Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Oh my God. Simon was hard from reading my book.
I needed to get laid. Badly.
Last night I wanked off twice and still couldn’t catch shut-eye for hours. Normally, after a good release, I could pass out for days. Finishing my morning run, I leaned over panting with my hands on my knees. Eight miles and it still did nothing to release the feeling of frustration inside of me. My neck was tense, jaw was clenched, and I had the urge to go box a few rounds with the heavy bag.
After I caught my breath, I tugged off my shirt, used it to wipe the sweat off my face, and walked the last block back to the house. I’d intentionally left while Bridget was in the shower so I didn’t have to face her, figuring she’d be gone by the time I got back. I had a certain amount of guilt about visualizing her while I wanked—obviously not enough to stop me from doing it. Twice.
I was surprised to find her car in the driveway this late. Even though I’d planned to avoid her, I knew it was later than she normally left, so I stopped in to make sure everything was okay. Bridget was hopping on one foot attempting to put a shoe on while brushing her teeth at the same time.
“Everything okay?” I looked at my watch. “Don’t you have to be at the hospital in five minutes?”
She mumbled through a foaming mouth of toothpaste. “Yes. I overslept.”
I couldn’t help myself. I grinned. “Oxytocin surge.”
“What?”
“Orgasm causes an increased production of oxytocin which triggers endorphins that make you sleepy.”
Bridget almost fell over getting on her shoe and immediately headed for the bathroom to spit out her mouth full of paste. I followed, watching from the doorway as she rinsed. Wiping her mouth on the hand towel, she said, “Is anything not about sex with you, Simon? I overslept because I’m a working, single mother.”
“Sure you did.”
She growled at me. It was cute.
“Is Brendan still home, too?”
“He’s in his room getting dressed.”
“Why don’t you take off? I’ll drop Little B at school to save you some time?”
“You’d do that?”
“Of course. I owe you one.”
Still in rush mode, she brushed past me and went to the kitchen to grab her work ID and keys. “That would be great. But why do you owe me one?”
“Let’s just say you helped me out last night. Actually…maybe I owe you two.”
I saw her blush as she ran out the door. “Kiss Brendan for me!”
“Simon, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, buddy. What’s up?” Brendan was in the backseat of my car as I headed toward his school.
“You’re kind of like an uncle since you live with us, right?”
I wasn’t sure where this was going. “An uncle is the brother of one of your parents usually.”
“But Mark Connolly’s parents are divorced, and his mom just had a guy move in and he calls him Uncle Sam.”
“Ummm. I think that’s a little different than a real uncle. Sometimes kids call close friends of their parents Uncle or Aunt.”
“So, couldn’t you be my uncle, then? You and my mom are friends, right?”
“I guess so. In that sense of the word uncle, sure.”
I heard the smile in his voice. “Great. Can you come to field day this afternoon, then? Miss Santoro says if your dad can’t make it, an uncle or a grandfather can come.”
“Sorry, buddy. I have to work this afternoon.” I pulled up to the light and looked in the rearview mirror. The kid’s face almost broke my heart. “You know what, let me make some calls. Maybe I can get someone to cover my shift for a few hours.”
His face lit up. “Really?”
“You bet.” Two minutes later, I pulled to the curb at the front of the school and turned around. “What time does field day start?”
“Eleven.”
I nodded. “I’ll do my best to be there.”
The kid was grinning from ear to ear. He strapped his backpack on and scooted over in the seat to open the door. “You’re going to beat all the dads in tug of war. None of them look like you!”
Dan Fogel was a bastard. In exchange for covering my shift, I had to cover two Saturday nights and pick him up a pile of Chinese food on an evening of his choosing. He’d initially said no, and my begging told him to up the cost. But it was all worth it when I walked into Miss Santoro’s classroom. I scanned the room for Brendan. There were a few dads milling around the room already. Little B was in the back of the class with a group of boys when he spotted me. Pointing, he said, “See, I told you my uncle was huge. Look at his muscles. We’re gonna cream you in tug of war.”