Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I’m impressed. At this point, she’s managed to grab hold of the gutter guard and shimmy one foot on the metal strap, securing the pipe to the siding of the house. Those metal straps, by the way, are flat, two inches thick, and extremely flimsy. Attached with a flimsy nail and flush with the siding, the straps are in no way secure enough for a person to rest their foot on.
Or in this case, their black heeled boot.
I clear my throat. “Hey. What the fuck are you doing?” My voice comes out harsh and unrelenting. “Do you have a death wish or something?”
CHAPTER 2
ABBY
I’m hanging.
I’m hanging, losing my hold, and am probably going to die.
It’s a veritable struggle-fest, and I’m in the center of it all. My stupid boot slips precariously from the metal thingy I’ve been perching it on, and I can hear the definitive creaking sound the gutter is making as it slowly releases itself from the side of the building.
Translation: it’s going to fall off, taking me along with it.
I tighten my grasp on the metal, one hand still on the windowsill. This does me no good whatsoever, because of the awkward positioning of my feet, and with both arms overextended like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle stretch toy, there is no way I can crane my neck to look around for help.
Dear Lord, please forgive me. This was a horrible mistake… although, Lord, I would rather be hanging here than face the humiliation in the hallway upstairs. No I wouldn’t. Yes, I would. Guh! Those boys are terrible. Help! Please send help.
“T-Tyler,” I croak desperately in the direction of the open window.
The only response forthcoming is that damn curtain in his window, wafting up and down, lilting airily from the breeze inside the room.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot,” I mutter, anxiety deeply rooting itself into every cell in my body. What the heck made me think this would work? Why didn’t my stupid cousin stop me? “Okay, Abby. Think.” I bite my lip and squint my eyes shut, but no ideas pop into my brain. A brain that, at one point, I thought was filled with brilliant ideas, until the part where that brain decided it should convince me to dangle from the side of a dirty, dilapidated fraternity house.
“Hey. What the fuck are you doing?” From somewhere below, an angry voice booms up at me. “Do you have a death wish or something?” I loll my head, trying to determine the direction the voice is actually coming from. From my left? From my right?
Oh, thank you. Thank you, God. I knew you were listening.
“Let go of the gutter and I’ll catch you,” the voice demands.
Um, on second thought…
I shake my head. “Nuh-uh. No. N-no way am I letting go of this gutter. Are you nuts?” My tearful voice is high pitched and frantic with worry.
“Hey, man, I’m not the one dangling from a window, so maybe you shouldn’t be arguing with me. Drop to the ground before you fall and get hurt. I’m strong. Promise I’ll catch you.”
My grip quickly becomes sweaty, and the thin metal gutter guard creaks again, this time shifting under my weight.
I gulp, fighting back the tears burning my eyes.
“Come on, come on, come on, be quick about it. I give you two minutes before the gutter gives out and you land on the concrete, probably splitting your head open,” the angry voice charitably points out. “But don’t take my word for it—it’s just a guess.”
“Would you shush? Please,” I plead down over my shoulder, polite to the core even as I dangle from the side of a house.
“Okay, it’s your funeral,” I hear the guy grumble. “Literally.”
Suddenly panicky, not wanting my lifeline to walk away, I gasp when the wooden siding creaks again. “Wait!” I shout with a tremble. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry! Just please, tell me what to do.”
“Alright, calm down. I’m going to come stand underneath you, and when I do, let your hands slide from the window ledge and I’ll catch you.” I can hear his feet kicking up the wobbly concrete somewhere beneath me.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” I whine. “I can’t do this.”
I would rather shrivel up and die, then have my dead, lifeless body shrivel up and die again. I cannot do this.
“Yes you can. Stop being a little pansy. Ready? On my count of three, release your hands. Ready?”
No! No! No!
“One… twooo…”
At his count, I squeeze my eyes shut, release my hands from the side of the building, and fall faster than I can blink. I’m plummeting, dropping, landing with a thud. I think I’m tumbling to the ground, but I’m not. I-I’m lying on a huge, hulky, solid, warm-blooded male form.
A solid male form that’s now sprawled out on the pavement beneath me, spread eagle and muttering a curse. “What the everloving fuck was that? I said on the count of three!”