Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
My husband was a sucker for love stories and romantic comedies.
I gave him shit for it all the time.
Although, if I was being honest, I loved every second of it.
And, if I was being even more honest, with all the exciting shit I had planned for the rest of this trip, we probably needed a chill night tonight anyway.
You know, to rest up and prepare…
I wasn’t going to lie; I expected to spend a lot more time wrapped around my wife like a vine on my honeymoon. But what the fuck did I know?
I also hadn’t expected to come to Panama fucking City in the off-season either. I figured we’d go to Fiji or Bora Bora like Kline and Georgie. Some place gorgeous and tropical and on a private island where I could just watch Cass walk around naked all damn day and eat all my meals off her tits.
Instead, when I’d woken up this morning in this currently deserted beach town, I was alone, and Cassie had laid an outfit of her choosing on top of me as though I were a six-and-a-half-foot paper fucking doll.
White T-shirt and another pair of painfully tight shorts, my outfit made me look a little like King Kong at a frat party.
Needless to say, day two of our “honeymoon” was off to another rocky start.
“So…where are we headed exactly?” I asked my wife, trailing behind her on the sidewalk so I could watch the sway of her ass. She had the most fantastic tits on the planet earth, but sometimes I forgot to give the rest of her body its due. I mean, damn, she really had the whole package. It was no wonder I had to fight so hard to get a chance with her.
“To a restaurant-bar type of thing.”
I nodded and raised my eyebrows happily. “Sounds good to me. I could really go for some chicken wings or something.”
“Definitely a good idea for after. Boneless, though. And not hot.”
My eyebrows pulled together as I tried to make sense of what she was saying. “What do you mean after?”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “I mean, after we do the first part of our plans, we can absolutely get some chicken wings. Or some burgers. Definitely burgers.”
“Okay, maybe I didn’t put the right inflection on my question, but I’m trying to ask you what the plans are to begin with. You said we’re going to a bar-restaurant thing. I just assumed that meant to eat.”
Cassie scoffed. “This is Panama City Beach, Thatcher. You think eating is the most interesting thing we can come up with to do? No way. Come on.”
I was frightened immediately by the sound of her determination. “Okay, you got me. What’s more interesting?”
She sighed and huffed and then, finally, turned around just long enough to shove a flyer into my chest before turning back to her path and walking again. I trotted along dutifully behind her, but I pulled the paper away from my body and read as I did.
Wet T-shirt Contest it said in big, bold letters at the top of the page. It was in that arched, bubble font from Microsoft Word that I used to use in the nineties on all my school projects.
Immediately, I started shaking my head. “Wet T-shirt contest? Are you serious, Crazy? You’re carrying my kid in there, and I stood up in front of our nearest and dearest and pledged myself, the rest of my fucking life, to your perfect titties just a short time ago, and already, you want to go sharing them with other people?”
She laughed the most ridiculous cackle and stopped dead in her tracks, spinning on her heel and walking back to put a hand against my chest.
“Oh, Thatcher? You think I’m going to enter the contest?” She shook her head. “I’m with child.”
Puzzled, I scrunched up my face. “Yeah, I know. But your tits are the only tits I see, baby. You planning to go Meredith Grey and 3-D print us another set or something?”
“Don’t be so naïve, T-bag. It doesn’t suit you. If there are the two of us, and I’m not going to do it, who does that leave?”
“I don’t know,” I said frankly. “Because unless you plan on entering my nuts into the competition, I’m going to be sorely lacking in the globe department.”
“Oh, please. Like you don’t work out your pecs seven days a week. You’ll crush all the Pollyanna eighteen-year-olds.”
I looked around the empty sidewalk pointedly. I didn’t see any eighteen-year-olds anywhere. And that wasn’t even me trying to be cute—you’re the only woman I see-type shit.
We were really and truly the only goddamn people on the whole block.
In fact, that kind of made me suspicious about the contest in the first place. Where in the hell did she find this flyer?
I pulled it up toward my eyes to look at it again, scanning over the contents quickly. Wet T-shirt contest, Gill’s Bar and Grill, South Main Street, High Noon…