Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 66993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“Because you're the cheapest man alive and do your best to get panties without spending money.”
“Sex shouldn't have a price on it. Only shoes and other important things.”
“This from a guy who sleeps with an average of two women a day.”
“Only on the weekends.”
“Man whore.”
“You're one to talk, sweetie.” He winked at me.
“Oh, go back to being scared and pacing,” I lifted it out of the box. “Well, hello clitoria.”
Did the Dragon give every woman a vagina flower?
I grinned. “These are by far two of the most interesting gifts I’ve ever received from a man. A vagina flower and fantasy book. I don’t know if I should be disgusted, impressed, or freaked out by them.”
“Confusion and humor were probably his intention. Put it on my balcony so it can get some sun tomorrow. We don’t want your clit to wither away and die.”
“Very funny.”
“Also, make sure to keep your clit wet and feed it as much as possible.”
“Ha-ha.” I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, this plant is going to provide me with many jokes during your stay. Now, put your blooming clit on my balcony.”
“Would you stop it? And you don’t have a balcony. You have a little place outside with barely enough room to put a plant and maybe a coke while you lean your head outside to catch some sun.” I carried my flowery vagina to his balcony which was barely three feet wide and long.
According to Zo, his tiny balcony was one of the biggest ones on this side of the district.
Insanity.
“You’re just so jealous that I live here,” he laughed.
“I actually am, even though the living space sucks in this city. I thought New York was horrible until I came here.”
Zo turned on all the lights. “Back to the gifts. You’ll have to give Kenji something of equal value.”
“So, a book about tigers that knee men and a plant that looks like a penis.”
“You better not! You’re now in his good grace, which means no one will die.” Zo clapped. “We can look in my closet for something. I have a case of good whiskey that I smuggled over. I’ll give you a bottle and maybe. . .we can give him a nice tie. I already saw that he has exquisite taste.”
I opened the glass door and set my plant on the ground.
Moonlight gleamed on the petals.
A chilly breeze wisped by but the flower seemed fine.
Cars passed below and even a few people traveled the sidewalks.
Then suddenly this creeping sensation came over my body as if someone had their gaze pinned on me. It crawled up the back of my neck, making the hairs stand straight.
My body responded before my mind could. Shoulders tensed. Breath hitched. My hand hovered protectively near my thigh.
Is someone out there looking at me?
I leaned over the edge of the balcony and scanned the street below. The wind ghosted across my legs like a warning, and still, my gaze combed the shadows.
Nothing crazy.
Just another car rolling by.
A man lighting a cigarette as he walked his dog.
No one looking up or standing still.
Still, the unease lingered.
Very odd.
I stepped back, slid the balcony door shut, and locked it.
Zo watched me head back, “everything okay? You look freaked out.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Zo tilted his head. “What else did he want? The person said something about signing something.”
“It was a message talking about a date at eight tomorrow.”
“Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Me either.”
“What did you say?”
“Yes. Of course. I want to make sure we’re cool so you don’t have to be terrified here.”
“Thank you very much. I love being able to live without fear.”
“Yeah, I figured that.”
“I’m dressing you for this date.”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
“Statement. I can’t trust you to dress yourself for something so important. Besides, I know what men like to see.”
I’d met Zo at eighteen years old while sitting in the green room of the Good Morning America show.
A trashcan sat in front of me.
I’d vomited in it twice.
The whole time, Zo sat across from me, holding a napkin to his nose and widening his eyes in fear. By the time I threw up for the last time, he gave up and asked me what the hell my problem was.
I’d confessed that I was nervous.
He looked me up and down and admitted that I should be worried to go out in front of cameras in the outfit that I’d chosen.
To say my anxiety left after his announcement was a huge lie.
However, he rescued me—rushing off to the show’s dressing rooms, convincing some stylist to loan him some pieces and dressing me in time to make my first national interview ever.
Of course, I was there to promote my book and knew that they all would want to know about my dad.
Zo had been there to do a segment on affordable fashions for spring.