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 squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to breathe through my nose but also really trying to suck some air in because could this get any worse? No, I really don’t think it could.
I turn around slowly when I hear heavy footsteps. Might as well get the uber humiliation over and done with.
I was wrong. Things can get worse. Van is standing there holding a garden hose, and there’s a distinct sorry, not-so-sorry expression on his handsome as smoldering sin face. I put up my hands, warding him off. “Hey, now. Let’s not get too carried away.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, but there’s a big smile on his face—a true, soul-deep smile that I don’t think I’ve seen on him since he was fifteen or sixteen. And right now, he looks so boyish and charming that maybe getting covered in dog doo is worth it. If that’s what it takes to get a smile out of him, then sign me up. I’ll gladly take it. Alright, maybe not gladly, but reluctantly. Look at me with the smell clearly going to my head.
“Curly Cookie gets a bath inside, and I get hosed down in the yard?” I whine, grasping at straws. I know this is going to happen no matter what. His hand is already on the nozzle on the top, getting ready to squeeze and unleash icy, cold hell on me.
“Curly Cookie was cleaner than you are. Only his paws were muddy.”
“It’s not fair, is it?”
“No,” he sighs. “It’s not. But then, what in life actually is?”
“If you do this, I swear I’m going to—”
“I’m truly sorry, Remi.” His hand flexes, and I’m doused in a stream of water. It hits me in the chest, and I let out a blood-curdling scream.
The water isn’t really that cold since the hose has been sitting out in the grass, warmed by the sun. It actually feels kind of nice against my humidity-drenched, dirt and dubious dirt coated body. Van adjusts the nozzle, and instead of one direct, forceful stream, I get a delicate shower. He sweeps the nozzle up and down, and when I spin around, he soaks my hair—messy bun, headband, and all.
Van is gentle, and the water feels good. He takes his time, holding it for me to spin around to wash the dirt from my hands and to try and scrub the dirt and, um, other things out from my hair and clothes. I find myself laughing through most of it, and not just because if I didn’t laugh, I’d cry. I guess it’s kind of funny.
When Van comes nearer to inspect my hair, I stop laughing, sucking in a great gulp of breath and holding it. He’s so close that if I turned around, I’d be able to pull him closer and kiss him again. All of me goes wild at the thought, my body heating up enough that the water is probably steaming off me. But of course, I don’t. The wonder of that thought is tempered quite thoroughly by the fact that my breath would probably be worse than flies at the moment, and if not, then the rest of me certainly would. Van keeps working the water over the worst of me. If he didn’t have my undying love before…Who would have thought that hosing a girl down would be the way to her heart?
I’m still scrubbing my shirt and jeans when I look up and catch Van’s eyes on me. They’re like soft, buttery caramel under the golden sun. He’s truly gorgeous with his jaw set in a hard line, a fine line pinched between his brows, and his lips thinned out from his smile, which is replaced by an I really am sorry about this expression. I get to admire all his masculine godlike beauty for a few more seconds before the water abruptly becomes frigid, and this time, my screams are real. I dash out of the way, and Van lets the nozzle go, setting the hose down on the ground.
“You can have a shower now,” he informs me. “Inside. Nanny is setting out clothes for you.”
“Thank you, kind sir. How gracious of you.” That earns me the smallest twitch of his lips.
I walk to the patio door and slip through the kitchen and down the hall, dripping wet. “Oh, my dear!” Nanny cries when she sees me. “I’m so sorry about Curly Cookie’s dung shower. And Van’s garden hose shower. I told him that he certainly wasn’t allowed to hose you down out there.”
“That’s okay. It was nice until the water became cold. And good lord, I needed it. I was one dirt monster from head to toe.”
Curly Cookie comes wagging up behind Nanny, looking as pleased and happy with himself as ever. He’s been hosed down inside himself, so he’s extra curly now. “My butterscotch cookie says he’s sorry. He won’t go mucking about in your business again. It’s the leash for him if he can’t stay out of the flowers, though I’m sure after a few days of training, he’ll get the hint. He’s young yet.”