Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Additional huffs are expelled during my continued search that annoyingly has me coming up empty handed.
Literally.
I have no gas in my fucking tank, I have no gas to put in my fucking tank and am supposed to be picking up someone else who is stranded, something I can’t fucking do if I’m stranded myself, which shouldn’t be possible unless someone stole my shit.
Another unhappy grunt bounces my frame as a gust of cold slaps my cheek is a sobering manner.
Ofcourse, someone stole my shit.
‘Tis the season to steal from me…falalalalala…fuck off.
This happened last year too.
Some asshole swiped some of my tools – probably for quick cash at a pawn shop – when I stopped to grab a burger in Crystal Waters.
Huh.
Maybe going to Crystal Waters is the fucking problem.
Perhaps next year we should plan to go somewhere else for a holiday celebration.
I don’t know.
Disney, maybe?
Pulling up Kid’s number to call for aid – an irony not lost upon me in spite of my increasing irritation – is accompanied by me casually leaning one bent arm against the truck for support. Not having many contacts – let alone many I call – gets me to him fast; however, before my thumb can hit the button an unexpected, sharp pain lands in my kidney causing me to drop my device along with my jaw in agony, unknowingly providing the assailant with the perfect opportunity to cover the territory tightly with a damp rag. My body instantly attempts to flail, to throw the arm backwards for a counterattack, to do whatever it can to create space between me and the unseen aggressor, only to find itself trapped due to the attacker’s arm slung snuggly around my throat.
Faint, sweet smells savagely begin conquering my senses, one by one.
Overpowering my nose.
Mouth.
Burning my eyes.
Skin.
I do my best not to inhale.
Not to ingest more of whatever’s slowing down my movements.
Functions.
Twisting and turning and throwing my weight around to escape are nothing more than wishes as every muscle in my body becomes subdued by the chemical compound until I drop lifelessly to the ground to the sound of two whispered words, “She’s. Mine.”
Chapter 24
Kipp
This is pretty fucking dumb.
And I feel pretty fucking dumb doing it.
But isn’t that love?
Isn’t that what it means to be in love?
Being willing to do dumb shit and then doing it?
ForFiatSake, how the fuck else do you explain me wearing oversized headphones, skis for no fucking reason, and trying to dance to some song about fire while fake snow rains down on us?
I have no interest in doing this shit.
But it makes my girl happy.
So.
Fucking.
Happy.
Her smile alone is brighter than any inferno these dudes could ever sing about.
Bunny bends her knees to the beat while wiggling her arms above her head to the rhythm, most likely actually singing versus mouthing along like some of the others dancing near us. I do my best to bounce my shoulders to the easy-to-follow pattern but mostly get lost in admiring the way her curvy body effortlessly sways to the sounds.
Gah, it’s like watching an Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale pull into the fucking parking lot.
I can’t look anywhere else.
I don’t wanna look anywhere else.
Ever.
An unforeseen idea rearends me.
Shit.
Should I ask her to marry me?
Them?
Should I ask them to marry me?
The song begins fading into another one, which is when Bunny motions for me to take off my headphones at the same time she removes hers. “Ready to go home?”
Yup.
I’m gonna have to ask her.
Hearing her say home right now – a word she’s said many times before – revs my heart in such a new way I can barely hear anything else.
Think about anything other than having her be forever mine.
“Whenever you’re ready, baby.” I let the corners of my lips lovingly kick upward. “You’re Santa. I’m just carrying around your sack.”
The juvenile wink prompts Bunny to shake her head in a tickled nature yet play along. “Waiting for me to empty it, huh?” She hangs the object on their appropriate hook for the next guest encouraging me to do the same. “Like a Kid on Christmas?”
“Your Kid on Christmas,” I flirtatiously state back with a small spank to her ass. “And every other day of the year too.”
Giggles precede her picking up her tiny purse and boots she shed to dance more comfortably; however, the pouty expression she displays towards the uncomfortable footwear when it comes time to slide them on leads me to lightly chuckling.
One eyebrow quirking is attached to the question. “Problem?”
“My feet hurt,” she girlishly whines.
“You want me to carry your sack and be your sleigh?”
“Technically, the sleigh already carries the sack, so I guess, I really just want you to be my sleigh.”
An equally amused and impressed grunt is given alongside me lowering myself into position. “Hop on.”
“You wanna give me a piggyback ride?!”