Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
The next time I pass him a beer, my hand “accidentally” grazes his knuckles. His skin is hot, and the moment lingers longer than it should. My pulse jumps. I want him to grab me by the wrist, haul me into his lap, and tell me to quit being such a brat, but instead he just clears his throat and says, “Thanks, kiddo.”
The word “kiddo” is so hilariously off-base I almost laugh. If he thinks of me as a child, why does his gaze keep sliding down to my breasts when I’m not looking? He’s watching my every move the way a predator tracks something it wants to eat, and honestly, I like it.
The first quarter goes by in a haze of touchdowns and passive-aggressive snack refills. I barely watch the game because I’m watching Jack. Every time he shifts on the cushion, the muscles in his arms bulge under the sleeve. When he laughs at Dad’s bad jokes, the lines at the corner of his eyes crinkle just so. Sometimes, I catch him glancing at me, and there’s a flash of hunger before he locks it down again.
I decide to up the ante. When Dad yells “Touchdown!” and pumps his fists, I squeal and bounce on the couch like a college cheerleader, clapping so my boobs jiggle for maximum effect. Jack looks away fast, but not before a harsh flush appears on those high cheekbones. His crotch twitches, and I smile to myself. Oh yes, this man is only too aware of me.
During the commercial break, Dad runs to the bathroom. As soon as the door clicks shut, Jack leans in, voice a low rumble.
“Eliza, I need you to stop.”
I put on an innocent expression. “Stop what, Uncle Jack?”
He gives me the world’s most withering look, but it’s tinged with something else—desperation, maybe. “You know what.”
I lean in, closer. “You mean, being friendly? I’ve always been a friendly girl though.”
He doesn’t answer, but his hand balls into a fist on his knee, and I decide to up the ante.
“I’m not a little girl anymore, Uncle Jack,” I whisper in his ear. “You can treat me like an adult.”
He closes his eyes, lets out a long exhale. “That’s the problem,” he mutters, just as Dad thunders back in.
“Did I miss anything?”
I’m already back on my side of the couch and smile winsomely at Gerald.
“Not at all, Daddy. I was just thinking that the Gophers are really going at it today. Hard.”
Jack throws me a glance as I sit back, triumphant. I’m winning this game, and I know it.
The second quarter is a test of nerves, and I escalate with every play: brushing my leg against Jack’s, tucking my hair behind my ear and letting my fingers trail down my throat, sitting cross-legged so my thigh presses hard against his. Jack starts drinking more, and faster too. He says less, but his cheeks are flushed, and the vein in his temple is pulsing like a warning light. Of course, Dad is oblivious, shouting at the refs and wolfing down Cheetos like it’s a timed event.
I live for this. I love risk, and I love tempting Fate, in all aspects of my life. If Mom walked in now, she’d see nothing but a girl and her “uncle” watching a dumb game, but under the surface there’s a simmering tension between an innocent nymphet and the older man she wants to entrap.
At halftime, Dad stands and stretches, his back popping audibly. “I’m going to grab more beer. Jack, you want one?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jack says, voice gruff.
Dad disappears into the garage where we keep a second refrigerator, and I pivot on the cushion to face Jack, pulling my knees up under me. The handsome man stares at the TV, refusing to look at me, his jaw like granite.
“I saw you watching me,” I say, soft but impossible to ignore.
He swallows before growling, “You’re making this very difficult, Eliza.”
“But I want you to look,” I say. “I want you to see how much I want you.”
He finally meets my eyes. The blue in them is electric, dangerous.
“You shouldn’t want me,” he says. “Your dad—”
“I don’t care about my dad,” I shoot back, my voice trembling with the effort to keep it together. “I want you.”
He shakes his head, but doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans in, just a fraction. “You have no idea what you’re playing with, little girl.”
I smile, slow and innocent. “Yes, exactly, Uncle Jack. That’s the problem, so why don’t you show me what I’m missing?” I lean in, let my shoulder brush his arm, and pitch my voice just for him. “You know I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Jack’s whole body goes still, and for a second, I think he’s going to bolt. But he just stares ahead, jaw working. “Eliza, your dad is ten feet away. He’ll kill me.”