Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)
You want to fight, little love?
Game on.
Now, where was I? Ah! Naked and standing in her garden.
“What—why?” Her words are like tiny puffs of air, and she looks like she might be about to shriek as she lifts her gaze to the sky as though seeking divine intervention.
“Don’t mind me.” Scooping up the bottle of body wash, I stride over to one of the trees, totally free balling it, to where I’ve rigged the garden hose over a high branch. “I don’t know if you know, but the shower is on the fritz.”
Kennedy makes a few more of those puffing noises, which reminds me of when she’s just about to—Nope. Not gonna think about that. Not right now. She doesn’t deserve it, and I don’t need the distraction.
I turn the lock on the hose head, and water gushes out. Jesus, it’s so fucking cold, but I force myself not to flinch as it cascades over my head.
Think tropical waterfalls.
Think heat.
Don’t think about your ball sac never again descending from your body.
Out of the corner of my water vision, I can tell Kennedy’s shock has morphed into anger.
“What?” I hold my hand to my ear like a shell, my grin officially shit-eating size. “Sorry, can’t hear you, darl!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “The water’s too loud.” It’s the truth. I can’t hear what she’s saying but only because my ears have frozen off. I could take a stab at lip-reading, except I’m too busy playing the part of sexy male water nymph as I grab the body wash and begin to lather up. I let the water rain down on me like ice-cold manna from the sexy heavens.
Until the water stops about ten seconds later.
“You can’t do this!” she yells from her position by the outdoor tap. “You just can’t.”
“I reckon I just did.” I shake my head like a dog before slicking my hair back from my face. I begin to move, one step, two, and Jesus Christ, the fear on her face. “What’s wrong, little love? Did you forget what a real man looks like?”
“You’re a lunatic,” she splutters, making for the veranda stairs as though the devil is two steps behind her. “I-I’ll call the police!”
“I guess that’d make for interesting reading in the local newspaper.” The last time I’d picked up The Herald, the most interesting item was a piano that was for sale in a nearby town that was described as “absolutely not haunted.”
“You are the worst,” she yells, yanking on the protesting screen door. “You have to move out!”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” I throw up my arms and probably another couple of parts of my anatomy, judging by the sensation. With my nakedness front and centre, I plant my fists on my hips in the middle of the yard.
“I gave you back your money!”
“It’s not about the money, little love. You know that.”
“Only a person with money would ever say that.” I shrug, unconcerned. “I could shoot you, you know that. You’re trespassing.”
“Also”—I dip my head as though to glance at my own genitals—“I’m naked. You could claim you were threatened. Say that you know me to be a sexual pervert.”
“Why are you doing this?” she almost cries.
“And you wouldn’t be wrong because I do have a thing for fucking you in socks and nothing else.”
“Urgh! You make me wish I still had Nana’s gun!”
“But then, imagine how hard that would be to explain to Wilder. The reasons I killed your father.”
“Go away!” she yells as the screen door bangs closed.
“While you’re at it, why don’t you just ask me to go lie down in your driveway so you can back your car over me?”
“Don’t tempt me!” she yells right before the back door slams shut.
Swiping up my shorts and T-shirt, I glance up at the kitchen window, directing my thoughts there. Go on, rattle your fist, little love. Curse thy enemy’s name. Throw yourself down on the ground and have a good old tanty. When you get up, I’ll still be here, and I will get to the bottom of this.
* * *
It’s a pain in the arse not having water, though it doesn’t take me too long to find out where I can turn it back on, only I don’t have a universal stop tap key. But I know a couple who will have one.
“Afternoon, gorgeous.”
The door swings open to Ursula’s delighted expression. “Roman, you are a terrible flirt,” she says, swatting my arm affectionately. “Where are you going all gussied up?”
I glance down at my suit pants and shining shoes. I planned to grab some dinner at the pub, maybe rattle Jenner a bit into revealing what he knows, if he’s there. But my suit pants and shirt were literally all I had left in the way of clean clothes, thanks in part to having no water.