the error of his ways. Mona really is rubbing off on me.
“Do I strike you as some kind of an idiot?”
“No. No, you do not,” I swiftly answer. I won’t mince words, this woman legit scares the crap out of me and not much does anymore. I certainly don’t need to make an enemy out of her.
“Good. Because I would hate to give you the wrong impression. I want pictures and videos. You will send them starting tomorrow.”
“I can do that,” I say, nodding at no one. After which, the line drops.
The feed delivery truck shows up at two o’clock on the nose the following day. That’s the good news. The bad news is that the driver is alone and I have to unload an entire pallet of feed bags. No use in whining about it so I grab the dolly and get to work under the broiling August heat.
The Mustang drives up just as I’m getting started. Wonderful. I get to have an audience when I struggle with the bags. The sun is especially cruel today, so I squint and pretend not to see him. Shane slides out of the driver seat and lowers his glasses, staring directly at me. This doesn’t look good. His expression spells trouble.
He slams the door shut with enough force for the driver of the delivery truck to notice and make a face. Then he crosses over to the porch of the guesthouse, takes his sunglasses off, and places them on the green Adirondack chair. His Rolex watch soon follows. Then comes the leather strap he wears on the opposite wrist.
I’m spellbound watching him strip. This is the state of affairs these days. I get turned on watching a man remove accessories. He’s taken, I remind myself and get back to work, jumping into the open back of the truck.
The glare he sends me while he marches over is chock-full of hell, fire, and brimstone. He’s wearing an army green t-shirt and jeans, but it’s like 90 degrees, so he must be roasting. I’m sure that’s adding to his mood.