Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
“Like I was saying…I could’ve happily-”
“You said easily before.” My teasing is met by another sexy hit.
“-never have gone down that rabbit hole.” His dark gaze falls playfully to me. “Unlike yours.”
There’s no stopping the lighthearted headshake that occurs. “Is this really how you fucking treat a lady, Mutt?”
“It’s how I’m treating you,” Nolan impishly bites back.
“Yeah,” more laughter, a sound I swear I’m becoming addicted to, escapes Kipp, “you walked right into that one, baby.”
The childish glare he’s shot is cut short due to his best friend speaking again, “And by the way, for the record, you’re bein’ treated like a fuckin’ queen.”
Disbelief drops my jaw. “What?! How?!”
“I complimented your cooking.”
“Backhandedly.”
“I’m currently rubbing your feet.”
“You mean my ass.”
“And I bought you something to show you how much I care.”
“While I do agree with the ‘If it requires pants or a bra, it’s not happening today’ statement on the classy hot pink coffee mug you brought home, you only bought it so that I’d stop drinking out of your favorite mugs.”
“That’s not true,” Nolan instantly argues prompting Kipp to tilt his head sarcastically to one side. “Fuck, alright. That’s not entirely true.”
“You did the same shit to me!”
“That’s because you weren’t ready for a big boy cup yet, Kid.”
This time laughter leaves us all, filling the room to the brim with so much joy it’s almost suffocating.
A lot like staying put in one place for too long, happiness is a foreign feeling, yet as much as I tell myself not to get comfortable with it, not to get accustomed to it, not to get attached to it…or them…that’s exactly what I’m doing every time they finish a hard day and I make them a hot meal.
Every night they stretch out on the floor to protectively sandwich me between them.
Every morning that they invade my shower or offer to let me take one first.
It’s insane to me that in just a week, I’ve managed to make myself at home here more than I have in the past at any place I’ve ever actually lived.
That includes all my apartments pre the frat douche remake of The Crush that I called my boyfriend for longer than I should’ve.
I know it’s wrong.
I know I have no right to make myself this permanent in a life I can’t live for much longer but what can I say?
It’s nice to pretend I can actually have happiness for longer than the time it takes to finish binge watching a season of Modern Family.
“And why are we giving me shit about the mug I bought you, anyway?” Nolan comically croaks. “It’s still better than the bouquet of pens The Kid got you.”
“That was thoughtful!” he swiftly snaps around his snickers.
“It wasn’t any more thoughtful than my mug shit. You just wanted her to stop stealing your shit too.”
“Not…” his voice wavers, “just…that…”
“Fuck you both,” I girlishly giggle at the same time I sit completely up. “I never told you that you had to share your shit with me.”
“No, but that’s just the shit you do with your…” Our attention soars to Nolan whose mouth seems to be bobbing as if unsure of how he should finish the sentence. “Um…” His throat clearing precedes a small shrug. “Yeah.”
Am I?
Am I the obvious fill in the blank answer there?
I mean…I can’t be, can I?
I mean…I shouldn’t be.
I don’t need to be.
It’s not safe.
Of course not for me, but I meant not for them.
And of all the people I’ve ever met, I honestly don’t think I could live with their blood on my hands.
I have to go.
I have to get away from here.
The second my car is fixed, I have to get the hell out of Death Canyon.
It’s the only way to guarantee they don’t end up in an “accidental” housefire or “mauled” by a bear or “caught” tangled up in their own fishing wire.
I don’t know how that monster never fails to find the people who have been kind or helped me…but he does.
He always does.
“You also take your um…ya know…on real dates that don’t take place on the couch,” Kipp redirects the conversation along with our stares to him, “which we agreed to do next week when we go pick up your parts.”
Yeah, that whole “one week if I’m lucky, two if I’m not” is easily becoming “two weeks if I’m lucky, a month if I’m not”.
Not that I hate being here.
I just hate how risky it is being here.
Crazy thing is…even if I said fuck that car and just rented a new one or took my chances trying to hitchhike…I don’t think the two of them would let me get away that easy.
Hell, after that Toth scare earlier in the week, one has had their sights on me at all times unless I was pissing or shitting and even then, they were literally on the other side of the door waiting to make sure I didn’t climb out a bathroom window and scurry down the side of the building like fucking Gwen Stacy.