Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
I’m saved from burning to ashes on the spot, even if my face is probably purple by now, by the front door creaking open. Nanny steps out wearing a leopard print unitard and bright pink spandex leggings underneath. She’s rocking a waist-length hot pink wig. “Remelia! I was just doing my evening workout. Van is rocking the lawn. Whoo-hoo, look at him go! He’s going to have this bitch in kick-ass shape in no time.” Nanny pauses. “Shit. I’m supposed to be using less bad language. I guess it shocks some people to hear senior citizens curse. I guess those people don’t know that it’s the smart ones who use bad language. It’s a scientific fact. Look it up.”
Hmm. I can see where Kimmy gets her inspiration. I knew Nanny was just pretending to be scandalized the night of Van’s surprise party when Kimmy went on about nuts and chainsaws.
“O—okay…” I’m torn between standing out here on the narrow swatch of front sidewalk and making more of a fool of myself or heading inside and making up a reason for my visit. If I tell Nanny I came to borrow a cup of frozen gravy, would that sound legit?
A bounding bundle of hair goes streaking past Nanny, grabbing something with its teeth at the last second. It takes me a full heartbeat to realize it’s the hot pink wig, and the blur is Curly Cookie, now streaking straight for me while dragging it behind him, shaking his head as puppies do, delighted with his score.
“Curly Cookie!” Nanny yelps, putting her hands on her hips. “You get back here this second; you wig-snatching over-enthusiastic hair bag!”
The puppy completely ignores her. He wags his tail so hard, wriggling the lower half of his body, that the little skinny rat tail behind him actually makes contact so hard that it makes a whap-whap sound. He comes wriggling down the sidewalk, dragging the wig right to me. Whap-whap. Whap-whap.
“Watch your butthole!” Nanny screams.
I nearly reach around and grab my bottom in a panic, but then I remember it’s only unguarded buttholes that this dog likes. I brace myself to get nearly knocked over by a huge, overly enthusiastic bundle of fur, but suddenly, I catch sight of a blur streaking out of the corner of my eye. A blur that isn’t Curly Cookie.
Van comes racing toward me, and I have no idea what’s happening except that I brace for contact, and why the hell is there going to be any contact between us? But there certainly is contact. In the form of boulder-sized muscled arms sweeping me up and throwing me over his shoulder. Is it wrong that the minute I’m turned upside down, all I can think about is how I knew this was going to happen in some form because I’m so clumsy that being the wrong side up is my daily normal, although I’m usually biting the ground and not being ground into spicy, damp, sexy male perfection?
I’m flush against Van’s shoulder, then my face is sliding lower and lower, and oh my god, there’s his ass. I really am up close and personal with Van’s bottom, and I can’t decide if this is the most embarrassing moment of my entire life or the best moment.
I don’t get to make a real decision since Van starts running, and I’m being thumped and thudded, my midsection slamming into his shoulder. His hand sweeps up the curve of my inner thigh and lands on my bottom to try and keep me from sliding and falling down the other side of him. My brain goes on a walkabout and short circuits until Curly Cookie’s face appears in my line of vision but from the wrong direction. He’s hanging over Van’s other shoulder, the wig lying forgotten on the sidewalk behind us. We’re thundering up the front steps, both of us draped like sacks of potatoes over Van’s huge shoulders. He’s running as though we weigh nothing collectively. Curly Cookie clearly thinks it’s great. His big pink tongue flaps out to slurp my face, catching me right across the lips. Is it wrong that I taste dog and baby powder, which I’m assuming is Nanny’s scent contained in the wig he just chewed?
All too soon, we’re rushed inside, and the door slams shut behind us. Van sets the dog down first and then follows up with me. He’s not even breathing hard, but I’m slamming air into my lungs, panting double time because I’m still so close to him that we’re breathing the same freaking air. His eyes sweep up and down my body like he’s inspecting for damage while his face is totally stoic, a shuttered mask. Without saying a word, he stuffs his hands into his pockets, walks through the living room, and turns down the hall, disappearing and leaving me in a heady state of absolute disarray.