Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I’d discovered Instagram late last year—yes, I know, I’m late to the game. So sue me.
Once people found me, more people found me. And more. And more. And more. Until I had over a million followers now.
It was honestly quite surprising because I would’ve never, ever in a million years thought that this many people would want to see my animal videos.
“I saw that the little previews you were giving of it on Instagram were going through the roof. How’d you get that little baby dolphin to stay so still?” she asked.
I laughed then.
“I didn’t,” I admitted. “Actually, that was me following her through the water.”
We spoke for a couple minutes more on what I had to go through to get those shots, then moved on to how she’d been doing.
“I’m doing good,” she sighed. “Murphy is still doing poorly. I don’t think that I’ll be returning to work anytime soon.”
In her former job, Crockett was a level-three chef with one of the most prestigious restaurants in Nashville. When her grandfather became ill, she came home and started to help him. Then, had to go even further and take over running the store after her grandfather suffered a stroke. Thankfully, she’d been home to do that and to help him.
Now Murphy, her grandfather, sat in a rocking chair on the porch half the time and took naps the other.
Though he was alive, there was a likelihood that he would never be his former self again.
“I can’t say that I’m upset by this.” I watched as she expertly grilled a burger up for me.
Crockett laughed. “Everyone I’ve said it to has said the same thing.”
I could imagine.
Though her grandfather made burgers as well, there just wasn’t a comparison.
It was like comparing a McDonald’s shitty hamburger to a gourmet Whataburger one. There just really was no comparison.
“You’re easy, though,” she said as she slapped a piece of cheese onto the bun. “That intense guy that just came in ordered a double patty with all this extra shit on it. You just like meat and cheese.”
I did.
“That’s because I don’t want to pollute your fine cuisine with unnecessary shit,” I teased.
She snickered as she slapped the meat onto a bun, put it on one of those little paper boats, and handed it to me. Seconds later she had a fresh set of fries sitting next to the burger.
I moaned.
“This is where heaven is,” I said as I picked the burger up with two hands.
I moaned when I bit into it.
“Sooooo good,” I groaned.
“Soooo fattening,” she countered, patting her belly.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re every woman’s wet dream. You have the perfect set of hips, thighs and ass. Do you know how much hiking I have to do for this ass?”
I didn’t even have an ass, to be technical. Or, if I didn’t work for it, I wouldn’t.
I had a flat ass that was made a little better by doing a shit ton of squats, glute bridges, and lunges.
That, and my thighs were on the big side—not fat, but muscular—which also took away from my ass. With thick thighs, my ass just wasn’t as prominent as it would be if they were a normal size.
“I’m glad you think so.” She rolled her eyes. “But trust me when I say, most men don’t want this much hip.”
She honestly looked like one of those fifties pin-up models. She had beautiful curvy hips, thighs and breasts. The whole ‘shebang.’ I’d do her if I swung that way.
I moaned as I bit into the burger, the juice running down my chin as I chewed heartily.
The fries were just as good, if not better.
Before I knew it, everything was gone and the only thing left was a greasy mess where my burger used to be.
I patted my belly and groaned. “That was so good.”
Crockett smiled. “I’m here to give you another one anytime you need it.”
“I’ll come back through in a couple of days for another one. I want to make sure that I get all the footage I need for the next couple of weeks promotion wise before I come back. I’m gonna have to order Wyett one to go,” I told her.
Crockett grinned. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s doing.” I laughed. “She’s still going to school. She has about six months left until she’s done.”
Wyett was in her last six months of becoming a nurse anesthetist. Something that her mother used to do before she passed away in a house fire when Wyett was a teenager.
“I’ll bet she’s ready to be done,” Crockett admitted. “When I was in my last year of culinary school, I thought for sure it would never end. It’s like knowing that you only have a short amount of time to go makes time slow to a crawl.”
I wouldn’t know.
I’d barely graduated from high school. College was never going to happen for me. Not because I didn’t want it to, but because I literally didn’t think I could hack it.