My name is Rob Winters, aka, Jackass. Even to my closest friends.
I wasn’t always so arrogant and condescending. It only took one night to change me—one point twenty-seven seconds, to be exact.
When tragedy struck, I promised myself, no matter what, unbreakable chains would lock my heart. If one veers too close or digs too deep, the cruel and mean bastard many hate is unleashed. My plan has succeeded for the past seven years. I’ve driven away a girlfriend and killed a few friendships along the way.
Then, just when the chains loosen around my heart, she walks into my life—or worse, the room next door. She strolls into my house with her bouncy brown curls and banging body, slithering herself through the smallest opening and making me crave the one thing I’ve denied myself these past years.
Her smell, her eyes, and her caring nature are everything I’m not worthy of enjoying. How long do I have to struggle with the demons that haunt me every night before the torture ends? Forever, I remind myself, but the links protecting my heart break each time Paige Kensington enters the room.
I place the package in the microwave and press the button. “I’m a little surprised you’re missing your signature apparel this evening,” Rob comments, and when I swivel around, he’s leaned back in his chair, his fingers strumming along the table.
This incredible sexual response comes over me, that he was admiring me going about doing a mundane task. The pleasure brings so much warmth through my veins, I wish he was mine and I could saunter over and straddle his lap. I ache to grind against the hardness I created, as his hands would find my ass.
Instead, I swallow the urge. “Oh, well, laundry day.”
He nods, his eyes moving up my legs. “I’m not sure which one I prefer.”
I laugh. “Really? Pajama pants with absurd expressions are your things?”
“Not usually, but on you they are.” My breathing stops before sputtering back up. Our eyes meet and an unbearable inner excitement flows through me. The more I swim in the blues of his
eyes, the more he spins me in his web of magnetism. Just as I’m about to ignore my mind’s resistance, I jolt from the beep of the microwave and quickly spin on my heels. Grabbing the bag, I toss it back and forth in my hands because it’s so hot.
Rob laughs behind me and then the chair legs scrape along the floor and his footsteps thump behind me.
“Let me help you.” He relieves the burn in my hands, opening the two corners.
Steam rushes out of the bag and I grab a bowl to pour it into. We accomplish the menial job together as a team. He’s about to retreat back to the table, when he stops, leaning forward. “I like that I give you that reaction.” He whispers and I lick my lips out of reflex.
“Keep doing that and I won’t stand a chance in keeping my distance from you.”
“What if I don’t want you to?” The words slip out of my mouth before I can filter them.
“Hmm . . .” He places the bowl on the counter and then nears closer, gripping the counter on either side. “Believe me, Paige, you do.” My heart stammers and the edge of the counter digs into my palm.
Then he backs away and goes back to the table, leaving me mute stricken and frozen in place.
Michelle moved around the Midwest most of her life,
transferring from school to school before settling down in the outskirts of
Chicago ten years ago, where she now resides with her husband and two
kids. She developed a love of reading at
a young age, which helped lay the foundation for her passion to write. With the encouragement of her family, she
finally sat down and wrote one of the many stories that have been floating
around in her head. When she isn’t reading or writing, she can be found playing
with her kids, talking to her mom on the phone, or hanging out with her family
and friends. But after chasing around
twin preschoolers all day, she always cherishes her relaxation time after
putting the kids to bed.