Read Online Exposed: Book One of The Love Seekers Series by Maria Vickers - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Maria Vickers
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flaws.
I saw her as a work in progress. If the price of getting her to open up and trust me consisted of sharing a small part of my past—select parts, safe parts—I would do that. It might be fun to learn more about her.
I had my own demons that had been buried years ago. Those would remain buried. This was about her, not me. All her.
Chapter 8
Emma
Blame it on the beer, the barbecue, or the fact my sister Ellie decided to have an 80’s movie night, which featured the film Risky Business, at her house, but my dreams that night could only be counted as completely loony. I had only been talking to Bryan for about a week, and yet, I blamed my sister for waking up in the middle of the night wondering what the hell I ate that caused the most ridiculous oddball dream no one could ever imagine.
Running a hand through my hair, I asked my dark room, “What the fuck was that?”
This wasn’t one of those dreams you thought was weird and yet you really can’t remember it to save your life. No, I remembered this dream with full clarity. It had to be my sister’s fault.
For the entirety of the dream, I stood there watching as everything happened, only a spectator to this new world. It made me think of A Christmas Carol when the ghosts would take Ebenezer Scrooge to watch something and they were there, but not really part of the scene, only able to observe as everything played out before him.
My dream placed me in the exact same predicament. Appearing in the living room of a strange house, the first thing I noticed was that it seemed eerily quiet. That was until music started screaming through the speakers right behind me making me jump. Furnished nicely, but not too over the top, it reminded me more of a staged prop house that realtors used to sell another house in a cookie cutter subdivision.
I moved behind one of the couches away from the blaring music and something told me to watch the hallway. Instinctively, I knew the hallway just beyond the living led to stairs on one side and the front door on the other.
Anticipation built as I waited for someone to appear, or for something to happen. And as soon as the lyrics of the song began, Bryan skidded across the floor and into view wearing nothing except socks and Batman Underoos (both the t–shirt and underwear.) Did they even make those in adult sizes? It didn’t matter. My eyes remained glued to him as he slid on a pair of sunglasses and started to sing into a wire whisk. His hips swung back and forth as he spun around and shook his ass in front of me. I wanted to reach out and grab it, and then hold on for dear life. Surely the ride would be worth it.
He spanked his own ass, and a moan caught in my throat making my voice sound strangled. Why did my subconscious insist on torturing me?
The performance lasted for three songs. I tried multiple times to move toward him, but my feet refused to move. They remained where they stood as if they were glued in place. And after the third song, his gaze landed on me, he licked his lips, pointed, and then turned his palm over and cocked his finger, bidding me to his side. Damn, I wanted him!
Instead of fulfilling his demand and walking forward, I woke up in my bed breathing heavily as if I had run a marathon with my dog licking my arm. No music played, and Bryan no longer danced in front of me.
Flopping back onto my pillow, I stared up at my ceiling and Curley stretched out beside me. I willed my eyes to close so I could return to my dream world. Eventually they began to feel heavy, drooping lower and lower until I slipped into slumber. However, when I awoke the next morning, I had not received a repeat performance. That
I saw her as a work in progress. If the price of getting her to open up and trust me consisted of sharing a small part of my past—select parts, safe parts—I would do that. It might be fun to learn more about her.
I had my own demons that had been buried years ago. Those would remain buried. This was about her, not me. All her.
Chapter 8
Emma
Blame it on the beer, the barbecue, or the fact my sister Ellie decided to have an 80’s movie night, which featured the film Risky Business, at her house, but my dreams that night could only be counted as completely loony. I had only been talking to Bryan for about a week, and yet, I blamed my sister for waking up in the middle of the night wondering what the hell I ate that caused the most ridiculous oddball dream no one could ever imagine.
Running a hand through my hair, I asked my dark room, “What the fuck was that?”
This wasn’t one of those dreams you thought was weird and yet you really can’t remember it to save your life. No, I remembered this dream with full clarity. It had to be my sister’s fault.
For the entirety of the dream, I stood there watching as everything happened, only a spectator to this new world. It made me think of A Christmas Carol when the ghosts would take Ebenezer Scrooge to watch something and they were there, but not really part of the scene, only able to observe as everything played out before him.
My dream placed me in the exact same predicament. Appearing in the living room of a strange house, the first thing I noticed was that it seemed eerily quiet. That was until music started screaming through the speakers right behind me making me jump. Furnished nicely, but not too over the top, it reminded me more of a staged prop house that realtors used to sell another house in a cookie cutter subdivision.
I moved behind one of the couches away from the blaring music and something told me to watch the hallway. Instinctively, I knew the hallway just beyond the living led to stairs on one side and the front door on the other.
Anticipation built as I waited for someone to appear, or for something to happen. And as soon as the lyrics of the song began, Bryan skidded across the floor and into view wearing nothing except socks and Batman Underoos (both the t–shirt and underwear.) Did they even make those in adult sizes? It didn’t matter. My eyes remained glued to him as he slid on a pair of sunglasses and started to sing into a wire whisk. His hips swung back and forth as he spun around and shook his ass in front of me. I wanted to reach out and grab it, and then hold on for dear life. Surely the ride would be worth it.
He spanked his own ass, and a moan caught in my throat making my voice sound strangled. Why did my subconscious insist on torturing me?
The performance lasted for three songs. I tried multiple times to move toward him, but my feet refused to move. They remained where they stood as if they were glued in place. And after the third song, his gaze landed on me, he licked his lips, pointed, and then turned his palm over and cocked his finger, bidding me to his side. Damn, I wanted him!
Instead of fulfilling his demand and walking forward, I woke up in my bed breathing heavily as if I had run a marathon with my dog licking my arm. No music played, and Bryan no longer danced in front of me.
Flopping back onto my pillow, I stared up at my ceiling and Curley stretched out beside me. I willed my eyes to close so I could return to my dream world. Eventually they began to feel heavy, drooping lower and lower until I slipped into slumber. However, when I awoke the next morning, I had not received a repeat performance. That
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