Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“I like to eat it all together,” Ashton says and demonstrates with a handful.
Fuck. I just came twice, so why am I finding that so erotic?
“Can you put some clothes on?” I ask when he swallows.
“If you insist.” He drags his sweatpants up his long legs and covers his muscled torso with the shirt he was wearing—and I kind of regret losing sight of it all.
To distract myself, I grab another handful of trail mix. “How long can we survive on this?”
He frowns. “We don’t need to survive on this at all. Bubba and Dottie will come back soon, I’m sure.”
“Just hypothetically. Suppose they were on their boat when the weather changed, and something happened to them.”
“You sure like to keep things light and positive. But fine. That looks like a two-gallon jug, which means thirty-two cups of trail mix.” Squinting, he examines the label on the back of the jug. “It would take between two and four cups of the mix to provide us with enough calories for a day, so in the worst case, we have four days’ worth of food—or double that if there’s a jar just like this one in your cabin.” He then gestures at the water bottle. “This thing is five gallons. We need about one gallon per day per person. Again, if your cabin has the same thing—which is likely—then it’s about five days. And that’s if we’re determined to be well hydrated and fed. If we ration it…” He shrugs.
Crap. “I guess we really won’t die. I told Emma where I was going, so if she doesn’t hear from me for that long, she’ll call the cops.”
“There you go,” he says. “We will survive.” He starts to hum the famous Gloria Gaynor song, and I don’t feel like telling him that the lyrics say “I will survive,” not “we.”
“Want to go for a walk?” I ask on impulse.
If we stay here, I’m afraid we’re going to end up in bed again, and that sounds like a horrible idea.
He glances at my bare feet. “Like that?”
“No. I’ll wear my wet shoes.” I match actions to words, and he does the same.
“Yuck,” he says as he takes the first squelchy step.
“Yeah, it’s not pleasant.”
We walk out into the fresh air, and much to my surprise, the sky is clear, without even a drizzle of rain.
In fact, there are no clouds at all, revealing the stars in a way you’d never see in a city.
I hear a chorus of frogs in the distance.
And, as if they’d been saving their energy for this very moment, a swarm of fireflies emerges from the swampy woods, forming a majestic display of light as they fade and brighten like twinkling stars.
“Wow,” Ashton says. “Look.” He points at the swamp.
Wow, indeed. The highly advertised bioluminescence illuminates the water, forming a mirror image of the night sky above and creating a beautiful and romantic atmosphere, especially when combined with the frog song, the stars overhead, and the overzealous fireflies.
“Okay, make it two stars,” I tell him. “Maybe three.”
We walk toward my cabin in utter awe.
The only damper on the romantic atmosphere is the mud surrounding my cabin. Well, that and the fact that I don’t want to be in a romantic atmosphere with Ashton.
“You think I can sleep in there?” I ask as we approach.
He grimaces. “It probably smells like a moldy armpit.”
“Thanks for that pleasant imagery. I’d like to check anyway.” Because the alternative is his cabin, which only has one bed.
“Fine.” He rolls his sweatpants up. “If you insist.”
We make our way in, and it doesn’t take me long to decide that sleeping in the flooded cabin is a no-go. I don’t know why the swamp smells like something rotten, but it’s so bad that I’m bound to wake up in the company of vultures.
“It does have sustenance.” I point at the giant bottle and the jar that’s exactly like the ones in his cabin. Walking over, I grab a few pieces of the trail mix. “The food is dry.”
“I told you, we have plenty already,” he says. “Now can we leave before we suffocate from the stink?”
“Yeah.” I let him lead me out, and we walk slowly, enjoying the fresh air and the atmosphere once again.
“See? The boat seems fine.” He gestures toward the pier.
“Let’s hope the one they left on is doing just as well,” I say, not convinced.
He clasps my hand in his big palm, sending zings through my veins. “All will be well. I promise.”
“You can’t know a thing like that.” I know I should pull my hand away, but I can’t bring myself to do so. It just feels too nice.
“Can we talk about something else?” he says.
“Sure. Like what?”
He lets my hand go and faces me. “Like the big question…”
My heartbeat picks up. “What question?” But I think I know what it is.