Free Run by Holly Hood Page A

so full of it. Most people weren’t looking to see who you really are. And most people were never going to show you who they really are.
    She was a batty woman, I thought to myself, letting the wind waft over me.
     
    A loud tapping pulled me from my reverie. I followed the sound to an old workshop behind the duplex. I dragged my hand over the chipped paint as I walked to the door.
    Roger was hammering away at an old bookcase. I watched his arms moving in rhythm to each strike of the mallet. He wore a red flannel shirt that revealed part of his chest. I was attracted to the power he seemed to hold in that mallet.
    “Well, hello there,” he said, when he realized he had an audience.
    He motioned me in as he continued hammering. I moved closer and saw he’d been carving a rose into the wood.
    “Wow,” I said, breathless, admiring his craftsmanship.
    “It looks simple, but it’s very detailed,” he said with a grin. He took my hand bringing it up to the rose carving, pushing my fingertips into the grooves.
    “Wow, this is so cool, Roger,” I said with a smile.
    He watched me closely as I ran my fingers down the wood examining every inch of it. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
    “When did you learn to do this?” I asked, not taking my eyes away from it.
    “Probably around your age--my old man owned an antique store. He taught me everything he knew.”
    I nodded, finally looking up. Roger was leaning against the tool bench, a big grin on his face.
    “What?” I asked.
    “It’s uncanny how much you look like Joy-Ann. I always thought she was the most breathtaking woman I ever laid eyes on.” He wasn’t sorry he said this from the expression on his face.
    “I guess it’s hard to see when it’s you,” I said, staring at the ground.
    “I totally had a thing for your mom. She never gave me the time of day though,” he said, moving back to the bookcase. He lifted the mallet and gave me a look.
    “You were lucky,” I laughed. “Your wife is much better than my mother.”
    Roger glanced up at the house through the open door. He moved closer to me.
    “She is and always will be,” he said. He pursed his lips, scanning my eyes for a hint of what he should do next. My heart pounded in my ears. He took my hand, pulling me closer. His hand shaking.
    “You look just like her,” he breathed, running his hand across my arm. I stared into his eyes, totally sucked into the moment. He was a good looking man. Sometimes there was something about a man old enough to know better that made me curious.
    He looked at the door again. His hand quickly slipped underneath my shirt, his fingers sliding up, his eyes pinned to mine. I moved closer, running my fingers down his chest, pulling at the buttons of his shirt. I coaxed his hand to my shorts, and without much urging he slipped a hand down the front of them.
    “You can do whatever you want,” I whispered.
    “I don’t think you mean that, Kendall,” he whispered back, undoing my shorts. I bit my lip as his fingers slipped past my underwear.
    He used his other hand to drag my shirt up, running his hand across my breast. I waited for him to kiss me, wanting nothing more than his lips against mine.
    My breath quickened at the feel of his fingers against me, the way they moved, the power and skill behind them. I wanted more. I wanted to feel more than Roger’s fingers.
    “I can’t be doing this. I don’t know what it is about you,” he stammered, pulling his hand from my shorts. He studied me, trying to pull it together. I pulled him by the shirt, bringing him closer, my lips grazing his gently. I slowly kissed him, running my tongue across his bottom lip, taking hold of his neck, tugging on his shirt, my body ready to burst. Nothing had ever turned me on more than this moment. I felt flawed… so wrong for wanting this man.
    I kissed his neck.
    He  pawed at my body. Stopping every couple seconds to look at the door and then his mouth would meet back up