kitchen on Saturday mornings. Her hair stuck up in all directions, she always had a crease across one of her cheeks, and her eyes were always puffy.
She’d pour herself a bowl of cereal, no milk, and sit and watch morning cartoons with us. She never spoke for at least an hour. She’d just sit quietly in the corner of the couch and eat her cereal.
I wondered what her morning routine was now. She wasn’t a kid or a teenager anymore. She was a woman. A woman who’d been dropped off by her date at midnight and gone inside her house alone.
I had to admit, it felt creepy that I’d waited up for her. I could hide behind the excuse that keeping an eye on her was what Bentley had specifically asked me to do, but that would just be a cop-out. I’d done it because I’d wanted to.
When my back finally began to relax, I gingerly rose to my feet, holding my breath as a flash of searing pain shot through me. The best way that I could describe this particular sensation was that it felt like someone’d stabbed a hot pitchfork into my lower back and twisted it. This particular pain usually passed fairly quickly, never lasting for more than a minute or two. When I felt it starting to subside to a bone-deep, throbbing ache, I exhaled.
I used to love mornings. Since I was a kid, I’d loved watching the sunrise. Whenever I’d spend the night at the Briggs farm, all the Briggs brothers would complain about the time that they were woken up to do chores, but I’d been raring to go. Seeing the first break of light coming over the fields had been like a religious experience to me. But any joy I had for the phenomenon was gone. Now the sunrise just marked the starting point of the marathon day of pain I had in store for me.
As I passed the large bedroom window that looked out over the open fields of Old Man Spratt’s farm, which butted up to the property line, I couldn’t help but glance outside of it. The sun was peeking up over the horizon and I could see the silhouette of cows off in the far distance grazing on the field. It was a sight I’d seen hundreds of times growing up.
Movement directly below the window caught my attention and when I looked down, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I blinked, and took a step closer to the window, sure that I must be hallucinating. But the closer I got to the pane of glass, the more certain I was that what I was seeing was real.
Olivia was standing on a blue mat in the middle of the grass, which apparently the duplex shared, because there was no fence separating the space, her arms were straight up in the air, and she was totally naked. She pressed her hands together and lowered them down to her chest. Then she released them, bent her knees, and circled them back over her head again as she straightened her legs. It took me a moment to recognize that she was doing yoga. I’d been too caught up on the fact that she wasn’t wearing any fucking clothes.
My head spun.
What the hell was she doing?
Why was she naked?
What if someone saw her?
Someone other than me, that is.
Those were some of the thoughts whipping around my brain, but they were competing with the visual information that my eyes were feeding my brain.
I stood frozen, unable to tear my gaze away. My eyes drank in the sensual curves of her hourglass figure. Her back was facing me, which meant so was her ass, which was a perfect heart shape. My eyes roamed over her slender, curved back, covered only by blonde hair that fell halfway to her nipped-in waist. They traveled over her flared hips, along her perky backside, and down her long, toned legs.
I watched, mesmerized as she lunged one leg back before twisting to the side and stretching her arms out. Her new position gave me a clear view of her full breasts, complete with raspberry shaded areolas tipped with hard pebbled nipples.
“Fuck,” I breathed out as I took one step closer to the window.
She was a masterpiece. I’d imagined and fantasized, more times than I cared to admit, what she would look like naked, but nothing I’d ever envisioned came close to reality. Her body was sensual and curvy. She’d joked