Sometimes life’s not fair. I give myself one last opportunity to picture his body. The way his shoulders seemed to span the width of the aisle, the crazy height that made him look like some kind of beast, those strong thighs that could probably snap a woman like me in half, and those eyes. Fuck, those eyes.
The universe must be laughing at me. There’s no other explanation. He’s the most devastatingly, handsome, beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and yes, I said beautiful, because fuck it, he is.
I could get lost in him, but I won’t. He’s not mine and if I’m a good girl, I’ll never have to see those eyes ever again.
Shit, I wonder what his name is? I bet it’s something hot.
I’ll have to scour every inch of the earth, searching out the person who paged him and saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life. A man like him would have the power to bring me to my knees with nothing but that damn smirk. Any longer in that hardware store and he would have had me following him out like the pied piper, completely forgetting that I have responsibilities.
Actually, on second thought, he would be the second biggest mistake of my life. Clearly, that title has already been awarded to Bryce Fucking Dallas.
Ugh. Here I go again. Just the thought of that bastard boils my blood faster than this man could make me wet and believe me that’s pretty damn quick. Fuck it, if we’re all for admitting hard truths right now, I should probably admit that I got myself off last night, picturing his hard body and imagining what a man like that could do to a woman like me.
A loud blood-curdling scream pulls my attention from the damn sandwiches.
I run.
The butter knife clatters to the ground and my hand knocks the jar of peanut butter off the counter as I sprint for the front door.
Ryan was playing out in the yard just as she always does. Our yard is safe and beautiful, and I can see her from just about every room within the house. Being out in this yard is her life. She absolutely loves it, so for her to be screaming the way she is, something is seriously wrong.
Coby cries from her sister’s room. She’s not great with loud noises and seeing her sister in distress really upsets her. I wish I could do something to settle her now, but whatever’s going on with Ryan takes priority. Coby will calm down eventually.
I find Ryan standing with her back to me, bent over at the waist just outside the front door. No wonder it sounded so loud. She’s that damn close to the door. “What’s wrong, baby?” I demand in a panic, coming to a screeching halt as I reach out for her, grabbing her and trying to pull her into my arms.
She screams louder and the sound has my panic intensifying. It takes all of two seconds to realize she’s stuck. But how?
I release my hold and move around her. My eyes wide like saucers. “Oh, shit,” I breathe, finding her head jammed between the metal poles of the railing with tears streaming down her little face.
My heart breaks, but before it can completely shatter, I have to fix this. I get down on my hands and knees, realizing that if she got in there somehow, she must be able to get out. It’s all about finding the right angle.
I take her head and try my hardest to be gentle as I tilt her to the side. Nope. That doesn’t work. In fact, all it does is make her scream more. “I’m sorry, baby,” I tell her while I desperately try to hide the fact that I’m completely freaking out. “Mommy needs to try and get you out, okay?”
She sobs and it breaks me.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
“Are you hurting or just scared?” I ask, trying to straighten up her body to see if that might help.
Nope. Nothing.
“Scared,” she cries, fat tears rolling down her perfect little cheeks.
I reach out and squeeze her hand that’s clutching onto the metal poles on either side of her head. “You’re going to be alright,” I promise her while also promising myself. “Be brave. Mommy’s going to go get some things to help.”
She sniffles and the tears seem to calm down, so I take my opportunity to race back inside the house. I find Coby on the kitchen floor with her face shoved right in the peanut butter jar and shake it off. There are more important things to worry about.
I grab the butter, the cooking oil, and the soap, hoping and praying that one of these will do the trick.
I fly back outside and drop to my knees. “You doing alright, Hurricane?” I ask, trying to keep it casual so she doesn’t start freaking out and making this harder than it needs to be.