You’re that aunt who pinches cheeks, aren’t you?
Only Evan and Michael’s. If I tried to pinch Willow, she’d seek revenge.
I’m going to have to meet that kid one day.
Woah. Where had that come from? I mean, granted, I’d been curious about Willow since Ella told me about the infamous Christmas Eve Poopsicle Incident, but it was in a vague way. Like, it’d be fun to watch a kid that cute act like such a hellion.
As I stared down at my text, I realized that I meant the words in a more concrete way. Ididwant to meet Willow. And Michael and Evan. I wanted to meet Ella’s hippy mom and her grounded dad. I wanted to ask Jacob about his work in Africa. Talk to Jane about freelancing.
I wanted to know all of them. I wanted to watch them interact with Ella. I wanted to see her tease her siblings like she teased me. I wanted to experience the chaos of such a large family firsthand.
I knew the answer to Brian’s question now. I knew how I really felt about Ella. This was more than just simple attraction. I wanted to be part of her life. I wanted her to be part of mine.
The question was, what the fuck did I do about it?
My phone chimed with Ella’s response.
I’m watching the little hooligan tomorrow morning. Jane has a deadline, and Dave has a meeting down in Portland he can’t miss. I’ll send you plenty of pictures and updates so you can make a more educated decision about whether or not you want to become one of Willow’s minions.
I smiled, looking forward to it.Sounds good. Stay safe. Don’t let her coerce you into petty theft or larceny.
No threat of that. She has bigger schemes. Like world domination.
I shook my head and set my phone down. The fire was starting to burn out, and it looked like the puppies were right there with it. Boots plopped his butt down and yawned. Beside him, Doodle lay on hisside, a toy just out of reach. He halfheartedly batted at it with one paw even as his eyes slid shut.
I now understood why some people made Instagram accounts just for their pets.
“Okay, you two. Time for bed.”
I scooped them up and carried them to my room, which, like the sitting room, was relatively puppy-proof at this point. One night was all it took to learn just how much stuff they could get into. My king-sized mattress sat on a low platform that the puppies were able to scramble up and down from. I’d never been a fan of tall beds piled with pillows and squishy mattress covers. I slept on my back, so the firmer, the better.
I set the dogs down on the bed and changed into gym gear. They might be tuckered out, but my mind was still running a hundred miles an hour. I felt wound too tight. I needed the rush of endorphins that came from a hard workout followed by the mindless bliss of exhaustion if I had any hope of falling asleep at a reasonable hour.
I paused to pet the puppies before heading downstairs. “Please don’t wreck anything.”
I didn’t turn the music on in the basement, on the off chance that they managed to knock something large over. They were too small to do that – rationally, I knew they were – but they were so helpless that I was paranoid something might happen to them, and I’d never forgive myself. I needed to get one of those baby monitors so I could keep an eye on them when I wasn’t in the same room.
Jesus. I was going to be one ofthosedog owners, wasn’t I?
I rolled my eyes at myself and then got down to business. It was legs and back day. Everyone has a favorite workout routine, as well as a least favorite. This was the one I dreaded. Sure, it was fine while I was lunging and squatting and leg pressing and supermanning. It mighteven be semi-tolerable tomorrow if I drank enough water and ate enough potassium. But being two-day leg sore sucked. You couldn’t do anything without feeling it. Sitting down made my glutes scream. Standing back up was quad torture. Taking the stairs required a monumental effort.
I grinned mid-lunge. Last week when I was two-day leg sore, Ella kept asking me to get her things. “Can I have that wrench?”, “Have you seen that paint sample anywhere?”, “Do you mind grabbing me another glass of water?” It was only as I hobbled out of the room in search of an alleged lost bolt that I thought to glance back over my shoulder. I’d caught her grinning in a way that told me she’d been enjoying my torment just a tad too much.
Evil woman.
Usually when I worked out, my mind went blank, but without the distraction of music, thoughts of Ella continued to creep in. I was in the middle of a set of pull-ups when I remembered her trying to get the last herringbone tile into place on the kitchen wall without having to make another cut, and then the five minutes of swearing that followed when she realized she’d have to. I paused to stretch and thought of the text she sent me a few nights back. “Hey, I think this would look great in the dining room.”A shortlink followed. I clicked on it, assuming it would take me to an image of a painting or a mirror, but it redirected me to theBenny and the Jetsvideo, like it was the new Rick Roll.
There was no way I was going to achieve my usual zen down here in my Basement of Blood, Sweat, and Jump Rope. I gave in and let Ella take over my mind, picturing her holding up that light fixture, remembering the way her hips flared like they were made for my hands to hold onto. What would have happened if I’d fallen to my knees behind her? If I’d turned her around, tugged off those leggings, andgiven her head up against the wall, one thigh hooked over my shoulder, her fingers buried in my hair as she guided me on?
The woman was so unselfconscious most of the time that I prayed she’d be the same in bed. Would she tell me what she liked? What she wanted?
“Fuck,” I muttered, dropping the weights I held. My dick tented my gym shorts.
I gave up on the workout and headed upstairs. The dogs were passed out on the bed, my room still – thankfully – in one piece. I paced into the bathroom, flicked on the light, shut the door behind me, and turned on the shower. It took a minute for the water to heat up. I stripped my sweaty clothes off as I waited. A tendril of steam rose from the spray. I pulled the shower door open. My hand was around my dick the second I stepped inside.
Since dropping my dosages, my sex-drive had been slowly ramping up. I’d kept my masturbatory fantasies to memories of past encounters. Only now was I willing to admit what an effort that had been. How thoughts of Ella kept trying to sneak into them. For the first time, I took the fetters off of my mind and allowed her to take over.
We were back in the upstairs room. I stared at her ass instead of putting up painter’s tape.
