Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
I mean . . . I am only listening to Blake, and maybe he’s biased.
Shit.
I glance down at my feet. Maybe I should have gotten a pedicure. I text Blake.
No sales yet.
Maybe I should have painted my toenails red?
I wait for Blake’s reply, but it doesn’t come, which isn’t surprising. He doesn’t have his phone on him through the day at work.
Damn it, why does he have to be so diligent?
I check my phone again.
Sales: 0
Hurry up and call me back, Blake.
Gah . . . I can hardly wait to speak to him. What if I’ve done the profile wrong or something? I glance back at my feet once more. Tonight I’m going to up my game, get really inventive.
These perverted sick fucks want to get nasty . . . so will I.
Maybe I should do some research on Google to see what kind of fetish pictures people actually want. My eyes float to the other people at the lunch table. Not here, though.
Tonight . . .
I can’t mess this up. I need extra income . . . and fast. I refuse to touch the joint bank account ever again, and the bills are beginning to pile up.
Damn it, what if I never sell a single photo?
No, I can’t think like that. I have to be optimistic.
Blake will know what to do. I feel like driving to the children’s hospital and paging him to the front counter for an emergency consultation.
Of course, I have a stupid staff development meeting tonight, and I won’t be home until late.
I check again.
Sales: 0
I stuff my phone into my handbag and bite into my apple.
Turns out that living a double life as a camgirl isn’t as glamorous or profitable as one would think.
Blake
It’s 7:00 p.m. I pour myself a beer, take a seat at my computer, and plug in the flash drive. I have to admit that I, too, have been thinking about this all day, since Ant reminded me. I’m truly fascinated as to who could have written the stuff on this flash drive.
The screen lights up, and I scroll down as I read the contents. There are lists and stories. I frown as I keep going through it; this appears to be some kind of backup.
I scroll much farther down this time as I look for some kind of clue.
Author Nooky Nights
I frown. Nooky? Who would give themselves a pen name of Nooky Nights . . . whoever wrote this is a confirmed fucking weirdo.
The door opens, and Henley and Antony appear. “Are we on?” Hen asks.
“Yeah.” I keep scrolling down.
They both pull up a chair and sit behind me as I scroll through the screens.
“Any idea who yet?” Henley asks as he grabs him and Ant a beer from my fridge.
“Their author name is Nooky Nights,” I tell them.
“Nooky Nights?” Henley frowns.
“I like it.” Antony opens his can of beer. “Catchy.”
“So do you think the person who lost this is freaking out?” Henley asks.
“About what?”
“Losing all their work.”
“I think it would just be a backup, right?” I shrug. “They maybe don’t even know it’s lost.”
We read on.
Titles releasing:
Fisting Frenzy
My eyes widen.
“Fisting Frenzy!” Henley chokes on his beer.
“What the fuck?” Antony leans in to take a closer look. “What the fuck is a fisting frenzy?”
“Something that is one hundred percent never happening to me.” I wince as I get a bad visual.
Creamy and Wet
“Although . . .” My eyebrow rises. “I do like the sound of this one. Creamy and wet is my favorite two-word combination.”
I hear a car, and I glance out through the curtains to see Rebecca arriving home. She’s home late tonight. I keep scrolling.
The Daddy Swap
“The Daddy Swap . . . what the actual . . .” Henley erupts into laughter.
“So it’s a woman,” I think out loud.
“What makes you say that?” Antony asks.
“Daddy is a term females use; no man is thinking hot things about daddies.”
“Facts,” Henley agrees.
“Unless he’s gay, and then I’m thinking that daddy swapping would be goals.”
I screw up my face in disgust as a new, more disturbing visual comes through. “If you ever think about my father, I’ll murder you.”
“I’ll murder myself first, don’t worry,” Henley utters dryly. “Nobody is that desperate.”
“My father is way above average,” I scoff. “You’d be lucky to look half as good as him at his age.”
“If you say so.” Henley widens his eyes, and Ant chuckles.
Count Lazarus
“Count Lazarus, what’s this one about?”
We read on.
Bang, bang, bang. The knock is desperate, a haunting sound. Filled with terror and fear.
I can hear them coming. Their war cry echoes from the surrounding buildings.
“Witch. Witch. Witch,” they yell.
Carrying flaming torches, they march through the town in search of their next victim.
“Freya.” The door bangs again. “Run, Freya. Run. They’re coming for you.”
“Run, Constance,” I yell through the door. “Save yourself.”
Constance is my younger sister; she needs to get out of here, or they will kill her too.