Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 73170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
She looks over her shoulder and tucks her hair behind her ears, eyeballing the weapons. “Gotcha,” she says and turns back to the food.
Fuck, she looks good in my trailer, in my shirt, at my kitchen counter.
I go into the bathroom and turn the shower on.
Her toothbrush, hairbrush, and a hair tie sit on the counter. There’s a bottle of woman’s face wash beside the tap.
In my shower there’s a giant purple netted shower sponge thing and four more bottles of girl shit taking up room on the shelf.
She’s made herself at home here.
I spot myself in the mirror. Fuck sakes. I look worse than a jacked-up Hannibal Lecter. I take the muzzle off and hang it on the hook on the back of the door, drop the sweatpants, load my toothbrush up with her cinnamon toothpaste, and get into the shower.
I need this. Hot water. Soap. The toothbrush. A minute alone outside that damp, dusty cage.
***
I step into the bedroom and it’s full of her stuff. She’s made the bed with the new bedding I bought. There’s another hair tie and a beer bottle on the nightstand. There’s a tall basket of her clean clothes on the floor. There’s a small, rumpled pile of her clothes from yesterday on the dresser.
I pull on a clean pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt then reach into the wardrobe and grab a sleeping bag before tagging one of the two pillows on the bed. I don’t bother to resist putting it to my nose and taking in her scent.
She watches me do this from her spot at the kitchen table where she sits with a perfect view of my idiocy. She’s smiling. She looks happy.
Fuck me.
I set everything on the bed and open the bathroom door again to grab the muzzle and hang my damp towel on the hook.
She’s got a plate of food in front of her, and she’s set the place across from herself with another plate of food that smells delicious. And a beer for each of us.
“I’ll take it out there,” I tell her.
“You feel like you’re about to shift against your will?” she asks.
“Not this second, but –”
“Then sit with me. Eat.”
I huff out annoyance.
She lifts her fork and takes a bite. “Mm.”
She did that on purpose. Trying to tempt me with the food, with that sound from her lips. This vixen is gonna do nothing but tempt me. Until it goes too far.
I grab the shit from the bed and carry the sleeping bag, the pillow, and the muzzle out to the bunker.
She steps in, holding two plates of food in hand. She sets them on a wall shelf and walks off before she returns with my two folding lawn chairs that have built-in side tables. She sets them up and puts the food on the side tables. She leaves and comes back with the two beers.
“It’s getting cold,” she says. “And since I just made however many trips, I’m not making another one to warm it back up. Come eat.”
“Woman…”
“Come. Eat.”
“Go get the fucking weapons,” I order.
Fire hits her eyes.
“I’ll do it,” I amend.
When back, I’m beyond irritated, but not feeling like I’m about to shift so I sit down in the empty chair and dig into the food.
Fuck, I’m hungry. And it’s pretty damn good, too. So is the ice-cold beer.
Fifteen minutes later, she gets up and goes out, taking both our empty plates with her. And I’m thinking about the beef stew she mentioned. The chili.
“I could eat another plate of that,” I call out.
“Comin’ right up,” she replies, looking over her shoulder. “But you can pay me back.”
I wait, frowning.
“After you eat your seconds, you start the fire,” she says.
“Fire?”
“Campfire,” she clarifies before she heads back into the trailer.
Fuck, this little brat.
15
CICELY
We don’t talk while he eats his second plate of food. He doesn’t scarf it down like the first; he’s enjoying it.
I sit in the other lawn chair a few feet away, peeling the label from the beer bottle, and even with all the drama between us, it feels like companionable silence.
I’ve never been the sort who needs to fill every silent moment with something. I like quiet. I like listening to nature. I can do television, movies, and screen time, but I can also stare at the sky for hours on end without growing bored.
Suddenly it’s raining hard, and I like that too. The sound. The smell. But after a few minutes of listening to it, I complain.
“So much for a campfire.”
He makes a non-committal sound as he takes his final bite.
“The fake fireplace built into the wall in the camper will do for tonight,” I say. “Shall we?” I get to my feet.
He rolls his eyes and moves back to the wall where he’s now given himself the basic comfort of the sleeping bag and pillow.