Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Drive away in a rented old car The Kid loves and has been dying to get behind the wheel of with cans attached to the bumper.
Colors and flavors and other tiny details aren’t something I care about so much as that we’re all together.
That we all say our vows.
Have vows to say.
Are celebrated.
Celebrate one another.
I think having some sort of actual event is what I want, and despite Posie’s insistence that they’ll just go along with whatever I decide, I’m gonna ask them.
Maybe spreadsheet the shit out.
Toy with a modest budget.
Get a better view of what a wedding might look like between us considering our tastes are all over the place.
Ooooo, this’ll give me something fun to do while being trapped inside if it actually does storm!
Opening the door to the bathroom swiftly occurs but having a damp rag smashed over my mouth and nose occurs faster.
Don’t breath!
Don’t breathe it in, Bunny!
The instinct to fight while holding my breath is instant.
I aggressively swing my flailing arms around, determined to hit the unknown male assailant somewhere.
His chest.
Torso.
Balls.
Unluckily for me, he manages to capture one of my arms, limiting my reach during our struggling retreat into the small space, prompting me to recalibrate my escape efforts.
Unwilling to go quietly but knowing better than to deeply inhale – like I would if I were going to scream – I decide to bang around everything and anything I can reach.
Paper towels tumbling to the ground make no noticeable noise.
And neither does the soap bottle falling into the sink.
Bumping into the object itself barely rattles the loose handles, however successfully kicking the mini garbage can into the wall momentarily distracts him enough for me to forcefully jerk my head forward into the bridge of his nose.
“Fuckkkk!” is grimly murmured in tandem with him relinquishing his hold on the rag.
Thankful to be free from the oxygen blocking contraption, I immediately drop my jaw to suck in a large breath only to have the object sloppily covering it again. This time, unfortunately, the hand that was previously holding mine at bay curls around my neck instead.
The squeeze that’s instantaneously executed is far from gentle.
Calloused fingers crush my airway tighter and tighter and tighter until I’m left with no choice but to choke down every bit of the unusual stench.
There isn’t time or opportunity to attempt another distraction.
Not even a moment to contemplate if what I’m ingesting could kill me or my baby.
One second my eyes are watering in desperation for fresh air and the next my entire frame is collapsing into nothing more than a lifeless lump.
Chapter 15
Nolan
I attempt to slam the door to my truck closed only to have an artic blast slap it back open.
Fuck!
I’m so over this shit.
Between the plummeting temps causing my nuts to freeze to my thigh and the UFC inspired wind that won’t let anyone fucking tap out, I can’t wait to get my ass home.
Warm up.
Drink something hot.
Fuck something hotter.
Or two somethings hotter.
My second try at shutting the door ends eerily similar to the first.
Which is bullshit.
It ain’t like I’m that fucking weak.
Definitely less weak now considering how much I’ve been trying to lift to prove to The Kid I’ve still got it.
That his future husband can compete with whatever Matchbox knockoff pulls up next to him on the street.
Then again hauling bags of salt all around town between delivering emergency supplies ain’t exactly light work either.
That’s probably why I’m on the struggle bus.
Fuck, I don’t remember the last time my back hurt this much.
Got half a mind to have Rabbit roleplay as a massage stripper.
Get her to rub me then rub me.
Finally getting the damn thing shut barely precedes Post strolling around his own vehicle that he just exited with an amused grin. “They weren’t kiddin’ about aggressive winds, huh?”
A less than entertained grunt is the only retort I give.
Most of the time, you can’t trust a goddamn thing those point and wish wannabe weather wizards say.
Especially in Texas.
If I had Kid blow me for every “storm” that’s been accurate this past year, my balls would ache worse than my back does.
I swear those fuckers just try to predict this shit with a Magic Eightball.
The two of us make our way to the main entrance of the police department building one right after another, heads down in hopes of avoiding additional bursts of cold punching us in the face.
One almost knocked my ass clear out while salting Ms. Beekman’s front porch.
She technically lives on the outskirts of town but in the county.
And as much as she appreciated the needed help – her husband died over the summer – I didn’t appreciate the chicken welcoming committee I had to maneuver around on top of the shit that took Dorothy to Oz.
Thank fuck, Kid swore he wouldn’t go out driving in this.