Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“You hope. Although, I don’t know if you should be so quick to pass on a grunt session with Mr. Lockwood. I’d grunt with him any night of the week.”
I rolled my eyes. “Still? You have had a chance to see this guy in action for two weeks and you still haven’t been put off yet?”
Elizabeth was about to pop a cracker with some spread on it in her mouth and paused, eying me. “Really? You think seeing him for an extended period of time is going to make me want to ride his serpent less? Are you sure you’re human?”
I sighed. “I meant with the whole toxic personality thing. It doesn’t make him less attractive to you?”
“I wouldn’t say his personality is toxic,” she said carefully. We began walking toward the gallery doors together. “He’s just… troubled. And serious. Honestly, it just makes me want to get closer so I can help him heal. With the power of my pussy.”
I snorted. “I don’t think there is a vagina in this world that could heal that man.”
“Don’t underestimate my pussy, Darcy. But in all seriousness, I am actually thinking I’d rather bonk one of the other two. That Tristan one is interesting. I think he could probably throw me a solid five to six feet away. And Marcus, he–”
“Wait.” I pushed open the doors for Elizabeth, following her inside the gallery. The walls were lined with impressionistic art and people studying the pieces with drinks in hand. “What does him throwing you have to do with anything?”
“Oh. I have this rule. If a guy can throw me three feet, I ignore three red flags. Four feet means four flags, and so on. I think Tristan could throw me super far, so there’s really no amount of red flagging to scare me off him.”
I stopped in the hall, staring at her. “The scary thing is I’m pretty sure you’re serious.”
“I am. And don’t look at me like that. I never said I’d marry the guy. I just mean I’d let him smash. Do you want to be in the retirement home some day thinking of all the fine men you passed on?”
“To be honest, that wasn’t one of my top concerns going into retirement.”
She gave my forehead a little flick. I cursed at her and rubbed the spot. “Well start thinking about it, Darcy. When our vaginas hang it up for good, I want us to both be able to look back and say we fucked without mercy and without reservation.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t need to be able to say that.”
“Your loss.” She shrugged.
I spotted my sister, Eloise. She had on paint stained, baggy beige pants and an oversized smock of a t-shirt. Her red hair was a mess and part of her bangs were caked to her temple with a mix of red and blue paint. “Darcy!” she shouted, rushing over to crash into me with a hard hug.
“Hey,” I said, smiling.
“I’m so glad you came.”
“You know I don’t ever miss these things.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be glad. And you brought Elizabeth!” She hugged Elizabeth next, who patted her awkwardly on the back.
My little sister was… enthusiastic. It was endearing to me and I loved the heck out of her, but it also made me feel like I needed to keep a constant watch on her. Without regular supervision, she had a tendency to get roped into all sorts of questionable situations. She was nineteen, pretty enough to draw all the wrong attention, and incredibly talented. A few times a week, she brought her guitar to coffee shops and got paid well to sing and play. When she wasn’t doing music, she was making art. I didn’t exactly understand her style when it came to art, but I did my best to support her as much as I could.
“You guys need to meet Basil.”
“Oh, we’ve met,” Elizabeth said. “I like him on my pizza. Sometimes if I’m feely saucy I’ll even sprinkle him on my pasta.”
Eloise scrunched up her freckled nose, shaking her head. “No, silly. Basil. He’s my boyfriend. We met at this concert under a bridge a few days ago. He’s amazing.”
“You met this guy under a bridge?” I asked slowly. “Kind of like a troll?”
“His name is Basil?” Elizabeth asked. “Is his dad’s name Herb? Son of Berry Bush?”
I tried not to smile as I subtly gave Elizabeth’s ankle a kick. She shot me a guilty, but amused look.
“I haven’t met his parents yet,” Eloise said, either ignoring or brushing off Elizabeth’s jokes. “Come on, I’ll introduce you two.”
We followed Eloise through the hallway. A few people stopped her to compliment her work. She beamed, thanking them before drifting onwards. We ended up in a darkened, circular room with black and white paintings lit by aggressive overhead spotlights. Each piece reminded me of nightmares and bones. The images were skulls and indistinct shapes that all seemed somehow tortured and surreal.