Read Online Sugar by Hope Tarr, Jenna Jameson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Hope Tarr, Jenna Jameson
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die, I need to ask you. Will you take Jonathan?”
Struggling against crying, Sarah said, “Oh, Liz, I—”
“Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, too much, but you’re the closest to a sister I’ve got. Even if Steve were to step up and finally be a father, he’s a stranger to Jonathan. Besides, I wouldn’t trust him with a cat, let alone my kid. And since my mom broke her hip last year, she’s doing good to take care of herself. My Bible-thumping brother and his wife are still out in Kansas. Trust me, Jonathan would hate it there.”
“I was going to say I’d be honored. Jonathan’s a great kid.”
He was. What she didn’t add was that she’d always wanted to be a mom. Like so many career-minded women, she’d assumed she had plenty of time—to make her mark, to meet and marry the right guy, to start a family. Only Mr. Right had yet to show. At thirty-four closing in on thirty-five, her window for motherhood felt frighteningly finite.
Tears sparkled in Liz’s eyes. “Really?”
Sarah reached out and took her other hand, the one without the IV, and gently squeezed. “Yes, really. Now no more talk about dying. Let’s flag down that nurse for another round of popsicles and concentrate on getting you well.”
Back at his Upper West Side apartment, Cole stripped off his tuxedo and stepped inside the marble-tiled shower stall, reluctantly lathering away Sarah’s scent. If only she were that easy to scour from his thoughts. Scenes from their sexy night together followed him beneath the jets of steamy water. Giving up, he jerked off, shouting Sarah’s name as his release overtook him.
Toweling dry, it struck him. Why shouldn’t he see her again? Not only was she hot and beautiful, smart and smart-ass, but she obviously wasn’t looking for a regular relationship, either. She was like the female . . . him .
Her matter-of-factness should be a relief. Instead he felt frustrated. Until now, he’d always been the one to do the post-coital pushing away. The role reversal didn’t sit well with him.
Disgruntled, he pulled on sweats and padded into the large living room. Even on weekends, he was hardly ever here. When he was, he always felt at loose ends. During the two years he’d been deployed, he’d had little time to himself and virtually no privacy. His personal space had been measurable in inches, not square feet, let alone more than two thousand of them. Stripped of the regimented routine and the oddball security of living in such close quarters, he didn’t feel so much free as . . . lost. Even after being back for two years, any unscheduled time weighed on him. Planning the simplest solo activities could trigger tremendous anxiety. His executive assistant might not realize it, he hoped she never did, but at times she’d literally been a lifesaver. Humbling as it was to admit, he still had a hard time being on his own. Structure was his friend, free time his enemy. Maybe he should get himself a dog, someone to walk and feed and look after on a regular basis. On second thought, God no!
Looking around, he fought down the agitation by cataloguing his more obvious options. He could go for a run or workout. Sure, he’d just gotten clean, but it’s not like a second shower would melt him. He could go into the office and tackle the pile of grant proposals awaiting his approval. He could eat something. He probably should. Most of those diner carbs had been burned having hot, sweaty sex with Sarah. But though he’d been starving at her place, bothering with breakfast suddenly seemed like too big of a hassle.
Stacks of moving boxes crowded the four corners of the room despite him having moved in six months ago. He’d lived with them for so long he scarcely saw them anymore, but out of the blue he found himself wondering what Sarah might say if she were here—a crazy thought since he never brought women home. Her loft must be one-tenth the size of his pre-war classic six, and yet everything had seemed to
Struggling against crying, Sarah said, “Oh, Liz, I—”
“Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, too much, but you’re the closest to a sister I’ve got. Even if Steve were to step up and finally be a father, he’s a stranger to Jonathan. Besides, I wouldn’t trust him with a cat, let alone my kid. And since my mom broke her hip last year, she’s doing good to take care of herself. My Bible-thumping brother and his wife are still out in Kansas. Trust me, Jonathan would hate it there.”
“I was going to say I’d be honored. Jonathan’s a great kid.”
He was. What she didn’t add was that she’d always wanted to be a mom. Like so many career-minded women, she’d assumed she had plenty of time—to make her mark, to meet and marry the right guy, to start a family. Only Mr. Right had yet to show. At thirty-four closing in on thirty-five, her window for motherhood felt frighteningly finite.
Tears sparkled in Liz’s eyes. “Really?”
Sarah reached out and took her other hand, the one without the IV, and gently squeezed. “Yes, really. Now no more talk about dying. Let’s flag down that nurse for another round of popsicles and concentrate on getting you well.”
Back at his Upper West Side apartment, Cole stripped off his tuxedo and stepped inside the marble-tiled shower stall, reluctantly lathering away Sarah’s scent. If only she were that easy to scour from his thoughts. Scenes from their sexy night together followed him beneath the jets of steamy water. Giving up, he jerked off, shouting Sarah’s name as his release overtook him.
Toweling dry, it struck him. Why shouldn’t he see her again? Not only was she hot and beautiful, smart and smart-ass, but she obviously wasn’t looking for a regular relationship, either. She was like the female . . . him .
Her matter-of-factness should be a relief. Instead he felt frustrated. Until now, he’d always been the one to do the post-coital pushing away. The role reversal didn’t sit well with him.
Disgruntled, he pulled on sweats and padded into the large living room. Even on weekends, he was hardly ever here. When he was, he always felt at loose ends. During the two years he’d been deployed, he’d had little time to himself and virtually no privacy. His personal space had been measurable in inches, not square feet, let alone more than two thousand of them. Stripped of the regimented routine and the oddball security of living in such close quarters, he didn’t feel so much free as . . . lost. Even after being back for two years, any unscheduled time weighed on him. Planning the simplest solo activities could trigger tremendous anxiety. His executive assistant might not realize it, he hoped she never did, but at times she’d literally been a lifesaver. Humbling as it was to admit, he still had a hard time being on his own. Structure was his friend, free time his enemy. Maybe he should get himself a dog, someone to walk and feed and look after on a regular basis. On second thought, God no!
Looking around, he fought down the agitation by cataloguing his more obvious options. He could go for a run or workout. Sure, he’d just gotten clean, but it’s not like a second shower would melt him. He could go into the office and tackle the pile of grant proposals awaiting his approval. He could eat something. He probably should. Most of those diner carbs had been burned having hot, sweaty sex with Sarah. But though he’d been starving at her place, bothering with breakfast suddenly seemed like too big of a hassle.
Stacks of moving boxes crowded the four corners of the room despite him having moved in six months ago. He’d lived with them for so long he scarcely saw them anymore, but out of the blue he found himself wondering what Sarah might say if she were here—a crazy thought since he never brought women home. Her loft must be one-tenth the size of his pre-war classic six, and yet everything had seemed to
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