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)
Ah, yep. There it is.
March 16th and 17th.
I didn’t know how I was going to break it to my sweet wife, but this contest had already happened. Seven fucking months ago.
Ready to smugly deliver the news, I looked up from the paper and into her bright-blue eyes again.
Only, once focused, all I could see there was a swirling mix of emotions and hormones and desperation that just about broke my damn heart. I couldn’t tell her this thing didn’t exist right now any more than I could tell her no when she’d wanted to try swinging from our headboard and doing an Olympic dive onto my dick last week. And let me tell you, that hadn’t been a good idea. I’d had to ice my dick and balls for twenty-four hours solid just to feel a semblance of normalcy again.
“Where did you get this?” I asked instead, shaking the paper between us meaningfully.
She shrugged. “It was on a brick wall in one of the alleys next to the hotel.”
Yeah, that made sense.
“All right, then. Lead the way, I guess.” I glanced at my watch. “Seems to me we’ve got about twenty minutes to get there.”
“Really?” she asked, happily bouncing on the tips of her toes like a little freaking kid.
I nodded. “Really. Let’s go.” After we got there and found out the contest had long since passed, maybe we could focus on the chicken wings. I was fucking starving after all.
Cassie turned then and practically ran the rest of the block to the big, green neon sign that read Gill’s.
It looked like an Irish-style pub, so I could only hope that after I found some way to break the news of our late arrival for the contest, they would be able to console us both with some good food.
Cassie smiled back at me and pushed open the door to the pub as fast as she could manage. It swung back and banged into the wall of the entry hallway, and the man behind the bar in the main dining room jumped at our wild entry.
I doubted if he saw much of anyone this time of year, much less a woman who looked so damn enthusiastic to be there and her extremely large companion dressed like King Kong had just pledged Kappa Beta.
I jerked up my chin in the universal guy sign for hello, and Cassie power walked her way straight toward him with a smile on her face.
“We’re here for the contest,” she proclaimed cheerfully, making me wince a little bit. Maybe I should have told her before we got here.
“Contest?” the salt-and-pepper-haired bartender asked with a lift of his brow. “What contest, sweetheart?”
I rolled my eyes at his use of an endearment with my wife, but before I could open my mouth to correct anyone, Cassie snatched the paper out of my hands and held it out to him. “The wet T-shirt contest. See, you advertised for it right here.”
Old Pepper took the paper and studied it closely for a moment before frowning. “This paper’s from March, darlin’. We don’t have any of this shit going on right now. As you can see,” he continued and pointedly glanced around the very empty pub, “there’s not much of anything going on right now. It’s October. All the tourist excitement won’t start up again until spring.”
Like lightning, Cassie’s smile turned upside down into a sad, mopey little expression that made my chest deflate. I scowled at the guy, annoyed that he’d been so blunt while breaking the news. She’d hung her hopes and dreams on this thing, and he’d fucking crushed them without a care in the world.
Well, screw that. If my wife wanted a wet T-shirt contest, I was going to give her one.
“How about we just set up our own contest?” I suggested, hitting Pepper with the hard stare. “So what if there’s only one contestant. You want a contest, baby. You’re gonna get one.”
“Really?” Cassie cried, turning around and launching herself toward me. “You mean it?”
I nodded. “What my wife wants, my wife gets.”
Pepper looked Cassie up and down, seemingly noticing for the first time just how hot my wife was. I scowled harder, but he didn’t pay me any mind.
Which was pretty fucking ballsy of him, to be honest. It wasn’t like I was a little fucking guy. I towered over him by a mile, and with one fist to his face, I could ensure that he never served another customer at Gill’s bar again.
Still, I didn’t need to get so irrationally jealous. Not every man could handle a woman like Cassie, and I knew it. The two of us were kindred spirits, meant for each other. She’d chop off that guy’s dick all on her own if he tried something funny with her.
“I can set up a playlist and some water jugs for you if you want, darlin’. Won’t bother me a bit if you want to get a l’il wild and crazy.”