Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
I stop drumming and flash her a thumbs-up. “Awesome. Whatever you think, boss.” Hot diggity damn. When we brainstormed those particular shows, we said those would be the ones that would end in full-throttle fellatio for our grand finale. So now, it’s doubly confirmed: I’m gonna get my dick sucked today. Deeply and repeatedly. By the hottest woman alive.
Charlotte chuckles. “What do you think of me calling my mouth ‘The Cave of the Magic Eel?’ Do you like that?” She sticks out her tongue again, letting me know, as before, her tongue’s the aforementioned eel in the title.
“Love it. It’s a great idea to have a name that differentiates it from The Cave of Wonders.”
“Okay, good. I don’t want our audience to misunderstand and think we’re finally gonna fuck and then feel let down.”
“Good call. As usual, you’re a genius.”
We’ve been calling Charlotte’s pussy The Cave of Wonders since our second show, and our fans have been extremely vocal about their desire to watch The Prince, as he’s now generically called, regardless of whatever plotline we happen to be performing, finally getting to “explore,” “pillage,” “plunder,” and/or “pound” The Cave of Wonders.
“When we do The Loch Ness Monster show, will The Prince be wearing a kilt?” I ask. “Will he have a little set of bagpipes to play?”
Charlotte giggles. “Kilt, yes. Bagpipes, no. I could play The Prince like bagpipes, though. What do you think of that idea?”
“Love it.”
She laughs. “I’ve been working on the funniest costumes and props all day. You’re gonna die when you see them.”
I crack up with her. “I think you’ve found your calling, McDougal.”
“I think you might be right.” She takes a bite of her sandwich, and her green eyes sparkle at me as she chews her food. She lays her elbow on the table. “How was your day?”
“Good. Same stuff as usual. I did land an interview for an internship, though.”
“That’s fantastic! Is it a good place?”
“Pretty good. They don’t have a full-blown pro bono program, like that other place. But the vets who work there are top-notch, so I’d learn a lot by watching them and working alongside them.”
Charlotte expresses excitement and asks several questions, and we talk about the topic a bit longer, before I turn the tables and ask about her day.
“It was good. I walked Lucky. Sanded the cabinets in the kitchen. Talked to Tessa. Made costumes and props.”
“Sounds like a good day to me. Any news in the job search?”
Charlotte flaps her lips together. “No. The only replies I’ve gotten so far have been standardized emails saying thanks but no thanks. I thought with twelve years of experience and glowing recommendations, I’d at least have a few interviews by now.”
“Chin up, babe.”
My heart stops.
Babe?
I’ve never called Charlotte that before, other than when I was pretending to be her fiancé in front of Carlo. All I can hope is that it came off flirty and casual, rather than what it really was—an involuntarily slip-up that betrays my ever-growing feelings for her. My increasing confusion about this situation—about what’s real and what’s not. What’s business and what’s personal. If I’m being honest, this thing with Charlotte now feels all-too real to me. Yes, I know she’s not planning on living in Seattle for long and I’m stuck here for at least the next two years of school, so even fantasizing about Charlotte becoming my actual girlfriend after all this is over is probably the height of idiocy, delusion, and naiveté. But I can’t help fantasizing about it, nonetheless. Constantly.
I clear my throat and quickly add, “I’d bet anything your dream job is right around the corner, babe.” I feel like, the more I say it, the less it will sound like a slip of the tongue and more like a casual, playful nothing-burger. “Think about it, babe. Something can be two inches away from your face, but you can’t see it yet because it’s right around a corner. Babe.”
Charlotte practically chokes on her sandwich, as laughter bursts out of her.
“What?” My heart is exploding. Does she know what I’m feeling for her? Have I given myself away?
Charlotte flashes me a snarky look. “You don’t need to tell me something can be right around a corner, honey. I’m well aware of that—also, unfortunately, that said thing can come barreling around said corner and smack right into me.”
I crack up with her. “Oh, man. I walked right into that one.”
She’s still laughing. “Yes, you did. Please, promise me I won’t be holding hot coffee and wearing all white when my dream job comes barreling around that corner for me.”
I chuckle. “Don’t worry. I’m sure your dream job will be far more careful than me and actually look around a blind corner before rounding it.”
“One can only hope.”
As we laugh together, I find myself marveling that I ever called that tow truck on Charlotte that day. Why wasn’t my instinct to simply help her out? She was obviously frantic and frazzled. So, why did I escalate our feud, rather than lending a helping hand? It was so unlike me.