question.
“Norma.”
His lips twitch like he wants to smile and he pats his leg to get her attention. She waddles over, tail wagging and scrubs up against his thigh. Next to me she looks like a horse, next to him she might as well be a Pomeranian.
“It was nice to meet you Norma, thanks for joining me for lunch.”
He looks up at me in question, waiting or ready to ask me something.
“We may have got off on the wrong foot yesterday. My name’s Ryder. Ryder Callaghan.”
Of course his fucking name is Ryder. Why wouldn’t it be? I don't know why he’s gracing me with his whiskey voice when I was nothing but a bitch to him yesterday. Now he’s being kind and I’m honestly not sure if I’m ready for that yet.
Maybe it was the tears that got to him? Civil I can do. Being too friendly implies having friends and I’m not ready for that to happen yet either.
I keep my response short and sweet.
“Elle. Thanks for feeding my dog.”
That's as much as I can manage at this point. He’ll pick up eventually that I’m not much of a talker. I stand up to make my way into the house to hibernate for the rest of the day when he speaks again.
“Elle,” he says, slightly shaking his head in a contemplative way.
I give him my signature nod and head into the house.
* * *
The sand stirs up behind me as I pound my way back toward home. It’s been a long time since I jogged outdoors and I realize just how dull burning miles on the treadmill back in Phoenix was. I missed the wind in my face and the smell of the outdoors.
I’ve really pushed it today. Sweat is pouring down my temples and my calf muscles have begun to burn. I’m coming up on the neighbor’s house, Ryder’s house, and notice Norma sitting on his back deck. She’s too lazy to come jogging with me, so I assumed she’d be waiting at home like she normally does.
I give a quick whistle and she waddles toward me. I notice the lone figure on a deck chair as he gives a small wave. I don't plan on stopping to chat; I didn’t wrap a scarf around my neck to cover the marks, since it would look fucking ridiculous with my running gear, so I continue home.
I haul my sweaty self up the steps and make my way inside. It’s the first sighting of Ryder since I met him four days ago. He seems to keep to himself and that's perfectly fine with me.
I don't have many plans for today. It’s Friday. Not that that matters. Every day is fucking Friday in my life. Or whatever day of the week I want to call it. I decide on a shower and a nap due to my once again lack of sleep last night. Then maybe I’ll cook myself a steak and open a nice bottle of wine. My new shipment of books arrived at the post office yesterday, so maybe I’ll settle in after dinner for a night of smut.
I peel off my sweaty running gear and turn on the shower. One thing people take for granted is a good hot shower. I came to this conclusion twice in my life, once when I was bloody and beaten in a cool, damp basement with a psychopath. The other when I’d been mummified at the hands of Doc Revere and had to endure sponge baths and dry shampoo for a week.
Thus, I’ve become what you might call a hot water whore.
After both these incidents I spent ample time under the hot running liquid. What were once fifteen minute trips in and out turned into me standing under the spray until the water ran cold.
After my shower, I wrap up in my robe and a blanket and curl up on the couch. Sometimes running gives me an extra boost of energy, sometimes it takes me straight to bed.
“What time are you going to get here hunny?” asks my mom. They’re all packed and ready to go while I’m still stuck in traffic due to a broken down train forty minutes from home.
“I haven’t a damn clue mom. I’ve been sitting here for almost an hour. I’m blocked in by traffic in front and behind I can’t even get turned
“Norma.”
His lips twitch like he wants to smile and he pats his leg to get her attention. She waddles over, tail wagging and scrubs up against his thigh. Next to me she looks like a horse, next to him she might as well be a Pomeranian.
“It was nice to meet you Norma, thanks for joining me for lunch.”
He looks up at me in question, waiting or ready to ask me something.
“We may have got off on the wrong foot yesterday. My name’s Ryder. Ryder Callaghan.”
Of course his fucking name is Ryder. Why wouldn’t it be? I don't know why he’s gracing me with his whiskey voice when I was nothing but a bitch to him yesterday. Now he’s being kind and I’m honestly not sure if I’m ready for that yet.
Maybe it was the tears that got to him? Civil I can do. Being too friendly implies having friends and I’m not ready for that to happen yet either.
I keep my response short and sweet.
“Elle. Thanks for feeding my dog.”
That's as much as I can manage at this point. He’ll pick up eventually that I’m not much of a talker. I stand up to make my way into the house to hibernate for the rest of the day when he speaks again.
“Elle,” he says, slightly shaking his head in a contemplative way.
I give him my signature nod and head into the house.
* * *
The sand stirs up behind me as I pound my way back toward home. It’s been a long time since I jogged outdoors and I realize just how dull burning miles on the treadmill back in Phoenix was. I missed the wind in my face and the smell of the outdoors.
I’ve really pushed it today. Sweat is pouring down my temples and my calf muscles have begun to burn. I’m coming up on the neighbor’s house, Ryder’s house, and notice Norma sitting on his back deck. She’s too lazy to come jogging with me, so I assumed she’d be waiting at home like she normally does.
I give a quick whistle and she waddles toward me. I notice the lone figure on a deck chair as he gives a small wave. I don't plan on stopping to chat; I didn’t wrap a scarf around my neck to cover the marks, since it would look fucking ridiculous with my running gear, so I continue home.
I haul my sweaty self up the steps and make my way inside. It’s the first sighting of Ryder since I met him four days ago. He seems to keep to himself and that's perfectly fine with me.
I don't have many plans for today. It’s Friday. Not that that matters. Every day is fucking Friday in my life. Or whatever day of the week I want to call it. I decide on a shower and a nap due to my once again lack of sleep last night. Then maybe I’ll cook myself a steak and open a nice bottle of wine. My new shipment of books arrived at the post office yesterday, so maybe I’ll settle in after dinner for a night of smut.
I peel off my sweaty running gear and turn on the shower. One thing people take for granted is a good hot shower. I came to this conclusion twice in my life, once when I was bloody and beaten in a cool, damp basement with a psychopath. The other when I’d been mummified at the hands of Doc Revere and had to endure sponge baths and dry shampoo for a week.
Thus, I’ve become what you might call a hot water whore.
After both these incidents I spent ample time under the hot running liquid. What were once fifteen minute trips in and out turned into me standing under the spray until the water ran cold.
After my shower, I wrap up in my robe and a blanket and curl up on the couch. Sometimes running gives me an extra boost of energy, sometimes it takes me straight to bed.
“What time are you going to get here hunny?” asks my mom. They’re all packed and ready to go while I’m still stuck in traffic due to a broken down train forty minutes from home.
“I haven’t a damn clue mom. I’ve been sitting here for almost an hour. I’m blocked in by traffic in front and behind I can’t even get turned
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