His American Fling by Kim Brogan Read Free Book Online
Authors: Kim Brogan
like that. Only the better fit was a Bay Watch wannabe. She was younger, bigger tits, and apparently a gymnast when it came to sex. I had a crisis of confidence after that, not to mention a few aches from taking gymnastics at the local community college.”
His eyes sparkled, and he let out a short, but hearty laugh. I felt rather pleased with myself for lifting his mood.
Pausing, he looked a little uncomfortable, “Maggie, I’m curious, how old are you?”
“How old do you think I am?”
He smiled, “Not fair. Anything I say could end up being an insult.”
“Thirty-four.”
He took in sharp breath, “Really? Thirty-four? I thought you were twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight.”
“I get that a lot.” I put my purse over my shoulder and started towards the front door.
“So, are you off?” he asked.
“I thought I’d walk around and get something to eat. Are you going to be here...uh, I don’t have a key?”
“Come along, let me show you.” We went out to the back garden and under the gnome was a skeleton key that opened the back door. It amazed me that anyone still carried keys that large. “Do you know where you’re going?” he asked.
“Not really, I thought I’d just walk around.”
He pointed, “There’s a Kentucky Fried Chicken that way, a hamburger take-out in that direction called Mudruckers , and a fish and chip shop on the corner three blocks down.”
“What do you suggest?” I watched him as he pondered my question.
“ Kentucky Fried Chicken . I’m never quite sure about what they serve at the other places.” He snickered a little.
“Want me to bring you back something?” I asked as we walked back inside.
“No, I’m going out with Henry and Fiona. We’re going to grab some Chinese.” He paused as if he reluctantly remembered his manners. “Would you like to come with us?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m already a carbuncle. I think I’ll try to stay low-key and let you have fun with your friends.”
“Have it your way. I won’t be back until late; we’ll probably go to the pub afterwards. I have satellite on the telly and there’s plenty to read.”
“Sounds like a good way to spend a Saturday evening. Thanks for the tip.” I watched him grab his keys and walk toward the back French door off the parlor. I took off out the front, making my way to Kentucky Fried Chicken where I found a rowdy group of teenage boys making all sorts of noise as they waited in line for dinner. Most of them were wearing England soccer shirts. After buying a chicken breast dinner and a diet coke, I took my dinner, which looked nothing like the fried chicken I got at home, back to the house to eat. Taking up residence in the kitchen downstairs, I ate my meal and then made my way up to the parlor where the television was. I turned it on and watched a little of Dr. Who before going into the library to look at the books.
I was surprised at the variety of books he owned, including some authors I would have bet that he’d never read. He had a selection of Dean Koontz and Stephen King, John Grisham, Michael Connally, Terry Pratchett, Ian McEwan, James Patterson and hundreds more. I looked through and picked out a Terry Pratchett novel and sat down to read. I watched Billy Elliot while I snuck in a couple of chapters.
Around 9:30 pm, when all the channels seemed to be televising either soccer or reruns of the Sopranos, I decided to go up and get a shower. After getting my shower, I once again put on my pajamas and went back down stairs to the kitchen, making a cup of tea. Once I had steeped it for four minutes, I took it upstairs to the parlor and started sipping.
The couch was comfortable , so I took advantage of it and stretched out. As I did, the tea spilt on my bottoms leaving a huge stain. I pulled them off and took them down to the laundry and threw them on the floor to wash when I had a full load.
Back in the parlor, I watched
His eyes sparkled, and he let out a short, but hearty laugh. I felt rather pleased with myself for lifting his mood.
Pausing, he looked a little uncomfortable, “Maggie, I’m curious, how old are you?”
“How old do you think I am?”
He smiled, “Not fair. Anything I say could end up being an insult.”
“Thirty-four.”
He took in sharp breath, “Really? Thirty-four? I thought you were twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight.”
“I get that a lot.” I put my purse over my shoulder and started towards the front door.
“So, are you off?” he asked.
“I thought I’d walk around and get something to eat. Are you going to be here...uh, I don’t have a key?”
“Come along, let me show you.” We went out to the back garden and under the gnome was a skeleton key that opened the back door. It amazed me that anyone still carried keys that large. “Do you know where you’re going?” he asked.
“Not really, I thought I’d just walk around.”
He pointed, “There’s a Kentucky Fried Chicken that way, a hamburger take-out in that direction called Mudruckers , and a fish and chip shop on the corner three blocks down.”
“What do you suggest?” I watched him as he pondered my question.
“ Kentucky Fried Chicken . I’m never quite sure about what they serve at the other places.” He snickered a little.
“Want me to bring you back something?” I asked as we walked back inside.
“No, I’m going out with Henry and Fiona. We’re going to grab some Chinese.” He paused as if he reluctantly remembered his manners. “Would you like to come with us?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m already a carbuncle. I think I’ll try to stay low-key and let you have fun with your friends.”
“Have it your way. I won’t be back until late; we’ll probably go to the pub afterwards. I have satellite on the telly and there’s plenty to read.”
“Sounds like a good way to spend a Saturday evening. Thanks for the tip.” I watched him grab his keys and walk toward the back French door off the parlor. I took off out the front, making my way to Kentucky Fried Chicken where I found a rowdy group of teenage boys making all sorts of noise as they waited in line for dinner. Most of them were wearing England soccer shirts. After buying a chicken breast dinner and a diet coke, I took my dinner, which looked nothing like the fried chicken I got at home, back to the house to eat. Taking up residence in the kitchen downstairs, I ate my meal and then made my way up to the parlor where the television was. I turned it on and watched a little of Dr. Who before going into the library to look at the books.
I was surprised at the variety of books he owned, including some authors I would have bet that he’d never read. He had a selection of Dean Koontz and Stephen King, John Grisham, Michael Connally, Terry Pratchett, Ian McEwan, James Patterson and hundreds more. I looked through and picked out a Terry Pratchett novel and sat down to read. I watched Billy Elliot while I snuck in a couple of chapters.
Around 9:30 pm, when all the channels seemed to be televising either soccer or reruns of the Sopranos, I decided to go up and get a shower. After getting my shower, I once again put on my pajamas and went back down stairs to the kitchen, making a cup of tea. Once I had steeped it for four minutes, I took it upstairs to the parlor and started sipping.
The couch was comfortable , so I took advantage of it and stretched out. As I did, the tea spilt on my bottoms leaving a huge stain. I pulled them off and took them down to the laundry and threw them on the floor to wash when I had a full load.
Back in the parlor, I watched