Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“Will you go walk around the block with me?” she requested.
I sighed. “Can I listen to my book?”
Janie shrugged. “I guess. Which one are you listening to?”
So, that was how Janie and I ended up walking around the block listening to my latest BDSM book by one of my favorite authors.
“Do you think it’s possible to have your nipples pulled off?” Janie asked questioningly.
“Well,” I said, slightly distracted. “Yes, and no. The clamps he has on her nipples probably would just rip the tip off if it came down to that, but not her entire nipple. No book I’m ever going to read will have that. This girl has her shit together. She knows real BDSM.”
“I’m not even going to ask how you know what real BDSM is.” She snickered.
I sighed and paused my phone, knowing without a doubt that she wasn’t going to let me listen to it anymore. Not when she got to this point.
I was lucky to get fifteen minutes out of her.
I should be thankful I even got that.
“I was curious,” I explained. “I read a book that really got my wheels turning, and you know how I get.”
I could never let anything go until I knew everything there was to know about it.
It’s why I couldn’t find something that I truly wanted to do.
I hadn’t had that incessant need to know everything about it yet.
One day, I’d find my thing, and then I’d have to know everything about it.
“I still think you should borrow that money from the trust fund your father started for you,” she said. “And open that bakery and bookstore.”
I kind of agreed with her.
But the money that my dad left me had to be used for something special. Something that I could put my all into. And I wasn’t a baker.
“I suck at baking cookies,” I told her. “The only thing I can make are breads. Anything other than that—such as cupcakes—take too much time. I’d never have time to read then.”
And reading was important to me. Whatever else I did in life, I had to have time to read.
Reading was an escape that I could do from the comfort of my own home. Or Janie’s home. Or the damn doctor’s office.
I needed to be able to read, because reading gave me that sense of rightness that I always seemed to be missing in my life.
Nothing ever felt right, and I wasn’t sure that it ever would.
“So then do breads and books,” she said. “You make good bread, and those Amish Friendship Breads are the bomb.”
I agreed with her on that.
I’d had to stop making them so often because I couldn’t fit into my jeans.
Though, since Janie had gotten pregnant with Rafe’s baby, she’d forced me to make them a lot more than my waistband had allowed.
I’d had to start tying my own jeans together with a hairband over the last week because I refused to buy any more pants.
Usually, when a woman got pregnant, it was her spouse that sometimes felt the pregnancy symptoms with them. This time, it was me.
I was nowhere near pregnant—because a virgin couldn’t get pregnant, and I was most certainly that—but yet I gained that pregnancy weight right along with Janie. I’d put on twelve pounds—the exact same amount that she’d gained.
And where she had the body to hide it—other than her obviously pregnant belly—I didn’t. I was short, had no boobs, and was now sporting a giant ass.
I looked awful.
At least, to myself.
Janie acted like I didn’t look any different, and Rafe agreed with her.
Whatever.
They were just being nice.
But my pants didn’t lie!
“Yo,” I said, pointing down suddenly when I saw that Janie was now tracking wet footsteps on the street. “You pissed yourself.”
She flipped me off. “Fuck you.”
“No, really.” I pointed. “Look.”
She frowned and looked down, then frowned.
“One would think they’d feel it if they had fluid running down their legs,” she said laughingly.
I rolled my eyes.
“You never could do anything right.”
***
Fourteen hours later
“Pleassseeeee,” Janie whined.
I flipped her off.
As per our norm.
“I refuse to stay.”
Rafe snorted.
“You, no helping.” Janie pointed at Rafe.
“Shiloh offered to stay,” I whined right back. “Why can’t she?”
“Because Shiloh doesn’t know me like you know me,” she countered.
I rolled my eyes to the stupid white-tiled ceiling and snorted when I saw the mirror up there.
“But, Janie,” I growled. “I don’t want to see your vagina. I especially don’t want to see your vagina when something is about to exit it. I draw the line at this. What if you poop? I really don’t want to see that!”
“Then you distract Rafe so he doesn’t see it. It’s the rule of best friends. If one poops, the other distracts the man she eventually wants to sleep with again. We have a pact!” Janie pointed her finger at me accusingly.
I sighed. “Whatever.”
Janie fist pumped like a five-year-old, and I stood next to Rafe.