Page 2 of If You Could Only Feel
Torturing me.
All I could do was pray that Gabriel didn’t have one on his hand. Maybe this was all a joke, and the ring was a souvenir, or a toy out of a coin machine.
I mean, it looked real.
It felt real.
Felt like arealfucking stupid ass mistake.
Okay, I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had to go back out there and see if Gabriel was wearing a ring too and if there were any papers lying around to confirm how stupid I was over this man.
I cracked open the bathroom floor and crept my way towards the bed and the naked man that was sleeping on his stomach in it.
Standing over the bed, my eyes fell on what sickingly looked like a wedding certificate. Gabriel moaned and stretched, and when he rolled himself onto his back, his arms flying out beside him, that’s when I saw it. The matching ring to my wedding set. I fucking married Gabriel Buchanan last night.
Sonofabitch!
Chapter 1
Justice~
I felt my phone buzzing in my back pocket, but I ignored it.
I ignored it because I knew who it was and I knew what he wanted, and while for a very long time, what he wanted was the same thing I had wanted, but I didn’t want that anymore.
I wanted more.
I wanted love.
I wanted…maybe not forever, but a chance at forever.
My phone buzzed again, and again, and I continued to ignore it.
Besides, I was at work and Dr. Daughtry didn’t appreciate...now, let me get this right…‘the younger generation who don’t know how to do anything other than stare at their phones’. Yeah. So, I was not going to be that ‘younger generation’ and irritate him enough to lose my job.
Thomas Daughtry owned a rather successful dental practice, and he had originally hired me as a part-time bookkeeper while I was still in high school (I think mostly out of pity), but he had kept me on and hired me full-time when I graduated because it turned out I was a whiz at accounting. I didn’t have any formal schooling or mentoring, but he had been so pleased with my efficiency and accuracy, he let the fact that I didn’t have a degree slide.
He paid me enough to live off of, and while there might not be any Prada handbags in my closet, I lived comfortably enough to support myself and occasionally buy a beer or two.
The only downside to my job was that Dr. Daughtry was a straight up perv. A married perv, at that.
He was great at straddling the line between appropriate work behavior and risqué comments about my body or outfit. He had never crossed the line though, and while still very inappropriate, none of his antics were enough to make me give up such a good paying job.
Well, a good paying job inmyeyes.
I grew up the epitome of your stereotypical trailer park trash. My father was a dirty drunk who barely held down a job and my mother was an unhappy, verbally abusive harpy. I was an only child (thank God) and so I was usually the sole recipient of their bad moods.
My parents’ focus was primarily on making each other miserable, so I started working part time as soon as I legally could while still going to school. It wasn’t until my senior year of school that I found the job with Dr. Daughtry through a teacher recommendation.
I had bought my own clothes, school supplies, food, hygiene necessities…you name it. My only saving grace was that my parents didn’t take my money from me. They were content enough with the fact that they didn’t have to come out of their own pockets to provide for me.
It took me a lot of years and saving up to be able to get a one-bedroom apartment in a decent neighborhood and I loved that I had done it all on my own. I wasn’t going to risk it all just to answer my phone for a booty call time and place.
Even if that booty call came with a nine-inch dick as wide as my wrist.
Gabriel Buchanan was the man attached to that magnificent piece of man meat and the bane of my existence.
How did he earn a title as important as The Bane, you wonder?
