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Hence why I just ignored the problems going on in my marriage instead of tackling them before they got too bad.
“Aspen?” I said softly.
Aspen’s tear-filled eyes rose, taking me in, and she offered me a watery smile.
“I’m hormonal,” she whined. “It’s the female equivalent of dying, you know?”
No, I didn’t know.
Which she got, the longer she looked at me.
“I’m on my period, and I cry a lot for random reasons.” She explained more in depth. “And my best friend nearly got run over by a semi-truck today, and I can’t even go see her in the hospital because of this stupid piece of crap,” she growled in frustration. “Stupid Danny.”
“Come sit outside with me,” I ordered softly.
I needed to get out of her bedroom.
Even the talk of her being on her period didn’t have any effect on my cock.
It was raging, and I was somewhat happy to know it was still functional.
I hadn’t gotten a hard-on from an actual real live woman in months. Though I’d sure as hell tried multiple times—which ended in embarrassment on my end.
Call me crazy, but I guessed it was related to the fact that a woman had thoroughly fucked me over.
Then my daughter, who I didn’t want to admit was a woman yet, had gutted me.
Needless to say, I wasn’t very sympathetic to the female plight these days.
“Come outside with me,” I ordered, tugging her up into my arms. “It’s just raining now and the temperature has warmed up a bit. You can tell me why you’re in this mess.”
She slowly got up to her hands and knees, then crawled backwards until her feet were both planted firmly on the floor.
“Okay,” she mumbled softly.
Thunder boomed overhead.
I looked up at the roof, almost as if just by doing so I would be able to see whatever storm was headed our way.
Instead, I saw a mirror.
A big one.
Needing to get out of there before I had any more crazy thoughts, I grabbed her hand and tugged her along behind me.
“Want a beer?” I asked.
She shook her head as we walked through the rain drops to the side part of the front yard where a little gazebo was sitting.
It was in sore need of a new coat of paint, and would likely need a new swing sometime soon, but I led her there anyway.
“No, thank you,” she declined softly. “I’d rather a Dr. Pepper.”
I walked away, but continued to talk to her as I did.
“Why are you on house arrest?” I asked, taking a beer from the cooler in the back of my truck.
“I’m officially grounded from alcohol, too. It’s one of my stipulations,” she admitted.
