Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
He groans while leaning his head back, and I laugh harder while putting the car in gear and pulling away from the curb.
“What the hell happened?” I ask him, still laughing.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he growls.
My side is aching, but I can’t stop laughing. Every time he curses me, I only laugh harder. Brin is the smallest girl I’ve ever met, but I swear she’s the toughest. How did she pull this off?
“She had to have had help,” he snarls, and I wonder if I’ve asked my question aloud. “There’s no way she carried me to the beach herself. The flimsy chain on the cheap handcuffs fortunately broke, but I need a key to get them off my damn wrists. I woke up when that cop was shoving the blunt end of his baton against my chest—don’t you dare say anything dirty.”
His threatening glowers doesn’t stop my laughter. I was two seconds away with a dirty retort to go with the blunt end of his baton.
“Anyway,” he continues, his mouth still twisted in an angry scowl, “she left me with my phone.”
I can’t help but laugh harder. “She left you there naked? I can’t believe someone didn’t steal your phone.”
“It was under the hat.”
Again my laughter roars free, and I subtly start using the pad on my steering wheel to locate a song to go with the moment.
“That cop said I’d only been out there for a couple of hours—like that’s no big fucking deal. He said he saw Maverick Sterling hanging out close by, like he was making sure no one messed with me. Since it was Maverick, the fucker didn’t do anything. Damn Sterlings get away with murder. The cop said Maverick told him to wake me up, and he crept off once I did. So I know he helped her, but he couldn’t have been the only one. Did you help her?”
He snarls as he turns toward me again, but I shake my head. I finally see the song I want, and I hit play. I crank up the volume on the stereo, letting the sound blare through the speakers at the perfect moment. It’s on old Eiffel 65 song, but I’m glad I’ve got it on hand.
Yo listen up
Here is the story about a little guy that lives in a blue world
And all day and all night
And everything he sees is just blue like him
Inside and outside
Blue his house with a blue little window and a blue Corvette
And everything is blue for him and himself
And everybody around
Cause he ain’t got nobody to listen...
I’m blue…
DA BA DEE DA BA DI… DA BA DEE DA BA DI…
Rye groans as I start singing along, antagonizing the hell out of him.
“Fuck you,” he growls, eliciting more laughter from me, but even he can’t stifle his own grin. When he laughs a little, I fucking lose it, finding it hard to breathe and sing at the same time.
It hurts. Damn, it hurts so bad. I feel like I’ve done a thousand crunches after laughing so much and so hard.
“How the hell did you forget to bring pants?”
“Sorry. I had some shit going on, and it distracted me.”
He curses while adjusting the cowboy hat.
“Whoa, big boy. I don’t want a peek at that… Is it blue, too?”
He grimaces, but then his scowl returns. “Yes. It had better have been Brin that made it blue, too. And this shit better not be toxic. I think it’s just body paint. She went too far this time. Payback is going to be hell.”
I almost feel sorry for Brin. Almost. One look at Rye has me laughing again, and he shifts the hat in his lap as he leans up to peer through the window.
As we near his subdivision, Rye tenses, his eyes narrowing like he’s already plotting.
“What’re you thinking?” I ask him. I can’t help but be curious.
“Probably something I’ll need help with. So you better be game.”
I snicker while pulling up to the curb, but the gentle laughter turns into a thundering roar when I see his front yard. Rye growls when his eyes land on the same thing.
There are lassos everywhere and there are stick ponies sticking up from the ground. Son of a bitch. He’s going to kill her.
“I’m going to kill her,” he growls, echoing my thoughts.
He stalks out of the car, giving his neighborhood a blue show. Blue Moon comes to mind.
Brin opens the door, wearing chaps over blue-jean shorts and a tied up flannel shirt. What has me bursting out laughing is the music pouring out of the house as loud as she could probably get it to go.
“You can leave your hat on… You can leave your hat on…”
Rye breaks into a sprint, still holding the cowboy hat firmly over his… blue balls—never thought it would be that literal. Brin squeals while dodging him and laughing as he rushes into the house.