kitchen saying, “Don’t worry, old geezer. We all know you still got it.”
Appetite gone, I throw the spatula in the sink and click off the stove. I slip on my sneakers and head out the door, needing to exhort my rising agitation with a good run. Plus, it’ll do the muscles some good. Get ‘em pumped for tonight.
Four miles into my run, I reach Tiki Island and stop. I place my hands on my knees to catch my breath and peer out at the Galveston Bay. Man, it’s beautiful.
“You’re tough to keep up with,” Emmie Rue says, as she skids alongside me. And like me, she bends over, breathing heavy.
I look at her from the corner of my eye, skin glistening with sweat. “You following me, Emmie Rue?”
“Yeah, since I caught sight of you leaving the Bayou,” she swallows some more air, “but damn,” she takes another deep breath, “you’re fast.” She stands up, bouncing from one foot to the other, her perky tits bobbing up and down. “It’s called jogging for a reason.”
I straighten to my full height. “Huh, I thought it was called running.” I reach for the collar of my t-shirt and pull it down to let some air in. “So, you jog?”
“Everyone in Manhattan jogs,” she flicks her head and the piece of hair hanging over her left eye jumps back into place, “or at least they like to brag about it.”
“And you? You like to brag about it or are ya gettin’ it done?” In Manhattan? So that’s where she’s been.
“Oh, I jog, but normally only around five miles. I get the rest done at the gym,” she says. “What was that, about five miles?” She looks behind us.
“Four, I try to do around eight every other day, and like you, I get the rest done at the gym.”
“It’s working,” her eyes run down the length of my body, making me want to take my shirt completely off to cool the fuck down. “What are you now, thirty? Oh, yeah,” she points at me with a grin, “you just had a birthday, didn’t you?”
I slowly nod. She remembers my birthday, that’s odd. Then again, I remember hers, too. December 13. I waited patiently for her eighteenth birthday. Counted down those last few months, eliminating each day in my head, anticipating the day she’d be old enough for me to claim her.
A few years older than her, my attraction to Emmie Rue, when it struck, scared the fuck out of me. I was too old for her. Besides, she needed time to spread her wings, and I needed time to learn how to control mine. And sure, back then, other guys my age were dating girls still in high school, but that wasn’t for me. I was okay with it, too. Until, every chance she got, Emmie Rue started throwing her beautiful body at me. Still, I held strong, but one week before I could get what I so desperately wanted, the week before Emmie Rue’s eighteenth birthday, Grams passed away. And that left me with the job of looking after my two out-of-hand younger brothers. At twenty-one, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. Two years later, when I started getting my shit back together, Emmie Rue went away to college.
“Yeah, and Zeke won’t let me forget it.” I turn to her. “You gonna be able to make it back?”
“Yep,” she sets her hands on her tight spandex-covered hips, “even if it kills me.”
“Always the confident one,” I grimace; something that got her in more trouble than not. I wanted to kick the shit out of every high school punk in her class. But I was an adult, and that’d only get my ass tossed in jail.
She thrusts those perfect lush breasts out and smirks at me. I scowl. The damn girl’s always using that gorgeous, seamless body of hers to affect men. It’s not gonna work on me. I’ve waited too long, and I refuse to settle for just Emmie Rue’s body.
“Jax,” she tilts her head as if interpreting my mounting agitation, “are you gay?”
Wow. Hey now, where the fuck did that come from? I get that I didn’t respond to her flirtation just now, but gay? I stare at her, trying to keep my
Appetite gone, I throw the spatula in the sink and click off the stove. I slip on my sneakers and head out the door, needing to exhort my rising agitation with a good run. Plus, it’ll do the muscles some good. Get ‘em pumped for tonight.
Four miles into my run, I reach Tiki Island and stop. I place my hands on my knees to catch my breath and peer out at the Galveston Bay. Man, it’s beautiful.
“You’re tough to keep up with,” Emmie Rue says, as she skids alongside me. And like me, she bends over, breathing heavy.
I look at her from the corner of my eye, skin glistening with sweat. “You following me, Emmie Rue?”
“Yeah, since I caught sight of you leaving the Bayou,” she swallows some more air, “but damn,” she takes another deep breath, “you’re fast.” She stands up, bouncing from one foot to the other, her perky tits bobbing up and down. “It’s called jogging for a reason.”
I straighten to my full height. “Huh, I thought it was called running.” I reach for the collar of my t-shirt and pull it down to let some air in. “So, you jog?”
“Everyone in Manhattan jogs,” she flicks her head and the piece of hair hanging over her left eye jumps back into place, “or at least they like to brag about it.”
“And you? You like to brag about it or are ya gettin’ it done?” In Manhattan? So that’s where she’s been.
“Oh, I jog, but normally only around five miles. I get the rest done at the gym,” she says. “What was that, about five miles?” She looks behind us.
“Four, I try to do around eight every other day, and like you, I get the rest done at the gym.”
“It’s working,” her eyes run down the length of my body, making me want to take my shirt completely off to cool the fuck down. “What are you now, thirty? Oh, yeah,” she points at me with a grin, “you just had a birthday, didn’t you?”
I slowly nod. She remembers my birthday, that’s odd. Then again, I remember hers, too. December 13. I waited patiently for her eighteenth birthday. Counted down those last few months, eliminating each day in my head, anticipating the day she’d be old enough for me to claim her.
A few years older than her, my attraction to Emmie Rue, when it struck, scared the fuck out of me. I was too old for her. Besides, she needed time to spread her wings, and I needed time to learn how to control mine. And sure, back then, other guys my age were dating girls still in high school, but that wasn’t for me. I was okay with it, too. Until, every chance she got, Emmie Rue started throwing her beautiful body at me. Still, I held strong, but one week before I could get what I so desperately wanted, the week before Emmie Rue’s eighteenth birthday, Grams passed away. And that left me with the job of looking after my two out-of-hand younger brothers. At twenty-one, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. Two years later, when I started getting my shit back together, Emmie Rue went away to college.
“Yeah, and Zeke won’t let me forget it.” I turn to her. “You gonna be able to make it back?”
“Yep,” she sets her hands on her tight spandex-covered hips, “even if it kills me.”
“Always the confident one,” I grimace; something that got her in more trouble than not. I wanted to kick the shit out of every high school punk in her class. But I was an adult, and that’d only get my ass tossed in jail.
She thrusts those perfect lush breasts out and smirks at me. I scowl. The damn girl’s always using that gorgeous, seamless body of hers to affect men. It’s not gonna work on me. I’ve waited too long, and I refuse to settle for just Emmie Rue’s body.
“Jax,” she tilts her head as if interpreting my mounting agitation, “are you gay?”
Wow. Hey now, where the fuck did that come from? I get that I didn’t respond to her flirtation just now, but gay? I stare at her, trying to keep my
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