Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Instead, just cresting the top of the middle trash bin are three very huge, chonky raccoons.
“Awww, their little faces—”
Sssssshhhhhhhsshshshshshhshshsh.
Pffftttttttshhhshshshshhffftttttt.
The middle and right raccoons both hiss at us at the same time, making strange noises that I didn’t know were possible for raccoons to make.
“Oh shit,” Orion curses again in a low whisper. He freezes, and I freeze, too, even though my arms are still wrapped around his waist. They totally should not be wrapped around any part of his body. I should untangle myself and step away, but I guess it’s fear that has me frozen.
“What should we—” My words are cut short when the one that didn’t hiss at us launches itself off the edge of the dumpster and flies through the air to land on the ground in a chonky trash panda full sprint.
“Run!” Orion spins around, grasps my hand, and pulls me blindly into a sprint alongside him.
I’m fit enough, but I’m also wearing heels, and he’s got a long stride. I’m basically being tugged along in the most ungraceful manner. I pump my legs harder and force myself to keep pace.
“The trash pandas are attacking!” Orion yells after slowing down enough to look over his shoulder.
My lungs, legs, and feet are all burning. “I got that!” I manage to wheeze.
“They’re definitely not our spirit animalssssssssss!”
“You and your spirit animals. What’s up with that? Can you please stop? It’s getting annoying.”
I have no idea where we’re running to. We’re just blindly running. “My brother and Victoria brought them with them somehow!” Orion pants as we sprint. “Victoria’s house used to have a real problem with raccoons.”
“I’m pretty sure there are lots of raccoons in the world,” I reply, breathing heavily.
“Their pheromones or something must be what the raccoons are attracted to.”
God, why does he have to make the word pheromones sound so sexy? We race past the clubhouse, rounding the corner of the building and heading across the gravel toward the street. “I’m pretty sure it’s just the trash,” I tell him. “They obviously didn’t want to share.”
“Like we wanted their trash!”
“They didn’t know that!”
“Are you wearing bacon-scented perfume?”
“No! Are you wearing rotting fish aftershave?”
He grunts and glances behind him, then picks up his pace. I can only assume the raccoons are gaining on us. Or maybe it’s just one. “Did you happen to shower with stinky poo shampoo?”
The inner me applauds that play on words, even if it’s totally ridiculous. “Speaking of stinky, who in the world actually likes anchovies on pizza?” I fire back since it’s certainly the time and place to have an illogical argument. “I heard that at the house when I was there. Something about anchovies on pizza. That’s just wrong.”
He doesn’t respond, but he does pump his legs faster, and I lose a heel trying to keep up. I don’t stumble because, at that exact moment, Orion wraps his arm around my waist and practically hauls me off my feet, football tackle style carrying me like I’m the football as he heads straight for the limo parked at the curb.
We reach it, both of us heaving and panting and struggling for breath. I quickly yank open the back door, and thankfully, it’s unlocked.
“Ahhhh!” Orion suddenly yells behind me. “It’s on me. Helppppp, it’s on me! It’s got me!” He spins in a wild circle, dancing and hopping from one foot to the other while grabbing at his back.
My lungs might be on fire, but I still have enough breath to bark out a laugh when I see the raccoon hanging from his shoulders with its little beady eyes glaring, its hands gripping tight while its huge striped body sways back and forth. Orion dances and skips, hops and jives, and does dance moves I’ve never seen, including something that looks like the robot, the sprinkler, and the rototiller all at once. I’m not sure what I can do to help, but thank goodness, when he gets down in a limbo stance, the raccoon finally loses traction.
He straightens, grabs my hand in one panicked and crazy fluid motion, and we dive through the open limo door together. He shuts it hard behind us, and we both pant heavily in the dark, silent interior. When we’ve recovered enough, we both look at each other in the dark and burst into laughter.
“Holy stacked crap,” I wheeze, slapping my thigh. “That’s like crap stacked up, piled up, and accumulated on top of crap, on top of crap, on top of more crap, just so you know. That was totally crazy.”
“That was very crazy.” He pauses to listen, but all that’s out there is an eerie silence. “I don’t hear them trying to climb the limo to open the door.”
“That isn’t a thing, is it?” I have my clutch around my wrist, I dimly realize, and I take my phone out and switch the flashlight on. I aim it at the tinted windows. Nope, nothing. No raccoon hands or furry, rotund raccoon bodies plastered against the car. “That’s not a thing,” I say in answer to my own question.