Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Christ, I almost came on the spot.
“I have to…you have to…”
Cooper slowed, rolling his hips languidly. “Yes. But I don’t want to stop. We look good together. My cock in your hole.”
I moaned. “Come on. Do it. Come in me.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and let go, pistoning his hips and barking an order to touch myself. I was a goner almost immediately, and Cooper was right there with me.
I didn’t try to move. I lay flat on the mattress in the middle of the wet spot and concentrated on breathing.
“Are you okay?” he asked, resting a hand on my left ass cheek.
I lifted my head and grinned. “Yeah. I’m good. So good.”
Cooper smiled fondly. “Me too. You’re so…beautiful. Lavender really is your shade.”
“Okay…fuck you, asshole.”
He chortled merrily, tickling my sides till I twisted around, almost bopping his nose. We wrestled like schoolboys, made out a bit, and finally agreed we needed showers, stat.
Later, we made dinner and watched the Mets get destroyed by the Dodgers. We talked about the kids I coached and the funny things they said. We talked about Bea Flannigan potentially closing her bakery and what business might take its place. And Cooper shared a story about one of the industrial hydraulic log spitters getting clogged and spewing sawdust in the mill and the blueberry tart his assistant brought to the office that morning.
Neither of us mentioned his ex-wife or the kids or the fact that we had maybe a month left before I’d leave for Boston.
Fine by me.
If I had my way, I’d stay in this bubble forever. It was nice…and safe. And I could kid myself into believing I belonged here. ’Cause damn, I wished I did.
CHAPTER 21
COOPER
“We’re interested. We think it’ll do well and boost the economy in the area. The real question is…how soon can we break ground?”
Hank and I shared shocked expressions over the speaker on his desk.
Hank recovered quickly, adjusting the brim of his Stetson. “If we can get the permits squared away, we should be able to start in September.”
“And that’s for the five initial locations?” Ralph Myers, our lead contact at the investment firm, asked.
I spoke up, shaking my head though the gesture was lost on a conference call. “No, that would be for Wood Hollow. We can pull permits in the other cities, with Rutland being next. We’ll confer with our teams in Burlington, Montpelier, and Albany to give a better estimate for those locations, but realistically, we’d break ground on those within the year.”
Ralph hummed thoughtfully. “And out of curiosity, why wouldn’t we build the first store in a larger town? Wood Hollow is awfully small, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it’s one of the Four Forest area towns, and it’s booming in Wood Hollow,” Hank said. “We’ve had a population surge thanks to the mill. Lots of new housing and jobs. We don’t have corporate business here. No Starbucks, no McDonald’s, no Targets. That won’t change. We prefer artisan coffee and real farm-to-table foods, however…we could benefit from a cohesive hardware and lumber store—an answer to Home Depot. We know there’s a need and a market with an audience who’d rather not drive forty-five minutes to buy DIY supplies. You’ve seen the stats. Our hook is that we’re new yet we have experience, we’re home-grown and committed to providing a quality product. And…a lot of our private investors are professional hockey players.”
Ralph and his associates chuckled. “That’s great, but you’re talking to a loyal football fan. I heard you have exactly one in residence, and I think he’s just visiting.”
Silas.
I opened my mouth and closed it. If Silas were an ordinary neighbor, I’d leverage our friendship for all it was worth to impress the investor who was about to dump tens of millions of dollars into our venture…and inadvertently fund my children’s college funds.
But Silas wasn’t just anyone, and I’d never use our relationship for personal gain. Even though I knew he’d probably encourage it.
Hank had no such compunction. “Silas Anderson. Yeah! I’ve run into him at our local coffee shop a couple of times. Good guy. He’s a volunteer coach for our youth flag football team this summer.”
“No kidding? The parents must be going nuts.”
Hank shot an expectant glance my way. I was a parent. I had two kids who’d specifically opted to play for Wood Hollow rather than Fallbrook just to be coached by Silas, who happened to live next door to us. I should have had a big opinion about this.
But I kept my mouth shut.
“They sure are,” Hank assured him. “Wood Hollow has always had a strong football program. It would be fun to get a surge of professional players in town and maybe one day it’ll be our football town, much like Elmwood is our hockey town.”
“That would be fun. I’d love to shop at a Mill Depot and run into a football hero or two. Not to brag, but I played safety in high school and I wasn’t half bad. Our team made it to…”