Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Our recovery time is comically long. We lie there stupidly, still nearly fully dressed, my dick lodged inside her, her arms wrapped around me, as we struggle for breath.
“Okay,” Grace says sleepily. “Now we can freeze to death.”
9
Grace
11:59 p.m.
“One more minute!” Logan exclaims.
I swear, he’s one of the few people I know who still gets ridiculously excited about New Year’s Eve. Me, I never cared much for the holiday to begin with, and over the years my interest levels have only decreased.
But my boyfriend is grinning happily as he watches the clock on his phone tick down. Thanks to the blizzard raging outside our car, both of our phones lost their signals a long time ago, but at least the battery life is going strong.
The champagne bottle is poised in Logan’s hand. Suddenly he looks over, worried. “Who gets the first sip?” he demands. “We don’t have glasses!”
“You can have the first sip,” I say graciously.
“You sure?”
“I mean, I guess? I really wanted it, but…” In reality I don’t give a hoot who gets the first drink of the new year. But if I make him think I’m doing him a huge favor, I could remind him of this moment the next time he vetoes all my movie picks on Netflix. “It’s okay. You do it.”
He practically beams at me. It takes very little to make this man happy.
“Thirty seconds,” he warns. “Sit up, woman.”
I swallow a laugh and straighten up. Logan’s blue eyes stay glued to his phone. “We’re almost at the countdown. I expect some enthusiastic yelling. Ready, babe?”
“Sure. But we don’t have to yell—”
“TEN!”
Oh brother.
“NINE!” he shouts, motioning me with his hand to join in.
And because I love this guy with all my heart, I make him happy and scream right along with him. When we finish shouting “ONE!”, Logan throws in a “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” and then kisses me deeply.
I return the kiss, pulling back to whisper, “Happy New Year, Johnny.”
“Happy New Year, Gracie.”
With a little boy smile, he raises the bottle to his lips and takes the first sip of champagne.
2:00 a.m.
The tow truck still hasn’t arrived.
It’s been hours since the clock struck midnight, and Logan and I have already polished off the entire champagne bottle. Now we’re tipsy and warm in the back seat, regaling each other with random childhood tales.
His stories lack the levity that mine possess, which isn’t too surprising. Logan’s parents are divorced and his father is a recovering alcoholic, so he didn’t have the easiest upbringing. But he does have some good memories with his brother. My parents are also divorced, but they remained close friends, so my family stories are much happier.
As we laugh and snuggle and share memories, we’re constantly touching each other. He strokes my hair. I play with the stubble rising on his strong jaw. His whiskers scrape my fingertips, but when he ruefully says he needs to shave, I disagree. I think he’s sexy and manly, and I can’t stop touching him. It’s been like that since the moment we met. My college freshman self fell hard for John Logan, and he hasn’t left my system since.
Hopefully he never does.
“Do you think they’re ever going to show up?” I ask as I press my nose to the cold window. Beyond the pane, the world is an endless swirl of snow.
“They said six hours,” he reminds me. “It hasn’t been six hours yet.”
“It’s been five and a half.”
“Five and a half isn’t six.”
“But why aren’t they here yet?” I whine.
“Because it hasn’t been six hours!”
“Stop saying that!”
Logan bursts out laughing, while I continue to look miserably out the window.
“What if we starve to death?”
“We won’t,” he assures me.
“What if we die of exposure and—oh my God. I just realized something. What if we’re being punished?”
He sighs. “All right. I’ll bite. Punished for what and by whom?”
“By Alexander! For hating him. What if he did this?” I gasp suddenly. “Oh my God, Logan, do you think this is how Willie felt when he was lying at the bottom of that ravine with his broken leg? Before his spirit entered Alexander? Do you think he knew he was going to die?”
Logan doesn’t speak for a moment. Then he nods. “I’ve made the decision to ignore you for the next ten minutes, or however long it takes for the terror to leave my body.”
2:42 a.m.
I wrest my gaze away from the window and release a long, bleak sigh. “All right. I think it’s time.”
His brow furrows. “Time for what?”
“To make a pact.”
“What pact?”
I pull the blanket tighter around our lower bodies. “We could be stuck here for days. Weeks, even.”
“It won’t be days or weeks, you crazy woman.”
I jut my chin stubbornly. “It could be. And if that happens, there’s a good chance we’ll die from starvation or exposure like Willie did on the California Trail. And unless we decide on a synchronized murder-suicide, obviously one of us will die before the other. So if that happens, we need to make a pact.”