Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I have no idea why people say that having crazy things happen to you is fun. You know what I would really like? A boring life. What’s so wrong with just being a regular guy? I suppose I wouldn’t be on this farm if I were, though, because I would never have made enough money to afford it, so there’s that. What I should really ask is why can’t my family be more normal? Just lesser marital expectations and everything would be fine.
As it is, you know what’s crazy? This whole fucking thing. That’s what. And it’s not fun. Not one bit.
“Fine. You can have that shower. And maybe some water too. But then you have to leave.”
She manages to hide her triumph. “Does it come from the dugout?”
“What?” I ask, frowning.
“The water.”
“No. From a well.”
“Oh, okay. In that case, I’d love to take you up on your offer.”
It’s hardly an offer if it’s forced.
This whole thing is getting more and more bizarre. Weirder and weirder. Crazier and crazier.
You know what else is crazy?
The fact that forty-five minutes after I put a fresh set of my clothes outside the bathroom door, I realize I don’t hear the water running anymore, even though from the living room, I’ll hear it. There’s no shortage of noises in an old farmhouse.
I push up from the faded floral couch that was left here—one man’s trash is another man’s trash—but without a welding tool and a cutting torch or maybe some kind of metal-destroying device that goes way beyond a grinder, I can’t get it out of here.
I go on a treasure hunt through the house, and it leads me down the hall from the empty bathroom—still steamy from all the hot water no doubt used up—past a pile of dusty, muddy-looking clothes and those scary ruined flip-flops, then down the hall to my open bedroom door. It’s the first room right off the bathroom, and guess who is sprawled out on it, fast asleep and wearing my clothes? Yup. My out-of-the-blue betrothed. In my freaking bed. Never mind that there’s only one bedroom with an actual bed in the whole house.
She looks all sweet and innocent asleep, her hair still soaked and scattered around her head and shoulders. She’s on her stomach, and there’s no way I’m checking anything else out. I definitely don’t notice how petite and sweet she looks swimming in my T-shirt and workout shorts. Like a damsel from one of those stories.
The kind with happy endings.
This one won’t have one of those. A satisfying ending, maybe. An ending where I call a tow truck because this isn’t a story, and I’m not a complete ogre or a villain, not even an anti-hero, and I get the city princess a tow right out of my life. But she can sleep until then. An hour won’t hurt anyone. After that, she will have to leave, and I’ll be left perfectly and utterly alone.
Which is exactly what I want to be.
CHAPTER 5
Nina
Shit in a box, where the hang am I?
I jerk awake in a big hurry. I sit upright in a bed I don’t recognize and give a panicked look around a room that’s also not mine. There’s a big clunk outside, then an echo of male voices, and all the shit in all the boxes, that’s right. I’m here. In the middle of bum-bum nowhere, trying to fix the messiest of all messes. Or as it’s also known, my life.
Our lives.
My betrothed has a part in this too.
Scrambling to the window, I peek through the blinds. The farmhouse is adorable with old floorboards, ancient radiators, thick wood doors with metal and glass knobs, a shower from another lifetime, a small little kitchen with one of those farmhouse sinks, and antiques galore. If this place were in New York, it would cost a fortune. It has the kind of weathered and worn-in look that people spend so much time and money trying to replicate. The place smells like a bachelor pad, but that’s a downside I can easily overlook, seeing as it’s not my place. It doesn’t matter if the blinds are metal and kind of ugly or if they are cute, frilly lace curtains like the curtains in all the farmhouses from my imagination. This one doesn’t have any curtains. I’m fairly certain the only window coverings are the blinds on this window in the bedroom.
A quick glance through the metal slats shows me a tow truck and my car. The big clunk must have been the poor thing getting lowered back down to the ground.
Thaddius is out there, standing next to some burly, flannel-and-denim-clad giant. He looks so freaking satisfied, and there is a huge grin across his face.
Wait. They didn’t lower the car. It’s still attached to the tow truck.
Thaddius didn’t get the car towed here. He’s getting it towed out of here.