Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
I reach down with one hand to undo the buckle on my belt, and then her hands join in, ripping at the leather until it releases from the metal that holds it.
I kiss her neck and her chest and rub a hand over her breast as she arches into me, moaning loudly as I skim my other hand down her hip and into her pants to feel between her legs.
She’s wet and hot and smooth, and a fiery rod inserts itself in my spine. God, I need her so badly.
Frantic for more skin-to-skin contact, she grabs for the hem of her shirt and starts to lift it over her head, only to freeze when a flash of headlights passes over the house to our right.
Fuck. “Breezy is home,” I manage raggedly.
“Oh my God.” Norah groans, and her head falls to the blanket-covered ground with a thud. I know exactly how she feels.
Sad, anxious, and completely unsatisfied.
“Bennett, I’m running out of bookmarks,” she whispers as I help her cover up, and a quiet laugh finds its way out of my lungs.
Tell me about it, sweetheart.
Once we’re both dressed and finished cleaning up, I look up to Cassiopeia and pray for a good day tomorrow.
If all is to go well, we’re going to need cooperative friends and family, good weather, a good day for Summer, and if I press my luck, maybe I’ll get to see someone else’s skirt around her shoulders.
Tuesday, August 31st
Norah
“Norah, I mean this with the most love I can muster…but what in the fuck were you thinking?”
Josie’s hands shake, and her chest is a tie-dyed mess of mottled red. When I woke her up this morning to get her help with final touches for the “big wedding,” I kept one of the most obvious details to myself—Josie Ellis, you see, is the bride-to-be in this whole shindig.
As it turns out, a wedding is one of those events that’s hard to just “throw.” You need a bride and a groom and guests. I briefly considered having Bennett and me pretend to be the ones completing our nuptials, but the implications of a dying girl’s father getting married to a woman he just met pushed my moral envelope just a little too far.
Josie looks down at the New York-thrifted dress I snagged from one of the boxes I hadn’t unpacked and fast-talked her into wearing—a white silk A-line with bright pink flowers stitched into the hemline—and glares lasers at me. I suppose, maybe, that when we left the house this morning, she thought she’d be attending as a guest like the rest of us.
“I was thinking that there’s a sad, scared, sick little girl who wants with all of her heart to see a wedding take place today, even if it’s fake, and I hardly know anyone here, so I figured you could play the bride.”
“Oh. I see. You just thought I could play the bride. To Clay’s groom. Are you insane?”
I wince. “Well, technically, Bennett and I did not confer on our choices for bride and groom, but now that it’s happening, I suppose it makes sense, given their friendship and all.”
This afternoon, when I saw Clay wearing the groom tux I rented, I realized my faux pas. But seeing as I’ve got a crowd of people and an excited Summer all dressed up and waiting for this wedding to start, it’s a little too late to fix it.
“I already married that man once, and it didn’t end well,” Josie snaps. “I’d have to be round the actual bend to do it again!”
“It’s not real, Jose,” I try to reassure her. “Breezy found some fake officiant on the internet. It’s not like you’re actually marrying him. This is no more serious than a young girl playing dress-up in her closet.”
Josie growls and stomps a foot. I stand there waiting, my eyes wide, hoping she doesn’t punch me in the face. Thankfully, her anger is channeled into ripping the bouquet donated by Fran’s Florals from my hands. “You owe me so big. So, so big, I can’t even think of the size right now. But it’s going to be huge. Bigger than this whole damn continent, do you hear me?”
I nod, soundlessly, afraid any other strategy will end in my death. I still don’t know what happened between her and Clay, but I sure as shit know now isn’t the time to try to find out. This is damage-control time, and my only priority is getting this fake bride down the aisle without her scratching my eyes out in the process.
“Let’s get this over with,” she grumbles then, turning to face the aisle and shooing me out from behind the curtain of the tent Breezy and Earl set up last night in the town square. Thanks to her shove, I trip on the material and end up wheeling and winding into the aisle like a drunk Jack Sparrow.