Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
“I’m a hot guy?” he asks.
I laugh. Hysterically.
He frowns.
“You’re definitely a hot guy.”
“The dress isn’t just for me?”
“It’s for me first, for you second. Mostly for me though so I feel confident that you can feel proud of having me on your arm.”
“I would be proud to have you on my arm if you were covered in dirt, Ivy.”
“That’s sweet. And it ain’t gonna happen because I wanna look my best. Now … let me go so I can go shower.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“We both know what’ll happen if you do, Ty. It’ll be all naked and soapy and me having two orgasms before I get the shampoo in. That’ll delay us.”
“Three or four orgasms,” he corrects.
“How about just one big one?” I counter.
“Deal,” he says and then he’s pulling me by the hand toward the bathroom while pulling his t-shirt over the back of his neck.
***
My dress is awesome. I feel great.
I’m having a great hair day and my werewolf looks so handsome it should be a crime.
I’ve tamed his hair in a low ponytail at his nape, which he says he likes, and he is clean shaven and smells awesome. His eye is also healed, even though I haven’t been able to get eyedrops in for over 24 hours because he’s been a big baby about it each time.
Not only did I buy him a razor and shaving cream, I also bought decent hair products when we were out today, too, instead of the budget 2-in-1 shampoo we’d been using, and my hair is thanking me for it with a great hair day. I’ve used my ceramic curling iron and given myself ringlets and Tyson likes it. He really likes my strawberry colored taffeta dress. It hits above the knee with a flare to the skirt, cap sleeves, and a keyhole neckline with a hint of cleavage.
Tyson can barely take his eyes off me. My shoes are red, too, with a series of laces and a cute scalloped strap across the top of my ankle. My ankle feels mostly fine, but I bought wedges instead of stilettos for extra safety. He keeps staring at my legs and it’s taking a lot of effort to ward him off from sexing me again. If he had his way, we wouldn’t get out the door.
“Are those shoes a good idea, Ivy?” he asks, as I climb up into the truck, with his assistance.
“My ankle is fine.” I’ve still got it bandaged, which takes away from the overall look, but I can walk on them, no problem.
“Don’t you hurt yourself,” he warns me, as if he’ll punish me if I do.
I frown at him. His face softens and then he kisses me sweetly before shutting the door and rounding the truck.
36
Ivy
We’ve pulled in behind a massive barn across the road from a general store and gas station. Someone gestures to an empty spot beside the door with a big smile. I see lots of big smiles in the parking lot, too, in fact.
Are all these people shifters? There are people of all ages and not only are they all aware of our arrival and paying attention, but I also note that they’re a healthy-looking bunch. We walk hand-in-hand through the open barn doors, seeing twinkle lights and hearing music. Plenty of people are behind us in that parking lot, and while they keep their distance, I note with a glance over my shoulder that there are a lot of happy faces behind us.
Bailey runs toward us, dressed in a pretty black party dress with her hair in a fancy updo and she’s in heels, doing so quite awkwardly, looking like she’s about to break an ankle. She embraces me. “You’re here! You’re gorgeous. Both of you. Come on!”
We move further inside and the place is festive. And impressive. It’s a big, open converted barn that’s been clearly altered to accommodate all sorts of events. I see a long saloon style bar slash kitchen area, lined with barrels that have taps on the front, dozens of extra-large brightly colored picnic tables, comfy-looking seating and tables bordering the space, creatively made with wood pallets and wicker designed to look like haybales. There’s also a big dancefloor. White twinkle lights are strung from one end to the other along rafters and I also see plenty of dangling red lights, obviously added for the strawberry theme. Each picnic table has a weighted set of red balloons with white curled ribbon as a table arrangement. In one corner, a stage sits a few levels up with a DJ. Behind the bar area is a set of stairs leading up to the loft that has twinkle lights wound around the railings. I can see people up there, chatting, drinking beers.
Music is on low, playing P!nk’s Get this Party Started. There are dozens of people and it feels like every one of those sets of eyeballs points in our direction.