Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I did not need this man to hold my hand.
I was more extroverted than he ever knew.
Poor thing.
He had no clue what was about to hit him.
“I’ll go in this, then.” I hesitated. “Hold on.”
I ran to the car across the parking garage, then said, “Hey, Folsom.”
And, like my very own Siri, Folsom came on the line. “What’s up? Heading to a reunion?”
I didn’t bother to call her out on her eavesdropping.
Out of all of us, Folsom was closest with me. We’d bunked together more often than not when she’d first joined our circus.
We’d formed a friendship that was unbreakable. And there wasn’t a single thing she could listen to that I’d be offended at her hearing.
“Can you unlock Keene’s truck?” I asked. “I need to grab a sweatshirt out of it.”
He had a hundred in there.
Every single day, he’d bring another one out. By the end of the day, he’d get hot and throw it in his passenger seat. And then leave it in the truck until he had no more inside and was forced to bring them in or have nothing to wear.
“Done,” she said just as the locks to Keene’s trucks bleeped.
I caught up the first sweatshirt I saw, one that said ‘Ring Master,’ and yanked it toward me.
Then a full Dr. Pepper in his cupholder caught my eye, and I snagged that, too.
Slamming the door closed, I was just about to tell her to lock it when I thought about something else I’d seen in his back seat on the way to the circus yesterday.
Opening the back door, I snagged a couple of snack-sized bags of jalapeño flavored Kettle Chips and ran toward Nash who was waiting impatiently with his arms crossed.
I got inside of the truck, and sure enough it smelled like wet dog.
“You don’t have another car we can take?” I asked. “I can have the car detailer out here as soon as this afternoon.”
“No,” he said. “Only one vehicle since I’m only one person. And don’t worry about the detailer. I have my own that I trust with my truck.”
I nearly rolled my eyes.
“Got it,” I said. “I’ll pay, though.”
He rolled his eyes and put the truck in gear.
We drove in silence for all of ten minutes before I spotted a donut shop. “Pull over there!”
He looked at it and sneered. “We’re not going to that place.”
“Why not?” I whined.
“Because they sell trash donuts,” he said. “There’s one on the way I think you’ll like more.”
I didn’t argue with him.
I was an equal opportunity donut inhaler.
I could eat any and all.
There wasn’t a single donut on this planet that I wasn’t willing to eat.
“You’re not going to say something about how unhealthy it is?” I asked.
“Who am I to judge you for your poor eating habits?” he asked. “I have my own issues.”
I would love to know what those issues were, but he’d already made it perfectly clear that we weren’t talking about his issues.
We drove in silence for a few more minutes before he pulled into a donut shop that I’d never even heard of. It looked rough, like there might be cockroaches in the donut batter.
But I didn’t say anything.
Instead, I waited for him to get through the drive through and ask, “What do you want?”
“Order me whatever. I’ll eat everything,” I said.
He did just that, ordering an assorted dozen, two coffees, a chocolate milk, an orange juice, as well as these things called kolaches.
He handed me the entire box, a small bag, and then all the drinks.
I juggled it all, finding places for everything before I opened the bag.
There was something brown hanging out of the end of some dough.
“There’s a wiener in this,” I said, surprised.
“There is,” he confirmed, looking over at me with an amused expression.
“But I thought they were filled with fruit?” I asked. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“Some are. Some aren’t. Depends on whether you’re getting them done by Texans, or by the Czech bakers,” he answered.
Texans were weird.
“Oh,” I said. “Well, do the Czech people get offended that you’re calling these kolaches when they’re not?” I wondered.
I would if they massacred a perfectly good Danish.
“Yes,” he answered. “If you ask them, a kolache has a fruit filling. But down here in Texas, we do what we want.”
I took a bite, and nearly orgasmed.
“Oh my God,” I said around a mouthful. “Cheese. And wiener. That’s got to be the best combination I’ve ever tasted.”
He choked on his own saliva.
“What?” I asked around a mouthful of food.
“Nothing.” He sounded strangled. “Hand me one.”
“Anything in particular?” I asked.
“No,” he answered. “Just anything.”
I reached in and gave him a chocolate covered one with sprinkles.
He took it and ate half of it in one bite.
I continued to chew on my cheesy wiener bread and hummed happily between bites.
I waited to see which drink he’d take, and then took the other.