Page 32 of Savage in the Sweets
And…if he wants something more…well, it’s best not to even think about that. I mean, being hot and good in bed will in no way overcome the serious personality defect of being an absolute douche waffle.
But I have to admit, our ‘how we met’ would be a heck of a story to pass down.
God—what has gotten into me? Why would I even entertain such a thought? This is about one-upping my vibrator, not getting all mushy-hearted.
I clean up the displays, trying to pull my mind from the physical perfection that is undoubtedly brooding next door.
But inevitably, the cords of muscles lining his strong arms weasel their way back into my thoughts. I think about what it would feel like for them to lift and press me against the wall as he buries himself in me. Or him using his strength to bend me over the countertop, taking me hard, the way I like it.
Or waking up nestled in them.
Oh no….
My lungs damn near stop working with the realization that waking up in Mr. Tracksuit’s arms doesn’t disgust me nearly as much as it should.
Is this what he’s thinking about right now? How he can’t believe he’s fantasizing about the confectionary temptress next door?
And that’s when it hits me. All Mr. Tracksuit wants is a booty call. He’s a ten in the looks department, owns a business, and is an attentive father—there’s no way he’s single because he doesn’t want to be.
Which means he’s single because he simply has no intention of settling down.
And if he does so happen to want to settle down, it certainly wouldn’t be with me. Sure, he’ll fuck me. Heck, he’d be willing to do a lot more if the picture he sent me is any indication.
But there is no future with him.
And if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of gal. I don’t like random hookups. I want the real deal. The wedding. White picket fence. Screaming baby.
What I’m doing with Colin isn’t me.
I have to end this.
After entering several lines of text into my phone, I realize that this needs to be done face-to-face and not with me hiding behind a screen like a coward. I’m going to march over there, apologize, explain that I had gotten a little tipsy and have no intention of fucking him, then ask for discretion.
This simply must be done in person and has nothing to do with me wanting to see him…
Shit, this has everything to do with me wanting to see him, but that’s not going to change my well-thought-out decision. In fact, I relish the thought of seeing his face fall when I tell him that Friday’s sleepover will be G-rated, with him leaving shortly after drop-off.
I throw the ‘will be back shortly’ sign up and walk next door.
Eat your heart out, Mr. Tracksuit…because that’s all you’re going to be eating.
Colin
Six fast miles on the treadmill has me good and sorted, and I change the settings until it has me at a brisk walk.
Lacy Savage is a bad decision. The worst decision I could make for myself, and more importantly, my son.
Sure, she’s hot, witty, funny, and interactive in the community, all traits I enjoy and want in a woman, but those qualities don’t change the fact that I’m not looking for a steady relationship. Even if I was, she owns a candy shop, promoting junk, while I promote healthy habits.
Some might call me a hypocrite because I sneak a piece every now and then, but I’m not justifying my consumption. If anything, I’m trying to taper it down. Sugar is said to be worse than some drugs simply because it’s so prevalent and acceptable. There are no redeeming qualities, and the negative impacts on your health are clear in numerous studies.
This isn’t something I can overlook.
Even if all she wants is a casual fling, it’s too risky. Her shop is right next to mine, and the last thing I need is daily awkward confrontations.
My only option is to tell her that although I’m flattered, all correspondence has to stop.
I hop off the treadmill, wiping the sweat from the display, then turn to see Lacy staring at me a short distance away.
