Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Prescott’s hand lands on my shoulder. “You’ll be with us when you can.”
“Okay, on a scale of one to illegal, how bad would it be if I put sleeping pills in their dinners?”
When they both only blink at me, I hold up my hands.
“Okay, okay, bad idea. I guess I’ll see you when I can get away, then, since you won’t let me drug people.”
“How dare we keep you out of prison!” Kit cries.
“I was going to make them go to sleep early, not poison them. Geez. Calm down.” I throw back on my layers, but apparently, there’s not enough of them for Prescott.
“How are you not cold?”
I shove my foot into my shoe. “Grew up in Chicago, remember? Also, I’m going into my second winter in New York. I’m reacclimated to the cold.”
“Next meetup is somewhere like Florida again,” Prescott says.
I love that there’s no question in his tone. There is going to be a next time.
I shouldn’t have it in my head that one of them is going to end it because that anxiety of it being possibly the last time always plays in the back of my mind and puts a dark cloud over the fondest of memories of us being together.
“Sounds good. And when I get back later tonight and you two oldies are ready to get it up again, I’m thinking we should update our photo albums.”
Both their brows scrunch in confusion.
“I need more photos of you guys in compromising positions. The ones you sent from your meetup last month have already worn out my spank bank quota. They’re still hot, for sure, but I need more.”
Prescott looks at Kit. “Maybe the sleeping pills aren’t a bad idea.”
“Woohoo, two against one. I win.” I stand upright and kiss them both on the lips softly. “I’ll be back soon.”
Kit’s voice follows after me. “I don’t actually have to tell you not to drug them, do I? Prescott was joking!”
“I know I shouldn’t. Does that count?”
Kit looks genuinely worried while Prescott tries to cover a smirk.
“Fine. No drugging. That’ll give you guys more time to recover anyway.” I leave with a spring in my step as I make my way back to one of the cabins at the back of the property. It’s a two-bedroom. Kelley has the master, while I share twin beds in a room with Thad.
Ugh. Thad.
Thad’s a recent graduate from Olmstead University in New York and occupier of the neighboring cubicle to mine back in the office. He’s six feet of tattooed, bitter ex-baseball player, and I don’t even know if he wants this job. Others would kill for his position, but in his defense, his number one dream was making it to the majors, and it’s only been a couple of months that he’s had to deal with that loss.
I grab firewood from the box outside our cabin so it looks like I actually did something while I’ve been gone and head inside. “I’m back.”
Thad enters from the kitchen area and mouths, “Help me.”
I drop the firewood and rush into the kitchen to find Kelley pacing back and forth. “What’s going on?” I ask.
“Have you seen everything that’s being said online about me?”
I glare at Thad. “How did he get access to the internet? We took his phone.”
“You didn’t take his,” Kelley says and points to Thad.
“You also asked if you could use it to look up a recipe, not go on social media!” Thad yells.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Thad, why don’t you get started on dinner, and Kelley, you’re coming with me.”
“Where?” Kelley asks.
“For a walk. The cold air might shock your system and get you to come back from the brink of a panic attack.”
Babysitting therapist mode activated. All the tension that Kit and Prescott fucked out of me is back.
Kelley’s so out of it he doesn’t even grab his coat to go outside.
I chase after him with a coat, scarf, and beanie. “Jesus, Kel, wait up.”
He slows, and I hand him his things. Once he’s wrapped up and no longer risking hypothermia, we stroll in the opposite direction of Kit and Prescott’s cabin. I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate on this conversation we need to have if I’m thinking about them.
I need to compartmentalize.
“Calmed down a bit yet?”
“No. Straight people never have to put up with this, and it sucks.”
“I beg to differ.” I take out my phone and open the cesspool that is social media and read. “Liam Johnson needs some glasses if he can’t even hit a ball pitched by Ben Michaels who throws like a girl. They’re both pussies.” I find another. “Henry Williams is a piece of shit. Ooh, this one doesn’t even say why. Go, Henry.”
“That first one was insulting their games not who they have in their beds. And the second one is right. Henry Williams is a piece of shit.”