PUCKING THE SINGLE DADDY BY BELLA BRANDON – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Bella Brandon
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 3 MB
- Price: Free
ASTRID
I’m no athlete. Usually, it takes me five songs to make it to this part
of the neighborhood on my runs. Okay, five to six. But today, I’ve
made it in four. At this pace, I’m even on track to break my best
one-mile time ever. It’s that excitement and the beat that makes me more
confident and helps me forget the reason I feel the need to run.
I’m getting close to my favorite part of this route. A beautiful
neighborhood tucked away between quiet little woods filled with houses I
could never afford on a high school history teacher’s salary. Here the
manicured front lawns become more spacious. The houses a little further
apart. The cars parked in the driveways a little nicer with every passing
mailbox.
The muscles in my thighs start to burn. I think I’ve exercised more this
week than the past year combined. Salary negotiations make me nervous
every time. But this was the year I graduated with my master’s. I was
supposed to get a raise.
I was supposed to get a big raise.
I cross another street.
The rhythm in my headphones matches the determination in my steps.
Reaching the edge of another sidewalk, I sprint across the road. I want to
beat my time. My watch says there is less than a tenth of a mile left. If I
give it my all, I can set a new record, and then I’ll take a little walking
break.
That’s the singular thought that drives me forward. It carries my feet to
the opposite side of the road, where I take to running on the smooth street
instead of the sidewalk to make it a little easier on myself.
I think it’s a combination of several things. The volume of the song
blaring through my headphones, the way it fights against the sound of my
own thoughts, desperately trying to drown them out, and my eagerness to
break my one-mile time. All of those factors cause me to become hyper
focused on the road in front of me.
And only that.
Somewhere, somehow, a car comes speeding behind me. I don’t realize
it until it’s too late. I don’t think the driver realizes it all, and I have to jump
onto the grass-covered curb to try and get to safety, rolling my ankle as I do
so.
Pain flares up at the point of impact, and I wince against the pressure. It
hurts. That’s what I process immediately. It hurts so badly.
Oh no.
I cradle my injured leg as if I’ll be able to see the injury and soothe it to
make the pounding, pulsing pain stop. It doesn’t work. Shit. I’m about a
mile from home, and I don’t know how I’ll get back there. Carefully, I try to
stand, gently testing my injury by putting weight on that side, only to fall to
the ground in pain once more.
No. No. No. I don’t know how I’m going to get home.
I consider trying again, as if the problem is lack of effort and not the
swelling that seems to be taking place around my ankle sock. I’m about to
test the theory when I see the man approach.
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