Delayed Nathan Kingsly (sight word books txt) 📖

slack off. I haven’t forgiven you yet, but …” She looks down at the floor and sighs, letting her hand drop to her side. “I can’t deny I’m no longer concerned about your reliability.”

I knew it wouldn't be easy to gain back her trust, and that admission from her wasn’t easily given either. Progress, I will take it.

Turning, I wave for her to follow me. She takes a seat at my kitchen two-seater table.

“You hungry?” I call over my shoulder.

“I can eat.”

“Grilled cheese?”

“Like you used to make it?”

“Not sure I know how to make it any other way. So, take it, or you’ll starve.”

Checking over my shoulder, I catch her soft smile. “I’ll take it.”

My mouth curves into an involuntary smile as I reach into the fridge, grabbing the things I need. It’s quiet as I heat the butter in the pan.

When I start talking about Emma, the time we spent together replays in my mind, and I realize those four days, I lived. Mia’s words ring true; I was back to where I was before I met Emma. Since coming home, I’ve become more paranoid, not only needing to inspect my own place but before I settle into sleep, I check Mia’s house too. I insisted on having access to her surveillance system, and I’m losing sleep thinking of when Ger might strike. I’m back to living from one moment to the next, never looking beyond that. What does a few college classes mean, a new job for that matter, if I’m trading one routine for another? Sure, I’ve got my family again, but what’s going to give my life meaning once I no longer need to work so hard for us to feel like family again? Where will that leave me?

I think again that it might have been a dream. How is it possible to feel this consumed by one person? I wasn't a virgin. I knew what I was looking for when I walked into that hotel room, but I came out of the experience with something I cannot put into words.

It feels wrong to call it an obsession. Yet, that might be the closest word, because she continually preoccupies and intrudes my mind.

I can still feel her fingers trace against my skin. How she smiles and how they create lines at the edges of those ocean eyes. Remembering her laugh brings a smile to my mouth.

How could I forget the echoes of her moans that haunt my eardrums? Or how, when I grip my cock, my balls only tighten with release if I remember how it felt being inside her?

Maybe what I've got doesn't have a word in the dictionary yet, or cure from the doctors. All I'm sure of is I can’t go another day without knowing I'm not the only one feeling it.

“So why are you hanging around here?”

I dip one of my cheese sandwich strips into the tomato soup and shake my head at her. “I’ve needed to stay here for the two of you.” I bite half of it and dip the other in again before popping the rest in my mouth.

She’s playing with her food. Swirling a strip over and over in her soup, looking at it but not seeing it, is my guess.

“I think I need to read this letter,” she says.

“Not a chance.”

She drops the stick, leaving it in the soup, and leans back in her chair with her arms across her chest. “Why not?”

“She doesn’t say anything in there that I haven’t overanalyzed to death. There’s nothing you can glean from it that I haven’t.”

“Then what could it hurt?”

The evil twin has a point.

“It’s been over a month,” I growl and push the laptop into the cushions of my couch before I stand. “I don’t know where else to search for her.” She dropped clues, thinking that it’s enough, but maybe, in the end, it’s throwing me even further off track.

“Liam?”

Mia and I both look towards the front door, though we can’t see it from here.

“Yeah?” I call while heading in her direction.

“Have you seen your sister?”

“I’m in the living room,” Mia calls.

Mom pitches her voice so only I can hear. “Oh, good to hear she’s still alive. Any closer?”

I run a frustrated hand through my hair, gripping the ends, “What if I can’t find her?”

Mia snorts as we walk into the living room, where my couch, coffee table, and television on the wall greet us. Still haven’t gotten around to filling out the place.

“It’s probably for the best,” Mia says.

Mom scolds her as she sits on the other cushion.

“No, she’s right, maybe it’s not meant to be." I walk the length of the room. "Who knows, she could have left that note to let me down easy. She may not have meant any of it.”

“Where have you looked?” Mom asks.

Mia taps on the laptop I’ve bought since moving in here. “There were too many options to search through on Facebook, but we did set up a page for him if she thinks to look.” Mia rolls her eyes, telling the rest of us the likelihood of that. “I never knew how many party planners there were until now, and since we don’t know which state she’s from, it’s a broad search. That’s it; he can’t think of anything else that’s useful.”

“We didn’t talk about those things.”

“What do you mean you didn’t talk about those things?” Mia makes a face and does air quotes with her fingers for the word things. “How do you have feelings for someone you don’t even know?”

“You can know someone without knowing all the details of their lives.”

“Not those details. Those are the basic ones that even acquaintances know.”

Maybe, she’s right, but I’m not willing to give up yet. “Who put you in charge of how this works? Last I checked, there are no rules dictating how you develop feelings for someone.”

“Enough, both of you,” Mom says, exacerbated.

My sister opens her mouth, but one look from my mother makes her