CHAPTER ONE

There's tension in the office today. An unspoken stress that seems to permeate the rooms and the entire staff of the Mill Group. You have a feeling you know why when you open up the calendar and see that your father will be out of the office all day leaving his Co CEO here alone.   

"Miller's on the warpath today," Jacob murmurs, solidifying your suspicions as he passes your desk with a coffee for himself and one he slides towards you on your desk. 

"Fuck."

"Just avoid eye contact." 

"Kind of hard to do when I'm the assistant," you mutter with a wince. Jacob gives you a subtle wink.  

"Good luck, babe. Oh and also, it’s my turn to pick where we do lunch." 

“If I even survive until then.”

“You have to. It’s your turn to pay.”

He sails off with a smirk just as the elevator chimes. You watch as everyone in the nearby vicinity goes still before snapping into action. The elevator stops with a pleasant ding that belies the terror waiting inside.

As the doors open all heads turn to see Joel Miller, Co-Ceo of the Mill Group exit.

It's like everything happens at once when he walks through the silver doors and into the office. Phones go crazy; voices get louder, like everyone's trying to prove why they should earn their paycheck.

He’s a tall man, shoulders broad and practically straining in his dark green flannel. It’s rolled up halfway to his elbows. His jeans are clean, his boots expensive. His lean neck swivels as people approach him on all sides.

You watch as Joel is inundated with staff asking about upcoming pitch meetings and wanting to show him rough blueprints. He nods briefly, jaw tensed as he comments on meeting times, shoves blueprints under his arm and keeps striding towards you. You sit up straight, smoothing your hair down, trying to look professional. 

Joel approaches your cluttered desk stationed outside the offices of he and your father. Up close you see the gentle curl of his dark brown hair still damp from this morning’s unexpected rain. He grabs the mail you already have waiting for him on the edge of the desk in a yellow basket. 

"Any messages?"

It's the rasping quality to his voice that gets you every time. That dead leaves in wind sound that you try to overlook but get stressed out by every time. It feels like disdain thinly veiled in polite restraint and it gives you faint anxiety every time you hear it floating around the office. 

"Good morning Mister Miller. No, no messages."

He gives you a grunt of acknowledgement without raising his eyes from the mail he sorts through with quick slices of his fingers. His long legs scissor past you, intensely focused on reaching the solitude of his office. He closes the door behind him and the office seems to take a collective breath of relief. 

You swallow anxiously, as you always do when it's just Joel in the office. Most days your dad is there too, the both of them taking turns meeting in each other's offices, sharing their time as co-owners that genuinely enjoy each other's company do. 

It's funny considering the two are so polar opposite to one another. Joel is homespun, simple and direct in his flannel and jeans yet his demeanor is completely cold and stoic. Your dad is flashy and perfect for sales in his tailored suits and expensive watch and everyone loves him with his funny stories and bright smile.

Your dad says Joel just wants to do the work and keep his head down, meanwhile your dad loves closing deals and the accolades that come with landing big accounts. They make the best team and you think that just be why the Mill Group is so successful. When you asked why they went with a shortened version of Joel's last name for the business name your dad just shrugged and said "it sounded good." 

They met at a men's bereavement group your sophmore year of college. Joel had lost his wife to cancer and your own mother had- well, you don't like to dwell on that. 

They both sat next to one another at the meeting, sighing in unison at the hippie running breath exercises until Joel leaned over to your dad and whispered: "Wanna quit this bullshit and grab a beer?"

Your father's jacket was halfway on before the end of his sentence. 

Over drinks and wings the two of them had shared their frustration at being widowers, the fear and the anger that went along with it. They shared in the way only two men thrust into an unkind world without their wives can. They got along well and for the first time both felt seen in a way that didn't come with piteous glances.

It morphed from the occasional beer to Sunday football games at your dad's, dinners after work, camping trips and woodworking in Joel's garage. Your dad could never convince him to go golfing and Joel could never convince your dad to get into fishing.  

And during those times together there were expressed frustrations over dead end jobs, about wanting to be their own bosses and after several years, work proposals, funding and stress the Mill Group was born. 

You were in school overseas during this time, taking advantage of the scholarship money that meant you could study architecture in Europe before finding odd jobs there in the summer to keep you in enough cash to travel. 

You didn't enjoy coming home to Austin where memories of your mom hung over the place like moss, filling the cracks with despair. You avoided it at all costs, commenting on the price of airline tickets when your father asked you to visit or how you really couldn't afford to come home during your finals. He accepted it, his face a grim smile he forced over FaceTime. You knew he was hurt but he still checked in on you, still sent you spending money to your bank, account and still wanted to keep updated on your school. 

During those conversations is when you learned about Joel and the Mill Group, but you were always distracted. Always looking out your cramped student housing at your passing peers. There were always parties to attend, drinks to imbibe and boys to pursue. European boys had no shame in being bold, in telling you exactly what they wanted from you. But you never felt quite ready, never quite like the pieces fit how they should. You never felt comfortable going home with strange men. 

Sex was supposed to be easy, wasn't it? That's what your roommate Francesca seemed to suggest as she came home early in the mornings smelling of old wine and smoking cheap cigarettes.  "You Americans are so old fashioned," she would tell you in her purring French accent when she found out you'd only been fingered by a boy you'd been seeing for few weeks. "It is... amusante." 

Maybe that's why when you had the chance to get your virginity out of the way that night you took it. In a house party with a boy’s name you can't remember. It was brief, dry and unmemorable. You tried again with a few boys the following semester, some you really liked, others you were fascinated by. But again, just like the first, the sensation you achieved alone was never replicated. 

You could never come. 

You could get yourself off no problem in the privacy of your bed. But when it came to doing it in front of another person? Everything shut down. But school was always more important and soon enough boys and sex were the last things on your mind... Most of the time. 

When you weren't pouring over your books you'd taken to spending most of your free time in bed. Scrolling YouTube, watching Netflix and lots and lots of sleeping. You always managed your schoolwork, always managed good grades, maintained some semblance of a social life thanks to your roommate. But most days you were just... Bleh. 

And you weren't the only one. 

In desperation to escape the living tomb that was your house in Austin, your older brother joined the army, rarely coming home if he could help it. All you and your father got were the occasional letters and vague promises of dropping by. You didn't care much, you'd never been close. 

But you came home last Christmas because the guilt of staying away had gotten too bad. And when you saw your father's devastated face as he read the latest letter from your brother, you knew you couldn't leave him again. 

So when you want to apply for your M. Arch degree instead of looking overseas you looked at schools here in Austin. There were plenty to choose from and you decided on the University of Texas. 

You could live at home with your dad in that empty rancher that still held your teen music posters and frilly bedspread. But tuition wasn't cheap. Even after scholarships the cost would be over twenty grand. And that's what landed you here at the Mill Group. A favor from your father that allowed you to work somewhere that made sense for your CV and paid more than minimum wage. 

And that's where you are today, on the day that everything changed forever. 

///

"I am not eating that." 

"That's because you never try new things," Jacob purrs as he settles back into his seat. "You're basic." 

Jacob Milne and you hit it off the second you met in the office. His energy was bright and joyful and he took you to lunch your first day citing he needed someone else in his age bracket to hang out with at work. Most of who you work with are an older crowd handpicked by the boomer Ceo’s (your dad and Joel.)

It kick-started a weekly lunch date where you take turns picking the restaurants, complain about work and gossip about everything from Jacob’s love life to whatever crime novel you’re inhaling.

People clatter around you in the crowded sushi restaurant, one of Jacobs’s new favorites. He always picks somewhere trendy that has small servings and obnoxious music. You suffer through it with a chagrined smile or in this case, a disgusted curl of your lip.

"I just like my fish cooked," you frown perusing the exotic menu full of items you don't even recognize the name of.  “What the fuck is Ebi Oshi?”

“What does it matter? You’re just gonna get a California roll like you always do,” Jacob says with a long suffering look at you. You slowly lower the menu, shooting him a dark look.

“You don’t know that.”

"Bitch please, you order the same shit wherever we go."

"I do not!"

"Burger, Diet Coke, fries or salad if you're feeling bloated." Jacob lists these off with his long fingers, "maybe a glass of white wine if we're not going back to the office." 

You stare at Jacob, blinking slowly at him. Are you really that predictable? Shit. Jacob laughs when he sees your expression before turning to face the server who is arriving to take your order. His nameplate reads Aki and he’s incredibly handsome with high cheekbones and glossy black hair.

“We’ll take the Hotate Oshi and the Wagyu Donburi, thanks,” Jacob says smiling up at the handsome server.

“Any drinks?”

“I’ll take your Coedo Japan Pale Ale,” Jacob replies smoothly before shooting you an arched brow. “And she’ll take… a Diet Coke.”

You scowl but you don’t disagree with him.

“Thanks Aki,” Jacob says, dragging the last syllable out and handing the menus to Aki who is now blushing and stuttering out his reply.

“E-excellent. I’ll be right back.”

He leaves the table and you fold your arms over your chest.

“I didn’t even get to order my California rolls, Jay.”

“You are going to try what I ordered us.”

“Yeah well you didn’t give me much of a choice,” you snipe.

“Fine,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. You have no idea what the fuck Hotate Oshi and Wagyu Donburi is but you hope it isn’t uncooked.

Aki returns with your drinks, still blushing when Jacob thanks him in a low murmur. Your diet coke sits in the middle of the table, Aki too distracted with passing Jacob his beer.  

"So how did the morning go with Mister Miller?" Jacob asks you, tilting back in his seat when the server exits to the kitchen.

"He was in his office most of the morning," you shrug, looking at the ice swirling in your diet coke. "Just answered emails and organized his appointments for the most part." 

"You got off easy," Jacob cites. "Brian didn't file the claim of lien for the Duckott's place and Miller fucking fired him." 

Your mouth drops at this new piece if information. "He fired him?"

"Yup. Told him to pack his stuff up and leave that second."

This shocks you. Joel Miller isn't exactly the most patient or caring person around, but he didn't strike you as this cruel. Brian has been with the company since it began, working through the hard times until the company really took off. 

"That's actually really horrible," you whisper, horrified. "Brian's wife is super sick." 

"I know. At least he has a hefty severance package," Jacob shrugs. "But yeah, he's in a bad fucking mood these days. I’m just glad I’m not his assistant." 

Being Joel’s assistant comes with no social perks, no specialized treatment. He treats you like he treats all the other staff; firm, stoic and professional. And in all honesty you prefer that over your father’s mixture of professionalism combined with his doting paternal instincts in the office. You never quite know what you’ll get with him.

The server returns with several ornate plates stuffed full of delicious smelling delicacies, none of which you recognize. Jacob plucks several things and puts them on a plate for you before insisting you try it.

“Holy shit,” you say moments later around a mouthful of waygu beef. “This is delicious.”

Jacob shoots you a supercilious look. “Told you.”

The two of you lapse into silence as you eat your lunches. Normally you’d be joking about whatever shitty Netflix movie your dad forced you to watch but instead you feel distracted by other issues that have been plaguing you since you moved back home last year. 

"What's up with you today?" Jacob asks prodding your foot underneath the table with his boot. "You seem off." 

"I mentioned to my dad about getting my own apartment," you eventually sigh. "But then he got all weird saying I should be saving my money since I'll be going back to school. And I mean, he’s right but the thing is, I think he just doesn't wanna be alone." 

Jacob sticks his lower lip out in sympathy at hearing this.

"But living with my dad, working with my dad, it's too much. I never get a break."

Your dad is well-loved around the office. Always remembering birthdays, always greeting everyone in the mornings. The thought of abandoning him for a second time makes you feel sick. 

"At least you get to be yourself at work," Jacob offers before he glances around anxiously, lowering his voice to a whisper, "you don't have to pretend to be someone you’re not."

Jacob is boyishly handsome with muscled arms and wavy light brown hair. His mouth is plump and his eyes are an icy blue. He's incredibly attractive, and to your devastation that first lunch, incredibly gay. 

You're the only one at the firm who knows. Living in Texas is one of those precarious things, some people are very understanding and open, and others are backwards and homophobic. In the architecture industry older staff, it's safer for Jacob to err on the side of caution. 

"It's just easier to play straight," he told you over drinks one night after work. "I don't want to fuck up my career because people find out I like dick."

You happily keep his secret, playing his beard at social events when the oblivious straight girls start getting handsy. You don't mind, you've hit a dry spell worse than the Sahara. It's hard to get turned on when you work and live with your boomer father. 

But lately you've been feeling that itch, the one you can't scratch unless your, dad's working late at the office and you have the place to yourself to use your vibrator over and over until you're body is twitching in the afterglow. 

But it's not enough. You need something more and you tell Jacob just that, cringing at how pathetic you feel when his eyes turn sympathetic. 

"Honey, we need to get you laid." 

"But if I get a boyfriend whose going to pretend to be your jealous fuck-buddy at all the work events?" You chide, popping another bite of tangy beef into your mouth. 

"I'll survive," he says rolling his eyes. "Besides I'm not talking about a boyfriend. I'm talking about a one night stand." 

"I've had one of those," you say perking up.

"No, you've had frat boys fall asleep on top of you with their sad little dicks. I'm talking a real man who fucks you into next week and you never see again." 

The thought makes your skin tingle. Images pop into your brain of being thrown around in a hotel room covered in sweat, your fingernails dragging down a faceless man's broad back. You swallow and Jacob laughs. 

"Stop picturing it. Just go and do it." 

"How?" You feel your cheeks heat. "I'm not exactly a one night stand person." 

"You need to get into the right headspace," Jacob tells you. "Manifestation. Tell yourself over and over you deserve to feel good things."

"So you want me to stand in front of the mirror every morning telling myself I deserve to get dicked-down?" You laugh. 

"No I'm saying make a list of all the shit you wanna do," Jacob suggests with a cheeky grin. "Tape it to your mirror to remind you of your goals." 

"That's insane."

"Tell that to my latest sexual conquest," Jacob says pulling out his phone to show you a photo of a stunning man posing in front of a pool wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of trunks. 

"Wow."

"Yep." Jacob pockets the phone and gives you a supercilious look. "I wrote down all the attributes I wanted in a fuck-buddy and the universe provided." 

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious.” Jacob waggles his eyebrows in a way that draws a giggle from you. “Besides what do you have to lose?”

Maybe Jacob is right, you need a distraction to get you out of the house and away from your dad every night.

“Okay okay,” you relent, taking a sip of your soda. “I’ll think about it.”

You both start to talk about other things, trashy TV and weekend plans (farmers market for you, bar date for him). By the time the meal ends you’re feeling much more cheerful. You watch in amazement as Aki returns to slip a piece of paper under Jacob’s beer bottle.

“My shift just ended and just wanted to pass this along before I go.”

Jacob thanks him and you both watch the handsome man leave. Jacob whistles lowly in appreciation of Aki’s ass before turning back and tugging the paper from underneath the bottle. It’s Aki’s Instagram handle and a scrawled ‘pm me’.

“How do you do it?”

“I told you,” Jacob says tugging on his jacket. “Manifestation.”

---

By the time you both get back to the office you've forgotten about the list. You settle into your chair, shoving your purse under your desk and bringing up your desktop with a click of the mouse.

You’re about to read your e-mails when the door to Joel’s office opens with a creak. You’ve gotten so used to the sounds behind you that you know exactly which squeak is Joel’s and which is your fathers.

You turn to look at Joel expectantly, your smile faltering when you  watch his eyes moving to your neck with a frown.

"You got something on your shirt,” Joel tells you brusquely,

“Huh?”

Joel’s hand rises slightly, tapping at an invisible stain on his own collared shirt. “Just here.”

Joel is one of those people that require things be neat and tidy. Organized and professional. Something like sloppy paperwork or food on a shirt irritates him. Your eyes dart down to see a splotch of dark brown just to the left of your collar and your stomach sinks.

Thanks a lot waygu beef.  

"Sorry about that, Mister Miller. It's from lunch." 

You've called Joel, Mister Miller since you met him. Its how things were taught to you in your home. Dad's friends were always Mister and Missus or Ma'am and Sir. 

The first time you did it Joel flinched uncomfortably which surprised you since he was a Southern man himself. But your dad mentioned since Joel came from such humble roots he wasn't used to the respect or honorific. You think he still might not be. 

"S'fine," he grumbles. "Just need these new pages scanned in and sent to Horowitz today and then grab a wipe from Kathleen." 

Kathleen is the office organizer and something like a work mother. She always has band aids, wet wipes, tide sticks, aspirin and more. 

You nod, taking the files from him and exhaling as he stalks back into the office. Your heart remains tripping a little after he leaves, the door creaking shut behind him. 

"Calm down," you mutter to yourself as you start to scan the documents. 

You wish the thrumming in your body was just because Joel intimidates you and the rest of the staff. Unfortunately it's not just that. It’s also because during those times you have the house to yourself, during your fantasies sometimes Joel pops up. 

You never mean for him to, he's just there.

You'll be deep in a fantasy where a faceless man fucks you and suddenly it's Joel. And when he's there he's wearing his green flannel and fucking you over his desk. And usually that makes you come so hard your eyes are wet. 

It's not all the time, just when you really need something to get you going. You feel disgusting about it afterwards, because not only is Joel your dad's best friend, he's also your boss. He's also terrifying to you. 

You wonder if its arousal or fear of him that gets you so hot under the collar. But either way you wish you could stop him from popping into your fantasies unbidden. Especially now that you know what he's done to Brian. It makes you even more repulsed that he's crawled into your subconscious.

Jacob was right. You do need to get laid. You need to push disgusting thoughts about disgusting men right out of your mind. 

You reach into your file cabinet behind the desk, smiling to yourself at your folders. They are all shades of pink. Light, dark, muted, vibrant.  Flamingo, Blush, Ballet Slipper, Bubble Gum just to name a few. You don’t even like the color all that much, but when you were at Walmart to buy a few office supplies you’d been so taken with the collection that you insisted on buying them.

At first Joel wrinkled his nose at being handed receipts and communiqués in something so pink, but he never said anything. Your dad chided you for the color, but soon he just accepted this eccentricity in his daughter.

You finish sending off the documents to Horowitz, aware that there's not much left for you to do today. You've already organized the calendar, called to make reservations at the Italian place around the corner for some meeting they're having with a developer, and more. 

The office is quiet in the post lunch lull, so you take the time to pull out a piece of stationery. You glance around the space to ensure that no one is near your desk before bringing out your favorite ballpoint pen.

You twirl it between your fingers deciding that you're going to create your very own sexual bucket list. 

"My Fuck-It List" you giggle to yourself, really proud of the wordplay before you stare at the blank page feeling at a loss. You think of Jacob’s suggestion of manifestation and try to clear your mind of other distractions.

Okay. Where to start? What have I always wanted to do? 

Your experience is so limited to boring missionary and cowgirl that it takes you a moment to figure out what you're actually hoping for. It arrives in your brain only seconds after you mark your first one on the blank sheet. 

#1. Actually *come* during sex. 

That's a good one. A goal you've had since your disappointing college days and sporadic dates here in Austin. You were looking for a boyfriend, a match, a love that you read about. The men you pursued were therefore ones who desired a relationships and a future. But none of them did it for you.  

Your pen scratches against the creamy cardstock as you continue to write. 

#2. A one night stand. 

That's too vague for you. You have the opportunity to see one man for one night and then disappear. You could suggest anything! You amend it with a flutter in your belly.

#2. A one night stand with props. Handcuffs? Zip ties? Blindfold? TBD. 

There. That's better.

#3. Rollercoasters. 

Okay, not exactly sexual but Jacob did say to use it for manifestation and you've always been terrified of rollercoaster’s. It would be nice to conquer this fear as well as your fear of new sexual experiences.

Okay okay. Think less inspirational, more dirty sexy sex. C’mon you boring bitch, think of something hot.

#4. Dirty text/phone call 

You've gotten a fair share of dick pics in your day, but something about the thought of getting off to perfectly crafted texts or the sound of a man's husky voice makes you squirm delightedly in your chair. 

#5. Sex in public - elevator? Car?  

That one really gets your motor going. The thought of almost being caught makes you nibble your lower lip in anticipation. Unfortunately it also transports you back into a fantasy you had last week about giving a man road head as he held you by the back of the head... and the dream man was Joel Miller. 

You frown, disgusted with yourself again. You think of Brian alone with his sick wife and jobless. You think about how everyone is so anxious around Joel. How he makes you feel stupid when he's around. Your pen presses firmly to the paper. 

#6. No more sexy fantasies about JM. 

Jacob might ask you who JM is but you'll just make up a name. There's no way you want him finding out that you're unable to stop coming to thoughts of your evil boss. 

You think of any other topics you want to cover on your list. A scene from a book you read ages ago flashes behind your eyelids and you start scribbling. 

#7. Wake up partner with oral. 

Yeah. That sounds good. Oh, and-!

#8. Strip club

You've never been but you've seen enough movies to know that they seem like lots of fun; Drunken shrieking, buff dudes and good music. That one Magic Mike in the rain scene. Yeah, that’d be fun.

On a hot streak of ideas you jot down the next one. 

#9. Try spanking. Hand or paddle. 

That one makes you swallow a nervous giggle. You write the next one without thinking. 

#10. Fall in love. 

You look at the words staring back at you and scribble out #10, finding it too saccharine to end on. Instead you replace it with:

#10. Fall in love. More sunshine days. 

You smile at that one, memory of your mother's laugh as you both danced to records flooding you before you push them out of your mind. 

Your list is really a hodgepodge of goals. Some sexual, some adventurous, some hopeful. There are cross outs, a coffee ring from your forgotten drink this morning. As you read it over you know that Jacob is gonna mock you for the whole thing.

You'll redo the list and take out the cheesy stuff. Then you'll send it to him and the two of you can have a good laugh. You decide to peruse Google on your phone to see if you're missing any good goals for your list.

"Done?"

Joel's voice sounds out behind you, startling you into dropping your phone onto your desk. You stand and use start to hastily shove the files back into the pink folder –watermelon- your head facing over your shoulder as you give him a simpering smile of apology. 

"Yes, sorry Mister Miller. I was just about to bring them in. They've been sent off to Horowitz and I'll check in tomorrow morning to ensure he's got them signed." 

Joel holds out his hand, nodding in approval. If he notices the untouched stain at your collar he doesn't say anything about it. 

"I'm gonna be at the Briscoe project tomorrow morning," he tells you. "Should be in by noon if your dad asks." 

"Okay, I'll make a note of it on the schedule."

He disappears into his office and you slump into your chair with your heart going a mile a minute. You can only imagine Joel’s reaction if he’d seen you working on something called a fuck-it list in the middle of a workday.

You rearrange the schedule he shares with your dad and you're about to send off a confirmation email your dad requested when the sound of Joel moving behind his office door startles you. As an observant woman you're very aware of your surroundings, down to gauging how a person is feeling by the way they walk. 

Joel is moving quickly which means he's in a bad mood or he's late to leave for a meeting. Both of which have your palms sweating. 

His door swings open so quickly that you start, your gaze flying over to him, your hands still poised over the keyboard. Joel's eyes are like black coals that burn when he gets you in his sights.

"Come in here." 

You've never seen Joel look this irritated with you, not even on your first day when you mislabeled an entire box of files. Not even when you put in the wrong time for a big budget meeting. Not even when you brought him decaf after he told you clearly that decaf coffee is just flavored water.

You scramble to a stand, following Joel into his office, hanging anxiously by the door.  

Unlike your father's office, everything about Joel's space is homey and calm with warm wood floors and beautifully finished furniture. Natural light fills the space, a neutral palette on the walls. It all serves to look professional and peaceful. It reminds you of being somewhere in nature, like a cabin overlooking a lake.

His filing system is immaculate, locked behind his desk except for right now: it hangs open. Joel looks up from behind his desk, eyes still smoldering. 

"Close the door."

You do as Joel commands, turning back to see him in his chair. He folds his hands on the desk, looking at you severely. 

His broad body sitting at the desk looks almost comical, like he’s had to fold himself into an orderly package. But nothing is funny about this moment because Joel has not even a trace of amusement in his features.

"Take a seat." 

He still looks furious with you as you draw over to the chair opposite his desk. You force yourself to stare at his plump mouth and neatly trimmed beard. His eyes are too intimidating right now.

But what did you do wrong? You can't figure it out. You were on time; your work is always double checked. Could this really be about the stain on your shirt?Are you going to be reprimanded?

Maybe McDonald’s is hiring.

Something about having a dressing down by Joel makes you feel even more humiliated. This is your dad's best friend, a guy who goes fishing and plays golf with him on sunny days. A man your dad talks about with such respect that he went into business with him.

Ugh this means your dad is gonna find out too, which seems worse. This is why you didn't want to work with him in the first place. You’re a grown fucking woman worried about what her Daddy is going to think about this?

"Care to explain why this was included along with the rest of my files?" Joel hisses, slapping a piece of paper onto the desk with such force the wood shakes. 

You tilt forward and glance down to the sheet under his wide hand. As your eyes move over the letters you feel your stomach bottom out. The world starts to spin as you blink and take in words staring back at you. 

My Fuck-It List 

_________________________________________________________

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