Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
I just hope she didn’t notice my body’s response. What if I scared her and that's why she ran into the house? After all, when she came back down after the garden hose incident, she was wearing a huge, shapeless dress and wouldn’t meet my eye for the rest of the afternoon. She probably felt violated by how I’d stared at her delicious curves. Of course. That’s got to be it.
Self-loathing washes over me at the realization of my bad behavior, even though it was unintentional. I need to speak with Emily, even if it’s just to apologize. I want to explain my intentions, and I need her to know I’m not a danger to her. The thought of her being frightened of living next door to some creepy older man breaks my heart. I need to fix this.
My mind is made up. Tomorrow, I’ll go speak with her.
4
Jason
Tucker left for work hours ago, thank god. That fucker was getting on my nerves, and I wanted him out of my hair. Of course, our house is big, but sometimes my brother gives off vibes that annoy the hell out of me. I guess that’s how people know we’re siblings – he knows exactly which of my buttons to push.
Meanwhile, I decided to skip work today – one of the perks of owning your own law firm - and I don’t want to have to explain to Tucker why I’m taking today off. At least not until I’ve spoken to Emily and fixed the situation at hand.
After all, I don’t want to make her even more uncomfortable than I already have by rolling up at her house with other people present, so I’ve been casually watching the Weathers’s house all morning to make sure everyone’s left. It’s stalker-ish, but it’s the best solution. Her parents, Harry and Joan, left for work about an hour ago, and I just saw Janine take off in her old Toyota. Perfect. Emily’s likely home all alone now, and I should go over now to make the most of this opportunity.
But I need a reason to knock on her door. I can’t just arrive and launch into a conversation about my behavior at the barbecue. That would be awkward, not to mention bizarre. No, I need to find an innocent excuse to go over, and then when Emily feels a little more at ease, I can apologize. But what excuse could there possibly be?
I look around our large chef’s kitchen, and my eyes alight upon the ice cream scoop in a utensil cup. Perfect. What’s more innocent than ice cream? All young girls enjoy ice cream, right? I’ll ask to borrow their ice cream scooper, and use that as my segue into a conversation. Lame, yes, but whatever. I just need an opening.
I glance in the mirror and hastily rake my fingers through my black hair, then casually stroll out the door towards the Weathers’s house. As I knock on the door, I feel calm and collected, ready to do the right thing. It’s not long before the door opens, and suddenly, I’m standing there like a fucking idiot as Emily stares at me.
“Hi,” she says in a soft voice. “Good morning.”
Oh shit, what do I say? My heart’s thundering against my ribs and I literally break out in a sweat because she’s so beautiful. She’s wearing a white sleep shirt covered in little pink hearts, and a pair of matching white shorts. Her feet are hidden in a pair of fluffy pink slippers, and her brown curls cascade over her shoulders in a glorious tangle. Oh shit. I can’t stop staring at her long, golden legs, before forcing my eyes up to meet her amused ones.
“Um hi,” I say hoarsely, “I’m Jason from next door.”
Emily giggles.
“Right, I know. We’ve talked before.”
I nod, feeling ridiculous.
“Um yeah. So I know it’s still early in the morning, but do you have an ice cream scooper I could borrow?” Her face lights up with the most angelic smile I’ve ever seen and I can feel my insides go to mush.
“Yes, we do,” she beams. “Everyone loves ice cream, right? Even first thing in the morning. Come on in.” She opens the door wider, stepping back to let me into the small open plan living room before prancing into the kitchen. “I like your style,” she giggles while opening a drawer. “Ice cream before 9 a.m. on a weekday! That’s my kind of breakfast.”
My heart sinks. I’m such an idiot. Why didn’t I think about that? The timing must seem so fucking weird. But as the teen girl rummages through the kitchen drawers to find the aforementioned scooper, she’s all smiles. If she does think I’m a loser, at least she’s not showing it. Should I start apologizing for yesterday? Emily doesn’t seem like she’s scared or frightened. Maybe I read the situation wrong and this is all a mistake.