Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
The thought makes me wince as I even try to picture my dad and Lucy together. Much like my original feelings regarding my chances with a man like Bowdie, it’s laughable. Like no way, no how, kinda laughable, which makes my shoulders slump and my sick feeling real as I discover I don’t have to act so hard anymore. I feel sick to my stomach, so maybe curling up in a ball in my bed really is the smartest thing to do right now.
“I dunno,” Lucy murmurs, shrugging and making an uncomfortable face, finally hugging her elbows until my dad plays diplomat.
“Well, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Luce. Just saying that we’re all gonna make a night of your dad’s coming home, so it would be great if it were all four of us,” he sighs, the strain of his “day off” so far making him look like he’s worked two weeks straight in an afternoon. Usually, when Dad makes his plans known, and it includes all of us, Lucy plays along, but something is different about her.
She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “I think I’ll just be going,” she says, but Bowdie’s deep voice makes us all jump, and I gasp when I turn and see him filling the door frame. He’s wearing nothing but a towel and a thousand drops still making tiny rivers across his rippling, chiseled body. He has a tan that makes me wonder if he’s ever been to London at all.
I start panting involuntarily. That rising need I mentioned earlier feels like it just broke the yolk, and the space between my legs is so wet it feels like I’ve been used to dry Bowdie after his shower—something I’d be willing to submit myself to any day of the week.
“Going where?” he asks, his clear but serious-looking eyes on Lucy’s. The stern tone in his rich, natural baritone voice gives me an extra shiver, a cherry on top of my cherry if you will.
Dad looks uneasy, maybe not just at the sight of his best friend nearly naked in his kitchen. I can’t think of or know any man who wouldn’t feel more than a little humbled seeing Bowdie Bigg in nothing but a towel.
Lucy squirms because anyone with eyes could see Lucy’s in some kind of trouble. Her dad, being away so long, is the one man who is bound to overreact and make a bad situation worse, aka the reason Lucy wants whatever’s eating her kept secret.
Lucy meets her dad’s authority head-on, with no sign of giving up soon. “I just wanna go home, Dad. I feel sick, and I wanna go home. Don’t you get it? Or have you been trying to raise the dead again? Staring into a microscope while the rest of the world tries to get on with their lives!” she says it so clearly but so harshly that it’s like a knife cutting through the air, and with every slice of what it cuts, I can see fall from Bowdie’s face.
My dad signals me to follow his lead, and we exit rapidly through the living room so Lucy and her dad can “chat.”
“Did I miss something?” my dad asks aloud. It sounds like he’s talking to me, but when I look over at him, he’s asking himself. Eventually, he catches my stare. “I mean, six months ago, Bowdie was.… He was fine. Now he’s… I dunno what he is, but whatever he’s got, it must be catching. Lucy used to be so…” He wants to say something but stops himself.
“It’s not our place to say anything, honey,” he reminds me. “Why don’t you go hang out in your room, and I’ll let you know when the dust settles?”
From the rising flow and ebb of intense voices from the kitchen, I actually agree with my dad for once. If Lucy’s ready to go blow for blow with her dad, best of luck to her. I’m starting to feel in too deep again, and Bowdie still doesn’t know how I feel. I can’t help but gnaw at my lip once I flop onto my bed, my bedroom door closed as I imagine if I could be with him, let alone should be.
He’s just so… mature… and big.
Rich and handsome.
Big…
I wheeze another long sigh at “big,” recalling how he looked just now in nothing but a towel he made look like a washrag. It was so tight and small on him, and I can now say for sure those were not pleats in his pants earlier. The man is big… everywhere.
The fantasy I’ve been building in my mind for six months spills over. With my room all to myself for what feels like the first time in ages, it isn’t long before I feel my hand slipping down the front of my sweatpants.