Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 63563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Ellis follows. Thank goodness, because if I had to watch her walk in that tight-fitting dress, I don’t think I’d make it. As it is, I have to wonder if driving with a hard-on might be an actual hazard. Because of loss of blood flow to the brain and all that. At the very least, it’s distracting, embarrassing, and annoying. Thank you very much, rock hard freaking erection that won’t deflate and will not listen to logic and reason.
Ha. Well, whaddya know. I guess I found something else to focus on besides the curse.
CHAPTER 9
Ellis
I know I shouldn’t let Ash drive me over to my dad’s. I should go on my own. Sometimes I’m there for hours, though, and sometimes for longer if things aren’t going well. I don’t want to be distracted by Ash calling me constantly. I also don’t want him sitting at the curb for hours, but maybe because he’s out there, karma will for once not be a bitch and let Dad be having a good day.
I don’t say a thing as Ash drives us over to my dad’s. It’s not far from my apartment. I was fast up there. I threw a few shirts and pairs of pants into a duffel bag, grabbed my toothbrush and other toiletries, packed my laptop, and I was out of there. I don’t have anything to look after, so I can be fast. I’m glad Ash didn’t come up to see the sad state of my apartment. It’s not very homey, and I can’t even say I just moved in. I’ve had the place for a few years, and it’s alright, I guess, though not in the best area of New Orleans. I don’t consider it home. I don’t consider my dad’s house home either. In fact, I don’t consider anywhere to be home, and maybe that’s a problem, but I don’t let myself think about it. I tended to bury myself in school and then work. I also have enough friends that I can be busy if I want to be. I’m hardly ever home. Who needs art on the walls, a nice friendly cat, or comforting things like plants? I have books, and they’ve always been my escape, so that’s good enough for me.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?” Ash eyes me skeptically when we pull up to the curb. One of his dark brows nearly goes up to his hairline when I shake my head. “It’s not a good neighborhood.”
“Yeah. Got that. I grew up here. I’m good.”
“Are you sure, sure?”
“Hey,” I snap. I turn toward Ash, counting to ten in my head because everyone says that crap works. “Just because we’re on the same team for a little while or something doesn’t mean I won’t ask this curse for some powers, laser beams, or like some kind of black smoke from my hands. Smoke balls? Anyway, I’ll try and develop that just so I can obliterate you if you leave this car.”
“Whoa.” Ash holds up a hand. “Okay. Gotcha. No leaving the car.”
I slide out, and before I shut the door, I lean in and say, “You might want to lock the doors. It’s not a good neighborhood.”
This time, Ash rolls his eyes. Maybe I’m rubbing off on him. Better than him rubbing off on me. Or up on me. My ovaries nearly rocket through my brain when I think about Ash doing any such thing, even when I imagine him on all fours, rubbing my ankles like the cat I don’t have. Is it wrong that even that’s hot?
I lose all sense of humor and all the hot and bothered shivery stuff the second I walk through the front door. I have a key. It’s always on my keyring, so I let myself in. As usual, all the blinds and curtains are shut, and most of the lights are off. I know Dad’s at home since he doesn’t go anywhere if he can help it. I also see the evidence of some major at-home living. The back door opens into the kitchen. At least the dirty dishes overflowing the sink tell me that dad’s eaten something these past few days. I quickly check the fridge and find it nearly full, so I’m not sure what Dad eats. I go through it quickly, pulling out anything that’s rotten or on the verge of getting there. A bag of salad that has morphed into green slime goes into the trash. An old loaf of bread I find at the back is now more fuzz than actual bread, so it hits the trash too. I open a few jars of jam since I haven’t remembered to check those for a while, and when I find them farming their own farms on top of what looks to be red sludge below, they hit the trash as well.