Sugar McKenzie and August Wakefield couldn't be more different - Sugar, a meticulous, caring, but lonely paramedic and August, a charming former reality star still chasing his dream. But they've both closed themselves off emotionally from others...t...
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My leg bounced up and down as I sat down on the couch. My arms stretched out on top of the couch's back. My thumb brushed through the soft material, striped patterns started to form. On the coffee table, a gray cat gave me an evil glare, its whiskers perked up and eyebrows full and bushy. Its tail swayed back and forth as Sugar answered the door to another guest.
I'm here.
Being invited inside a woman's house, this indicator made my nerves run wild. The last time – well, the last fifteen times or more, I had other intentions. Quite opposite from Sugar's expectations, but man those past examples, I couldn't help but imagine those exchanges would happen with Sugar.
Perhaps, one day? One time.
That's all I wanted.
She would never.
I knew. Her body language, the hesitation in her voice, her outfit – I misread her "hints" through the text messages. Boy! That outfit, my eyes traveled up and down as she talked to whoever was at the door. An oversized t-shirt that barely displayed her features – medium hills, her stomach, wide hips, and thick thighs. Her hair disheveled in a messy bun as if she rolled out of bed.
Would she look like that after?
My eyes scanned her legs, the fluffy cat PJs complimented her look.
The impulse overwhelmed me, to run my hands on the fabric, then on her hips and down her thighs. The palm of my hands sweated, casually I wiped one palm at a time around my hip. The couch helped hide my actions.
I should've come over in my original attire.
Before I courageously drove myself to Sugar's house, I wore sweatpants, t-shirts, and thick socks. I dragged my feet through the three times a day cleaned carpet. Lint accumulated on the thick socks. My apartment's balcony overlooked the Ohio River, the brown and navy water gleamed in the evening sun.
We'd match so well.
The front door slammed closed.
"You're a cat person after all," I declared, eyeing the cat, its glare continued.
I assumed whoever was at the front door had left. I was again mistaken.
"I want to say, Lydia," Sugar spoke louder this time, her eyes glanced over to me, and didn't respond to my statement, "He came over five minutes ago."
Lydia? Who's Lydia?
I stood up from my spot, tucking in my shirt. The cat growled as its hair frizzed up at attention, watching the stranger move. My hand waved off the cat as if I could calm it down. I leaned forward to get a better look at who Sugar was talking to.
