semblance of structure to my thought process so that I don’t torture myself the way I used to, however I have convinced myself that being with any woman would be the tipping point that sends me over the edge again. So why am I inviting a woman into my house? Either, I’m trying to prove myself right that Manic Dylan never went away and I am about to sabotage my progress, or I really do like Emma.
“I am fine with you at work, and I’m good with you being here. I wouldn’t sleep at night knowing you’re down in that cottage surrounded by empty summer houses and a stalker on your tail.”
Jesus. I always take it too far. I wouldn’t sleep at night? My face heats from saying that to her, so I quickly busy myself with her two bags. “Let’s get these into the guest room upstairs.”
I make a beeline for the stairs and she jumps to follow.
“So you wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, huh?” she says softly behind me.
As I start taking the stairs two at a time, she huffs behind me, trying to keep up.
“Like I said, the room isn’t fancy. It’s clean and comfortable, though.” I walk down the hallway to the last bedroom.
We will have Leo’s bedroom between us, therefore I won’t have to listen to her gabbing on her phone or moving around her room at night. I flip on the light switch and am relieved to see that the room looks better than I imagined. It’s sparse but nice since this room has the good furniture from the Blackard workshop. It’s the room Leo has his relatives stay in when they visit.
“Wow. It’s lovely,” Emma says, entering and circling the queen-sized platform bed. She touches the plain white, down comforter—part of the Belgian linens that Leo has purchased. I put her bags on the bench at the foot of the bed while she runs her finger appreciatively over the dresser. “Your furniture looks wonderful in here, and the simplicity of the room and the décor is beautiful.” She points to a clay vase as she speaks.
I shrug, wishing I could take credit for this room. I’d like to be the one to impress her rather than Leo.
“Thanks,” I mumble. “Ah, there’s only one full bathroom. It’s across the hall, and we have towels in the linen closet.
“Okay.” She beams at me widely, and I want to take the four steps between us and kiss her.
That’s what the old Dylan would do.
Instead, I am partially paralyzed as she removes her coat and then a fitted workout jacket that matches her yoga pants. Her skimpy t-shirt that’s stretched across her chest and baring her belly button is speaking lulling words to my dick. I feel my groin getting excited again, so I make an escape for the door.
“Hey! Are you going to make me dinner?” She is several feet behind me. I hear the patter of her quick steps and her little breathy puffs as she tries to keep up.
“Oh, I’m making dinner. Absolutely,” I call out as I jog down the stairs. I head for the kitchen, figuring she’ll find me soon enough.
“Oh, my God!” she shouts from the dining room. “I can’t believe you guys don’t have any furniture down here. A pool table?”
I pull food out of the fridge and lump everything on the counter next to the griddle on the stove.
“Honestly,” Emma says, coming into the kitchen. “All you have in the living room is a giant flat screen TV and that pitiful couch that looks like it’s from a frat house. And a pool table in the dining room? You guys make gorgeous furniture for a living. Why the heck is it only upstairs?”
“We haven’t gotten around to it. Besides, it’s Leo’s house. He fixed the important things first. You know, like plumbing and the leaky roof?”
She scoffs and then hops up on the counter with her ass next to the butcher block. Great. I get to chop vegetables and admire her ass at the same time.
“So, Dylan.”
“Yes, Emma?” I respond as I slice some apples.
She grabs my wrist and turns it over to look at the word tattooed on the inside of my arm an inch
“I am fine with you at work, and I’m good with you being here. I wouldn’t sleep at night knowing you’re down in that cottage surrounded by empty summer houses and a stalker on your tail.”
Jesus. I always take it too far. I wouldn’t sleep at night? My face heats from saying that to her, so I quickly busy myself with her two bags. “Let’s get these into the guest room upstairs.”
I make a beeline for the stairs and she jumps to follow.
“So you wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, huh?” she says softly behind me.
As I start taking the stairs two at a time, she huffs behind me, trying to keep up.
“Like I said, the room isn’t fancy. It’s clean and comfortable, though.” I walk down the hallway to the last bedroom.
We will have Leo’s bedroom between us, therefore I won’t have to listen to her gabbing on her phone or moving around her room at night. I flip on the light switch and am relieved to see that the room looks better than I imagined. It’s sparse but nice since this room has the good furniture from the Blackard workshop. It’s the room Leo has his relatives stay in when they visit.
“Wow. It’s lovely,” Emma says, entering and circling the queen-sized platform bed. She touches the plain white, down comforter—part of the Belgian linens that Leo has purchased. I put her bags on the bench at the foot of the bed while she runs her finger appreciatively over the dresser. “Your furniture looks wonderful in here, and the simplicity of the room and the décor is beautiful.” She points to a clay vase as she speaks.
I shrug, wishing I could take credit for this room. I’d like to be the one to impress her rather than Leo.
“Thanks,” I mumble. “Ah, there’s only one full bathroom. It’s across the hall, and we have towels in the linen closet.
“Okay.” She beams at me widely, and I want to take the four steps between us and kiss her.
That’s what the old Dylan would do.
Instead, I am partially paralyzed as she removes her coat and then a fitted workout jacket that matches her yoga pants. Her skimpy t-shirt that’s stretched across her chest and baring her belly button is speaking lulling words to my dick. I feel my groin getting excited again, so I make an escape for the door.
“Hey! Are you going to make me dinner?” She is several feet behind me. I hear the patter of her quick steps and her little breathy puffs as she tries to keep up.
“Oh, I’m making dinner. Absolutely,” I call out as I jog down the stairs. I head for the kitchen, figuring she’ll find me soon enough.
“Oh, my God!” she shouts from the dining room. “I can’t believe you guys don’t have any furniture down here. A pool table?”
I pull food out of the fridge and lump everything on the counter next to the griddle on the stove.
“Honestly,” Emma says, coming into the kitchen. “All you have in the living room is a giant flat screen TV and that pitiful couch that looks like it’s from a frat house. And a pool table in the dining room? You guys make gorgeous furniture for a living. Why the heck is it only upstairs?”
“We haven’t gotten around to it. Besides, it’s Leo’s house. He fixed the important things first. You know, like plumbing and the leaky roof?”
She scoffs and then hops up on the counter with her ass next to the butcher block. Great. I get to chop vegetables and admire her ass at the same time.
“So, Dylan.”
“Yes, Emma?” I respond as I slice some apples.
She grabs my wrist and turns it over to look at the word tattooed on the inside of my arm an inch
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