Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Hugo was laughing so hard at that he jerked in the kitchen chair he’d been sitting in and Austen had to put her hand on his shoulder to keep him still. “Only a man would wonder about that.”
“I’m a man too, and I say he has a point,” Hugo said when he could finally breathe again. “Dick always gets the shaft.”
“Well you all talk about it enough amongst yourselves, you don’t need any help from us,” Bronte replied tartly. “But we could ask the same question, little brother. Do you think the prettiest thing about Fiona is her vagina?”
“What? No. What?” Thoreau was looking at Bronte with his mouth open.
“You heard me. I get my fill of other people’s privates all day long. I could do my own study on the subject and my conclusion wouldn’t be pretty. As in, male and female genitalia are not pretty. Not at all. No matter what you pierce it with, dust it with, bedazzle it with, doesn’t matter. The best thing you’ll ever get me to say about either gender’s private bits is that some are clean and well groomed.”
She looked around the room at her howling siblings and shook her head, smirking. “I’m not saying what they do can’t feel beautiful. But feeling and objective observation are two entirely different things.”
Hugo bit his cheek as he looked at her. “I had no idea you had such strong opinions on this subject, Bronte-saurus. Bad day at work?”
“You could say that.”
“This is what I’m talking about,” Austen did a small victory wiggle beside him. “Spill it, sister mine. Embarrassing nursing stories are second only to sexual escapades, and Hugo’s not talking.”
Bronte glanced at Thoreau and then turned back to Hugo. “This stays with the GPP?”
“Of course.”
“The Leprechaun showed up asking for me.”
“Wait, William Finn showed up at the hospital?”
“Since I don’t know any other Irish pains in the ass, that would be a yes.” She rolled her eyes. “He got into a fight and decided it was worth a trip to the ER to harass me.”
Thoreau frowned at her. “He got himself injured to harass you?”
“No he dropped his pants to harass me. The bloody lip and black eye were already there when I showed up. I’m guessing both were well deserved.”
Hugo stopped Austen from applying anything else to his face. “He flashed you?”
“Not on purpose. Not at first anyway. I walked in on him stripping to put on a hospital gown, but when he saw me he dropped it and said since I was there…”
“Since you were there what?” Hugo didn’t like where this was headed.
“Nothing this exciting happens at the salon,” Austen said with a dramatic sigh. “Now you’ve both had half-naked Irishmen come on to you. Men dropping their pants left and right. I’m in the wrong line of work.”
“Answer Hugo, Bronte.” Thoreau was scowling. “What did he want from you and do we need to give him a few more bruises?”
She looked down at her crochet needles uncomfortably and mumbled something.
“What?” Hugo asked intently. “He said what?”
“He said we should get married so he could get citizenship and I could get, well, him.”
Hugo reached for the towel on the back of his chair and used it to wipe his face. “GPP is officially on hold while I decide how to tell Younger his cousin is dead.”
Austen set down her applicator with a huff. “But I barely got any on you.”
“It was more than enough. I don’t like the smell of it, and it feels like melting glue on my skin. Not in a good way.”
“Fine.” Austen grabbed a notepad and started writing, still staring at her sister. “That is the greatest nursing story you’ve ever told, Bronte. And I still remember the weasel incident.”
“We all remember the weasels,” Thoreau said, shuddering.
“You can’t kill him, Hugo,” Bronte reasoned, ignoring the others. “You have too much respect for the law and you’re dating his cousin. But don’t worry. I took care of it.”
“Wait,” Austen held up her hand. “Cute Irish guy with his pants down, and you took care of it? I’m going to need you to be more specific there. Details.”
“We don’t need those kind of details, Austen,” Thoreau groaned.
“Leave the room if you’re too young.” Austen swatted his words away as if he were another gnat.
Bronte eyed him, looking worried. “I laughed.”
Hugo winced. He’d only wanted to punch the guy. “You laughed? While he was naked?”
“Naked and proposing,” Austen corrected softly. “Wow. Talk about a mood killer.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have done it, but not for the reasons you’re thinking. To be honest, I think it would have been smarter to ignore him instead. He acted like I’d thrown down the gauntlet or something. Like his manhood had been challenged.”
“You are challenging,” Austen said helpfully, despite Bronte’s glare. “And I’m impressed. Any man with that kind of confidence deserves an award.”