Page 28 of Sweeter Than Fiction

Oh dear God, he’s wearing sweatpants.

Some grey sweatpants.

How is it that I wear sweats, and I look like a bum, yet he looks like most women’s wet dream?

Obnoxious.

“Hey, come on in.”

Stopping just on the other side of the door, I pause for a moment to look around. This is my first time being in here. Although it’s basically the same layout as mine, that’s where the similarities end.

Don was right. He hasn’t decorated much, but it’s not like it looks empty. It just has a much cleaner and more organized feel to it. More minimalistic. And almost everything is black and white.

“Nice place,” I tell him as he walks toward the open kitchen.

“Thanks. To be honest, I haven’t done much to it. The only stuff I brought with me was my bedroom furniture and my clothes. Everything else I sold back in Nebraska. All of the other furniture and stuff you see here is all rented.”

“Not wanting to fully settle in?” I ask.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure exactly how long I was going to be in New York.”

“Oh?” I ask, trying not to sound too concerned.

“Originally, I got my job here because I did work for a guy back home. He liked the job I did and told me he was doing an apartment building here, so I moved. I was a little worried that I wouldn’t be able to find work when it was all over.”

“And now?”

He smiles at me. “I think it’s time to buy some furniture.”

Without even having to ask, he walks over and hands me a glass of wine while he opens a beer for himself.

As I take a sip, I almost choke as my attention is drawn elsewhere.

My eyes shoot right down to where they shouldn’t. As he’s walking across the room, I can see the outline of his dick through the thin material of the sweatpants.

And good lord, it’s impressive. It’s not even hard, and I can tell it’s a decent size.

Stop staring, Abby.

I can see why women seem to enjoy themselves when they go to bed with him.

“So, how was your day?” Don asks, pulling me from my dirty thoughts.

“Long,” I reply.

Not the only thing that’s long.

Stop it, Abby.

“Forgive me for asking this, Abs. But what exactly is it that you do?”

“I write computer software and programs. Sometimes, I’m contracted out for specific projects for different companies. And in my free time, I do freelance projects and sell them. My last one was actually bought by the U.S. military.”

Don’s eyebrows raise. “Whoa. What was the project?”

“Per my non-disclosure agreement, I can’t say.”

“Mysterious.” He smiles. “I like that. If you told me, would you have to kill me?”

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