Page 28 of Enemy Daddy Next Door

However, that doesn’t mean that Amy doesn’t crowd my thoughts the entire drive to Jessica’s camp nor my day at the office later. In fact, by the end of the day, I’m convinced most of my thoughts have been about Amy Solace.

9

AMY

There is no weirder feeling than being horny in my childhood bedroom. It’s been a rare occasion ever since puberty.

But ever since Hunter…well, it’s constant. I try to push it away, but it won’t go.

Resistance is futile.

I’ve been woken up by a throbbing feeling in my groin on multiple occasions. Now is one of those moments. I don’t even know what time it is, but it’s still dark out.

And I’m wide awake, blood rushing through me, practically pumping to the beat of his name.

Hunter Ricks, Hunter Ricks, Hunter Ricks.

I haven’t changed the decorations much over the years, not since I was sixteen and did a whole overhaul of the Hello Kitty theme I had been committed to as a child. Now, it’s all light blue and frilly. Not really the room of a girl in her mid-twenties.

Living at home definitely doesn’t help in the intimacy department. The few dating relationships I have had were short-lived and never really manifested in anything more than kissing, groping, maybe humping.

And never here. God, that would feel like a desecration of my childhood room. Not to mention if my father was in the house.

I’ve never felt these feelings so intensely, though. And I hate myself for them.

I stormed out of Hunter’s yard, determined to never waste another moment thinking about him and his stupid pretty face and bulging biceps again.

But in the two weeks since our kiss…kisses…he’s all I’ve thought about.

My body won’t let me think about anything else.

Tonight, I smash my eyelids together, determined to just fall back asleep. At least if he appears to me in a dream, it’s sort of out of my control. Conjuring images of him to touch myself feels like breaking my determination to push Hunter Ricks far from my mind.

However, images of him are practically tattooed on the back of my eyelids.

I’m totally screwed, aren’t I?

I remember his moonlit face, his little smile through his beard, the way his hair hung over his shoulders.

And then…oh god…I can’t help but remember how he looked with a towel wrapped around his waist when I barged into his kitchen. I had to turn around so I didn’t stare directly at his pelvis. Otherwise, I might have started wishing his towel might fall off.

I don’t understand how I can crave sex if I’ve never had it. But boy, do I.

Maybe just once. Indulge myself just once, let the image of Hunter run wild in my brain. Then I can put it to bed. Because I know it will never, ever happen. I won’t let it happen. I will never be his second choice.

Sure, he may have been willing to tell his little plaything to leave when I was already there. But then he would have expected a favor for a favor. And while my body was revved up like a race car, I don’t know if I would have been ready to give it to him then.

Focus, Amy. He’s not here. Don’t let his choices ruin your fantasy.

Okay. Fantasy. I can work with fantasy. I’m a writer, aren’t I?

Of children’s books, dummy.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m a little stunted in my brain. I’m the youngest child, I live at home, I write kids’ books, sleep in my childhood bedroom. Maybe I need to grow up.

Jordan would say I’m being mean to myself.

I’m inclined to agree, most of the time.

---