Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Except you, I almost add, but I don’t.
My hands are shaking, my head is pulsing, and it’s like I can feel the world spinning beneath my feet the closer we veer to this topic which is taboo in the extreme.
The word naked shouldn’t even be in this conversation, ever. She’s Max’s goddamn daughter.
How many times will I tell myself that without taking action or trying to tame the beast Danielle has awoken in me?
Not even your girlfriend?
I stare at the message for a long time. In my mind, she’s stopped biting her lip. She’s pushed away the shyness, sitting up straighter, a posture that would make those thick, creamy, delicious tits stick out for me.
The message comes across like she’s fishing for information. She’s eager to know if I’ve got a girlfriend because she wants to be my girlfriend.
Or is that just wishful thinking?
I don’t have a girlfriend, Danielle. When you’re a grumpy old bastard like me, it’s better to be alone.
Until I found you, I almost add. Then I saw a photo of a twenty-year-old woman, her smile bright, her eyes captivating, her body enough to turn a seemingly sane person into an obsessive animal.
One of the workmen calls for me, and I'm busy for the next ten minutes. Usually, when I’m working – no matter what kind of work it is – I’m able to focus on the task in front of me and block everything else out.
It’s one of the keys to success, this single-minded focus.
But as I talk with the workmen, I can’t stop thinking about my phone, even if I’ve switched it to complete silence, so I won’t even feel it vibrate.
Once I’m done, I almost run across the empty restaurant, leaning against a booth as I take out my phone.
You’re forty-one, right? That’s not old in my book, Damien. And anyway, age is just a number. Maybe that’s a cliché, but it’s true.
The phrase repeats in my mind.
Age is just a number.
Does that mean she doesn’t care about our twenty-one-year age gap? Does that mean my beautiful young woman is ready for an older man to show her the way?
For a few moments, I start to believe this is it. The moment where our romance truly starts, even if romance feels too small to describe this feeling.
Then somebody knocks on the door.
I can see it’s Max just from his outline in the glass of the door, the friend I’ve known since we were kids. The friend I’m betraying just by letting my thoughts go there.
Taking a moment to compose myself – and hating the need for it – I stand and walk over to the door, pulling it open.
Max is in his nurse’s scrubs, but he looks alert pre-shift.
“Thought you’d swing by before work?” I ask, forcing a smile – or a smirk – to my face.
It feels so false, so make-believe, and again I remind myself I have to stop things with Danielle before it gets out of hand.
No more texting unless it’s specifically related to marketing.
I’ve got to be firm on that. Or I’ll never be able to stop.
“That okay?” Max says, stepping forward.
I wave him inside. “You know it is. It’s not much to look at right now, but it will be.”
As we walk inside, I know my obsession with Danielle isn’t waning, despite my conviction. I’m thinking about what I just said, how the restaurant will be something one day.
It’s like Danielle and me.
Right now, we’re nothing but a few texts, some exchanges that could be innocent or could be the complete opposite.
But one day….
Max turns to me, head tilted. “Lost in the clouds?”
I nod, letting out a breath. “Something like that.”
CHAPTER SIX
Danielle
I sit in the café during Monday lunchtime, sipping my latte. Anna sits across from me. The café’s right around the corner from the marketing firm, and often she’ll bring her laptop here so we can meet for lunch.
“How’s work going?” I ask her, placing my coffee down, wincing as it rattles in the saucer.
Anna’s work mostly involves writing copy on a mind-bending variety of subjects. Whatever the client wants, she can provide, and it always warms my heart when I look at her freelance page and read the glowing reviews. I remember when she was just a shy kid with her head in a book.
Heck, I remember when I was that too.
“Work is fine. And work is boring,” Anna grins. “I’d rather talk about you and your texting Romeo.”
I glance out the window at the traffic, the midday sunlight making everything far brighter than my mood.
“We were texting about our age gap on Saturday,” I murmur. “But then he went quiet. I messaged him yesterday, saying I’ll be sending over my notes this evening, and he just wrote back Sounds good. No kiss or anything. It’s weird. It’s like he’s backing off. But is that fair to say, backing off when he was never making moves, to begin with?”