Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
HARLAN
Sitting in my living room, a beer in hand with the television on, I flick my gaze to the closed office door. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I shouldn’t have made her lunch. I should have kept my distance.
Leaning forward, I place my beer on the coaster in the center of my coffee table, or rather, my granny’s coffee table. I haven’t done shit to this place since they all died.
Everything is exactly the way they left it, except for the closets. I cleaned out the closets and moved into the master bedroom a few months back, but other than that, everything stayed untouched.
Same furniture, same shit in the cabinets, same shit on the walls. Frozen in time, which, to be honest, it was already. And it is definitely decorated in seventies farmhouse fashion, complete with lacy doily shit on every fucking surface possible.
I stand and walk straight to the office. I’m not sure what I’m going to do in here, but I need to be here, maybe because this is where she last was. This is where her scent lingers. Flipping on the light, I walk over to her desk and sink down in her chair.
My gaze glides along the surface of the desk. And that’s when I see it—the sticky note. It’s stuck to the side of her computer monitor. I forgot about it. Shit. Frowning, I tilt my head to the side as I take it in.
She didn’t say anything about the note. She didn’t act any differently. I wonder if she even realizes it’s me who wrote it? But then again, who else would have written it? Honestly, writing that note was about as far out of my comfort zone as I could probably go at this point.
Taking a pen and a notepad, I draw another stick figure. This time, it’s a horse. I don’t even attempt to draw a cowboy on the horse. I’m sure it would look like a mythical creature that couldn’t be deciphered.
You’re my favorite daydream. And fantasy.
-Cowboy
Leaving the note in the middle of her desk, I stand and walk out of the office without looking back. It’s another bold move, and it could bite me in the ass, but I don’t think I care too much. I want her to want me. Although I'm not sure what I’m going to do with her once she does.
I head over to the window that faces her house, and my eyes scan the windows. They’re all dark. Since it’s after midnight, I would guess she’s asleep. I should be too. I should have passed the fuck out hours ago, especially since my alarm is going to start ringing in just five hours.
But sleep has become harder and harder with each passing day since she arrived. Forcing myself to turn away from the window, I make myself walk upstairs, rinse down, and climb into bed. Every single moment, I think about her. Especially in the shower, with my hand wrapped around my dick.
LOLA-MAE
I toss and turn. Sleep evades me.
I can’t stop thinking about the man just a few yards away from me. He acts as if he wants nothing to do with me, yet he made me lunch. He told me a little about his family. He wrote me that note.
That note was hot as well.
I want him to press me against the glass, buried deep inside my body. Closing my eyes, I try to keep my breathing calm, but instead, it comes out in heavy pants. Slipping my fingers beneath my sleep shorts, I glide them through my center, circling my clit.
I do it again, dipping two fingers inside me, curling them before I circle my clit again. I know the rhythm and pressure I need to get there fast. But I’m not sure I want it to be fast tonight.
I’ve been amped up for days.
Only a nice, long, relaxing orgasm is going to calm me down and satiate me enough to be able to fall asleep, at least for a few hours.
I’m not sure if there is any kind of orgasm I could give myself for that, though. I have a feeling the only way I’ll be able to sleep is if the sexy cowboy across the dirt road gives me one.
And that’s going to be a problem.
A big one.
Huge even.
Because not only is he my boss, he’s grumpy as hell, and I’m not sure he even likes me, let alone wants to touch any part of me, sexy note or not. I bite my bottom lip and ignore all of the doubts that swirl around inside my own head.
I focus on what that note said, imagining him doing just that. I can almost feel the cool glass against my nipples, then I imagine Harlan on that damn horse of his, and I come.
It’s not as complete as I would like it to be. I don’t feel satisfied or satiated, but maybe it’ll be enough that I can fall asleep for a few hours at least… Maybe.