Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 128417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
For Chrissakes, the way I was feeling in that moment, I was on the cusp of pouring my heart out to her, on the verge of telling her a thousand things I’d never normally say. For Chrissakes, I was about to babble about my upcoming move to Seattle! “When I move to Seattle,” I was about to say, “I wanna do this every night with you, babe.” Those are the exact words I was on the verge of saying to her! They were on the tip of my fucking tongue—even though I’m not moving for three motherfucking months! How could I even think of making an implied promise like that? Sure, I’m addicted to Kat right now—painfully addicted—Jesus God—I feel like a fucking labradoodle fetching a stick every time I’m in her presence—but who knows how long this white-hot passion’s gonna last? This thing with Kat and me is brand new, after all. At this stage in a relationship, three months from now might as well be thirty years. Things might work out—and, shit, I sure hope they do—God, I hope they do—but they might not. Like I always say: under-promise and over-deliver. That’s the path to happiness and peace of mind in all things.
But, goddammit, I wanted so badly to tell her about my upcoming move to Seattle, plus a bunch of other stuff, too. I wanted to tell her how excited I am to sit down to dinner with her noisy, chaotic family, to meet her mom and dad and brothers and just sit there, watching everyone interact. I wanted to explain that it’s a big fucking deal for someone like me to sit down for a birthday dinner with a real family—a big family—even though it’s a ho-hum kind of thing for everyone else. In fact, I wanted to tell her, the whole reason I lived in my fraternity house for my first two years in college (even though the place should have been condemned) was because I craved being around noise and chaos and laughter and people so badly after growing up my whole goddamned life in a fucking morgue with Joseph Stalin breathing down my neck.
Oh my God, I wanted to take Kat’s gorgeous face in my hands and stare into those icy-blue eyes that see right through me and tell her she blows me the fuck away, and not just in bed, but in every conceivable way—that I can’t find a goddamned fucking fault with her—that even her stubbornness and jealousy and evil make me want her that much more, more than I’ve ever wanted any other woman, in fact. That I can’t stand it when we’re apart. That she’s hilarious. And sweet. And honest. A force of nature. That she makes my heart physically hurt when she does nothing more than smile at me.
I lean forward and stare at myself in the mirror. I’m trembling. Panting. Freaking out. I need to get a grip.
I wanted to tell her I’m falling so fast and hard for her, I feel like I need a Dramamine. And a parachute. And a fucking last will and testament.
Fuck.
I stare at my blue eyes reflected back at me in the mirror.
“Pull yourself together, man,” I say through gritted teeth. “Stop acting like a total puss.” I nod in reply to myself, take a deep breath, and slap my cheek hard—and then, once I feel like I’ve regained control of myself, I turn around and head back into my room.
28
JOSH
When I emerge from my bathroom, there’s yet another James Bay song playing—this one, thankfully, in no danger of sending me into a tailspin. Kat’s sprawled naked on her stomach across my bed, looking like a wet dream, her long, toned limbs stretched across my mattress, her blonde hair unfurled across my pillow, her tight ass just begging to get spanked or bitten or fucked. Or all of the above. Jesus. I wouldn’t mind being greeted with this vision every time I come out of my bathroom.
I crawl onto the bed and drape my body over hers, pressing my naked body into hers. “Hey, babe,” I say softly.
She turns her head and rests her cheek on the pillow.
“Hey,” she says softly. “Everything okay?”
“Mmm hmm. Everything’s great.” I push her hair to one side and stroke the Scorpio tattoo on the back of her neck. “How are you?”
“Good.”
She squirms underneath me and I lift up, letting her turn onto her back so that we’re lying nose to nose, our bodies pressed together.
“You look like you have one eye,” she says, pressing her nose into mine. “One very blue and beautiful eye.”
“I’m Mike Wazowski,” I say.
She laughs. “Why do you know that?”
“Are you kidding me? I love Monsters, Inc.”
She laughs. “You never cease to surprise me.”
“Mike Wazowski!” I say in the voice of Boo. “Kitty!”