Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
As the critter bumbles toward me, I realize it’s a raccoon. And not just any raccoon, but a baby one. Disoriented, it runs toward the sliding door. I dive for it, but I’m wearing heels, and I trip over my own feet, landing on the deck in a heap. Cleveland is the second four-legged creature through the door. I manage to snag Barnaby’s collar before he can launch himself after them.
His bark gets cut off abruptly and he jerks back. I feel bad, but a murder scene in their very lovely, very light gray and navy living room would certainly get me uninvited to future events.
Shouts and screams can be heard from inside the house. And despite how small he is, I’m struggling to keep my hold on Barnaby.
“Can I get a hand?” I shout, but I’m not sure I can be heard over the ruckus inside the house. Parker notices me struggling with the dog and comes to my aid.
“Can you hold him? There’s a raccoon loose in the house!”
“Holy shit. Yeah.”
He picks up the squirming dog, and I slip inside, closing the door to keep them outside so Barnaby can’t join the hunting party. I glance around the room. There are women in dresses screaming and guys with their arms held wide. Someone has a laundry basket, and Austin has a pool cue.
I head for the fray.
But the chase isn’t on the floor anymore.
The baby raccoon has scaled the curtains and is sitting on top of the rod, and Cleveland has jumped onto the sideboard. It’s clear his plan is to get to the raccoon however possible.
I push my way through the crowd, assessing how best to corral the raccoon while doing the least potential damage to their beautiful, very expensively decorated house.
Miles, who is at the edge of the group, comes rushing over. “What are you doing? That raccoon could be rabid!”
“I can handle this. I’ll be fine.” I glance at the terrified raccoon, hissing down at Cleveland, who hisses rights back. He’s scared, but not dangerous. Still, I don’t want to deal with a raccoon bite or any potential diseases.
I search the room for the guy with the laundry basket and the one with the pool cue. I need to act quickly, before this already bad situation gets worse.
“You! Laundry basket guy and Austin, I need your help.” I feel bad that I can’t remember Laundry Basket Guy’s name, but there’s a lot of pressure, so hopefully he’s not offended. I turn back to Miles. “And I need your cape and a boost.”
“What’s your plan?”
“Just trust me.” I pull the tie on his cape, then grab onto his shoulders. “I need a lift.”
He doesn’t question me, maybe realizing there isn’t much time before Cleveland goes after the masked intruder.
Laundry Basket Guy and Austin converge on us. “Miles is going to give me a boost. When I’m up, you poke the raccoon with the cue, Austin, and you”—I point to Laundry Basket Guy—“hold the basket under me. I’m going to use Miles’s cape to get him safely in the basket.”
“What if it doesn’t work?” Austin asks.
“Trust me, it will,” I say with conviction I don’t feel, but at least I sound confident. If it doesn’t work, I’m probably never going to be able to attend another party with Miles’s team again. But if it does work, no one will need a rabies shot after this, and it will make one hell of a story.
I grab Miles by the shoulders, and he makes a bridge with his hands. I set one foot into his palms and grip his shoulders while he hoists me up. The plastic nose of his mask pokes me in the crotch. I don’t have time to focus on the fact that my lady business is in his face, because the moment I’m in the air, I release his shoulders and get the cape ready. Austin gets into position, and Laundry Basket Guy does the same.
“Poke him!” I call out.
Austin follows the order, and when the raccoon jumps, I cover him with the cape, wrapping it around his tiny, flailing body. Miles must not expect the sudden movement, because it sets him off balance. I drop the cape-wrapped raccoon in the laundry basket, which someone else promptly covers with a pillow before Miles and I go tumbling to the floor.
His nose stabs me in the crotch, and I roll to the side, curling into a ball and cupping my girl parts, as Cleveland hurtles over me. There’s a flurry of activity and a lot of yelling to use the side door and not the sliding one as Laundry Basket Guy rushes across the room with a hissing, angry, and terrified raccoon bumping around in there.
“Kitty? Are you okay?” Miles’s face appears. He’s crouched on the floor beside me, his cheek against the hardwood, just like mine.