Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” I scream, positive I’m holding Monica in the palm of my hand, but as I unclench my eyes and risk glancing down, I find Monica practically glowing and looking like the smoothest bitch who ever lived.
“Ooooh, you look nice,” I tell my kitty, leaning down as far as I can to inspect the goodies. I’ll have to do a second round on this patch to catch the stragglers, but beggars can’t be choosers, and for an amateur, I think I’m doing alright.
Reaching back to the wax, I scoop another dollop onto the applicator before foolishly allowing a wave of confidence to stir within me. I can do this. The lips are the worst part and, so far, Monica survived. She’s a little red and patchy, but if she can do it, so can Rachel.
I take a quick glance at my phone as I begin to slather the wax, making sure I’m getting all those hard-to-reach places, and after dropping the applicator back into the wax, I prepare for pull number two.
This shouldn’t be so bad. I’ve avoided most of the sensitive areas. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
“One,” I say with a shaky breath, feeling my palms start to sweat. “Two . . . Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.” I clench my jaw—as if that will somehow help me gather every last ounce of courage—and give a battle cry as I finish my countdown. “THREE!”
Holding the skin tight, I go for gold, tearing that motherfucker right off, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find I was definitely over-estimating just how bad that was going to hurt. That one wasn’t completely horrible.
Glancing down, I inspect my handiwork.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
Maybe I’m wasting my time working toward this psychology degree. I should have gone to beauty school instead. I would have killed it. Seems I have quite the gift for ripping hair out of my skin follicles. Not to mention, I now have the perfect visual of the tiny heart tattoo that lives rent-free low on my pelvis with the words Eat, Pray, Love written in perfect cursive inside.
Feeling that newfound confidence settle in for the long haul, I go to reach for the applicator again when something moving across my phone catches my eye. My brows furrow seeing the little like symbol floating across the screen, quickly followed by another.
Hold the fuck up.
What the hell is that?
“Tilly!” I hear my best friend and roommate screaming from within our small apartment, quickly followed by the sound of thundering steps racing toward our little bathroom. “STOP. STOP. YOU NEED TO STOP!”
“Huh?” I call out.
The door barges open, and Chloe barrels into the bathroom before I even get a chance to cover my half-waxed pussy. “YOU’RE LIVESTREAMING!”
“WHAT?”
My gaze shoots back to my phone, the little likes quickly doubling and then tripling as comments appear on the screen. “OH FUCK!”
Chloe lunges for my phone as I scramble to cover Phoebe, Monica, and Rachel. “No. No, no, no, no, no,” I begin to chant, reaching for the closest towel and wrangling it around my exposed cooch. “Tell me this isn’t happening?”
Chloe struggles to maintain her composure, desperately swallowing her laughs. “Well,” she starts, looking down at my phone. “That’s one way to put yourself out there. I always knew you had a giant set of balls on you, but I never could have imagined they were that big.”
I roll my eyes, feeling the heat burning in my cheeks. “How bad is it?”
“Not bad,” Chloe says, studiously avoiding my eye. “There were only forty—”
“Oh, thank God,” I sigh, cutting her off as I let out a relieved breath.
“Thousand,” she finishes.
My eyes bulge out of my head, and I gape at my best friend. “The fuck did you just say? Forty thousand? As in forty thousand people just saw me slather hot wax over my cooch and have a panic attack while tearing the fucker off?”
My knees go weak, and I crumble against the bathroom wall. “Holy fucking shit. This is not happening. I’ll have to go into hiding. Change my name. Dye my hair. I could pull off red, right?”
Chloe laughs. “You most definitely cannot pull off red. Maybe blonde, but that’s a lot of upkeep, and you and I both know that you don’t have the patience for that.”
“Shit.”
“It’s fine,” Chloe says. “It’s not like we really saw your face. Just your other . . . defining features. No one will even know it was you. Apart from . . . you know, those who do. But for what it’s worth, the lighting and angle of the camera really made for pleasant viewing. Despite the obvious need of a wax, you have quite a marvelous undercarriage.”
I groan and give her a blank stare.
“I’m just saying. If child psychology doesn’t work out for you, you could definitely have a thriving career in porn. There’s nothing quite like a pretty kitty to rake in the dollars.”