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That ole blood-in-the-water sensation that I used to get as a former ambulance-chasing attorney when I was fresh outta law school hit me like a foaming red wave, but it has nothing to do with work, blood, or ambulances.
The only law this brings into question is the law of probability.
How on earth could someone so perfect exist, and why wasn’t I told?
It’s as though a biological switch flicked on inside me. With her, it’s been dialed up to eleven.
I followed her, forgetting about everything else except the dull ache in my pants.
Consciously I know I live in a city of millions, and as unreasonable as it sounds, I’m still kicking myself that I never noticed her before.
But how could I? I’m from a different side of town altogether. A different world, too.
I set up my own law firm, James & Jones. It’s become the go-to firm for clients with more money than real legal problems. So life’s been good, financially.
The fact I’m both the Jamesandthe Jones in the firm’s name is only known by a select few in the business. I don’t want to appear pretentious.
Plus, the firm is very hands off for me these days, so when I do go to the office, it’s really only to kill time.
Wandering the empty rooms of my quiet uptown penthouse gets stale after a while. There is always something missing.
And once I spot her?
I completely understand.
I know who it’s all going to be for.
For her… and all the little James Jrs., Jeanettes, and Jaxon Joneses.
I already know the names of the babies that I want and the thought gives me an instant urge in my loins to fill her with my seed… again and again and again.
So I followed her. Losing her in the evening foot traffic and then spotting her again. I hung back some in case she saw me, although there was no need.
Between the moments when I lost her and then spotted her again, I saw a new part of her with every step she took.
Those hips are made for gripping—made for carrying babies.
That ass made me gulp so hard, I reached a near fever pitch by the time she got to her building.
The whining growl in my chest was obvious when I ducked into a laundromat across the street from her home—a place to wait and watch.
I thought it sounded like a wild animal was in the building until I realized it was me. I was doing more than just a little heavy breathing over the sound of tumble dryers, and not because I was out of breath from walking.
The place was empty. I knew if she stayed home, it would be a long wait until I would see her again. I waited all night, but I didn’t need coffee to focus. Knowing I was this close to her kept me beyond alert and hypervigilant, and it would remain that way for as long as it took me to see her again.
I’ve spent so many nights lying awake staring at the ornate ceiling in my penthouse suite, my arm reaching out to the empty space beside me. Never really understanding there’s only been one thing missing from that side of my bed and my life.
There she was. The one. All I need to do is reach out and claim her as my own.
My eyes never leave her building’s entrance. My mind barely registers the antiquated architecture. The cast-iron railings and stonework would have beenthe addressto have about a century ago.
It’s on the side of town that has a colorful and, no doubt, checkered history.
Now, like the rest of this side of town, it’s outdated. Old. A part of the city where not everyone enjoys the kinda life I guess I’m guilty of taking for granted.
But it wasn’t handed to me. I worked very hard for twenty years that I forgot how to live. I forgot what really matters.
And for what?
