Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 212458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1062(@200wpm)___ 850(@250wpm)___ 708(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 212458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1062(@200wpm)___ 850(@250wpm)___ 708(@300wpm)
So, whatsyerface – err,
Let’s try that again.
Rick, so, bad news. I was mugged.
No. Bad idea. If I have to report it to the cops for insurance purposes, I’d have to lie, and insurance fraud is a serious thing. Scratch that. I don’t look bad in orange, I’ve got some great orange suede booties in fact, but I’m not down with wearing an orange jumpsuit.
I could blame the cops because they refused, last night, to do anything about the fact she’s gone missing again. And anyone who knows me knows I wouldn’t just sit back and do nothing.
Hey Rick! Omigod! You’re not going to believe this. The cops wouldn’t help me find Ivy who got kidnapped, so I ran to rescue her, and I did, long story, but yada yada yada – and my engagement ring was just... gone.
Rick would definitely expect a yada yada elaboration.
And subsequent fallout – I’d be expected to update the cops, so they could go after Ivy’s abductors, and I’d never be believed. Ivy would have trouble backing me up – she’s a shit liar. I can’t exactly recount the story of what actually happened.
Oh, Dude… sorry, but while I was off trying to find and rescue my sister, this gorgeous man walked up to me and then uttered my name like it was the most beautiful word in the dictionary before he ravished me in a movie-worthy kiss and stole me, had sex with me, bit my neck, and now we’re married in the biblical sense, which the shapeshifter says is as good as the regular legal sense. But don’t be mad, it’s because of magic my aunt paid for. So, really, it’s not my fault. P.S. He threw your ring away while he consummated our mystical marriage.
Yeah… no matter how I tackle it, this will be complicated. Maybe I’ll just say I lost it. It was a little loose on my finger to begin with so it’s not implausible that I’d lose it.
I’m not someone who lies intentionally, not unless it’s absolutely necessary, and mostly I tell everyone else the truth and just lie to myself.
If my lies lead to involving the cops though, it could become a bit of a circus.
But the threat of that – I’m thinking it’s something that could actually get Ivy’s kidnapper to let her go. And that’s pretty much my plan. Get out of here and then call that gas station or Savage Construction again to threaten that I’ll tell the cops on them if they don’t produce her and let us walk away. And their fear of that might mean I don’t actually have to tell the cops anything (thereby risking getting sent to the psychiatric ward).
Ivy and I can then brainstorm; figure out what to tell Rick that might actually be plausible. I don’t know – this is all I can think of right now, so it’s decided. I’ll get out of here now and figure the rest out later.
Though if they call my bluff and I do have to call the cops, not only would the cops swarm this area, but the equivalent to the X-Files cast will probably show up too. And possibly the cast of Supernatural.
Dean and Sam. Mm. Dean is a little reminiscent of Mason, isn’t he? Yeah, kind of.
I drift into another daze remembering those hands on me, his dark eyes looking deep into mine, and when I realize I’ve been standing too long, I spring into action and dry my hands on a lush sand-colored towel. This guy not only has it going on with the sex god skills, but this crazily familiar house is also an absolute dream with good towels.
Enough thinking about Mason, The Shapeshifter Sex God. He’s too good to be true and this is not true – it’s voodoo. Time to vamoose.
Yeah, the Supernatural and X-Files guys won’t be here, instead there’ll be men in white coats coming to take me away (haha, hoho…) God, me and my internal thoughts today!
I slowly, carefully turn the door handle with my right hand, then gingerly open the door and step out, boots in my left hand. Immediately, I slam into a wall of hot, naked muscle.
Mason Quinn is wearing nothing but a sexy glimmer in those eyes.
My eyes rove down the muscled chest in front of me and freeze on the thick, veined, and erect penis. My eyes reverse, traveling back up, up, up, until our eyes meet. He’s at least five or maybe even six inches taller than Whatshisface.
“How ‘bout a shower, Mrs. Quinn?” He wraps his arms around me and begins backing me up.
Duh, what?
I shake my head. “Uh, Brennan. And no… I’m good. You go ahead.”
He smiles.
“Hell yeah, you are. You’ve got my scent all over you.”
My face burns hot.
“Come with me,” he says, grabbing my hands and dropping kisses on the left, then the right one as my boots clunk to the floor.