Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Her nails dig into my arm, but I don’t exactly hate it. I’ve always liked it a little rough. Ha!
“You can let go of me any day now,” I tell her even though it doesn’t bother me one bit that her tits stay pressed into my back.
“But I don’t see it.”
“Neither do I.” It has to be here somewhere.
Waiting.
We step back out of the bedroom, and I pull the door closed a bit so the squirrel can’t hear our discussion. I don’t need it hearing our plan because I don’t need him trying to outsmart us.
“What should we do?” Lizzy’s lips say quietly.
“I have no idea. I’m not sure he’s even in there.” Okay. There is no plan.
“He has to be in there,” she says with conviction. “Can you go in—all the way in, I mean. To make sure?”
Is she out of her damn mind?
“You want me to go all the way into your room, without protection, and do what? Wait him out?” I ask slowly so there’s no confusing the question. “I have no pads with me.”
Pads would be nice. Chest plate, face mask.
Gloves.
“Please?”
Oh god, is she begging me?
I’ve never had a girl do that before let alone one that is half dressed, in her pretty pink bathrobe, towel turban wrapped around her hair.
Her quiet little plea is enough for me, and I nod like the idiot I am, large and in charge—squaring my shoulders—ready for what awaits me when I go farther into the room.
Turning around to face her, I say, “Wait here,” I say somberly, as if I were about to embark on a solo mission to Armageddon. “And close the door behind me. Just in case.”
Lizzy nods, hands back on her robe, pulling it closed.
“Okay.”
“Stand clear of the door—you know, in case.”
“In case what?” Her doe eyes go wide.
“You know,” I say it mysteriously. “In case I have to come charging back through it. I don’t know what that little bastard is capable of.” I growl it the way I imagine someone in the military would growl it, fierce and determined as they head into battle.
“Okay.” Lizzy gulps, touching my bicep to reassure me. “Be careful. And good luck.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to theatrically say, “Maybe you should kiss me for good luck,” but I don’t have the balls. Instead, I simply dip my invisible hat. I turn the doorknob, push it open again slowly, then stick my head through before stepping all the way inside her room.
The door closes behind me.
I immediately forget what I’m here for, eyes surveying the landscape now that she’s not pressing her boobs into my back, distracting me.
It’s pink.
Not the walls, but her quilt. The bed has been made, and everything is as tidy as the rest of the house.
Flowers. Florals.
Girly.
A perfume collection sits on the desk atop a mirrored tray. A flat iron and blow dryer hang on a little rack that’s been affixed to the wall.
There’s a peg board or whatever you call it next to her mirror, with ribbons and a calendar. A photo of Lizzy holding a furry gray cat. One of Lizzy and a young boy. Lizzy in a triangle bikini swimsuit and three other girls her age, on the pier at a lake.
She’s dripping wet.
Laughing.
I peel my eyes off that photo and continue scanning, feet rooted to the floor, not making any sudden movements.
Curtains hang where a closet door would normally be. Dresser nestled away inside, and above it? A squirrel size hole.
“Ah. The scene of the crime,” I muse.
I search for the squirrel with my eyes, staying close to the door, legs braced for an attack—the same way I brace myself on the ice during a game or when my teammates are coming to check me in practice.
“Come on, dude—where you at? Help me out here.”
I mean, I could actually live without him suddenly appearing. The last thing I need is an assault from a rodent because he’s freaking the fuck out, trapped inside this room the same way I am.
Surprisingly enough, I spot a lacrosse stick leaning against the desk and decide to grab it—just in case—with no intention to use it if the thing decides to—
“HOLY SHIT!” I scream as the squirrel appears out of fucking nowhere, leaping to the curtain rod above the closet door, beady black eyes staring into me, whiskers twitching. His tiny little chest heaves in and out.
My heart thumps inside my chest.
His heart thumps inside his chest.
We watch each other, both of us calculating.
I hold perfectly still, hands shaking.
“Stay where you are,” I tell it, trying to remain calm. “Don’t move.”
Then from outside in the hallway: “Brodie, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say even though I’m afraid to make noise—the last thing I want is the squirrel getting scared of my voice and pouncing from his perch above the window. “Found him.”