Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Seriously, I am dying for someone to slap the cuffs on me…
It’s been way too long since I’ve had normal sex, let alone the kinky bangery I prefer. Ever since Carrie-Anne ditched me for the sin of inviting my best friend, who happens to be a girl, over for pizza and slasher movies, my bedsheets have been a barren wasteland. I’ve just been too busy pushing for the playoffs with the rest of the team and wooing Bergdorf into carrying my fragrance line to have any time left for romance.
But I’m glad.
On a normal weekend without a game, I would have already had a date and been unavailable to be Keely’s plus one to this festival of fire and foxy ladies.
Then, I would not only have missed some amazing food and fun with my bestie, but also the moment Clover rushes offstage after her set, hurling herself into Dean’s arms. I would have missed the joy on her face as he, no doubt, tells her that she’s a superstar who’s going to make it big in the witchy punk scene—and be super well-dressed while doing it.
(Clover’s not only an amazing musician, but a talented designer. She makes all the band’s costumes and is crafting a linen suit for me in the perfect shade of green to match my cologne bottles and hug my disproportionately manly shoulders, ensuring I slay at my photo shoot for the summer ad campaign.)
And, most importantly, I would have missed the moment Dean sinks down on one knee and pulls out a ring, sending Clover’s joy rocketing to impossible heights. Seriously, her eyes and smile both get so big that for a moment, I’m worried she might literally explode.
Instead, she leaps into Dean’s arms again, laughing and nodding her enthusiastic yes, while her bandmates cheer, and Keely and I both “awwww” along with the rest of the crowd on our side of the stage.
“I’m so happy for them,” Keely says with a sniff. “They’re the real deal, and Dean keeps his dick on a short leash. I can tell.”
“Totally,” I agree. “A short and loyal leash. Speaking of leashes, I need another hot dog. You want anything from The Dog Hut?”
Keely wrinkles her nose. “You’ve already had two.” She pauses before adding with a judgmental arch of one pale blond brow, “With extra onions.”
“So? I’m a growing boy who loves onions.” I lean down, closer to her face, before adding in a breathy voice, “Why? Don’t you like getting a whiff of my breath after I’ve eaten my vegetable of choice?”
She makes a gagging sound before pushing me away with a laugh. “Ew. You’re so gross. I can’t believe women literally throw themselves onto the ice for you. And no, thank you. I don’t want a hot dog, but I do want a flower crown. I’m going to go buy one before they sell out.”
I hum my approval. “Awesome, you should. Get me one, too. A big purple one with white flowers. That’s the best one.”
“Okay. Meet you back here?” She giggles again, reminding me that I should grab us both another mead, to better our chances of ending up naked and shameless around the bonfire.
“Back here,” I confirm, setting off through the crowd.
I run into Grammercy and a once-again pregnant Elly on the way—those two haven’t figured out what causes that yet, apparently—and pause to give them the good news about Dean and Clover. Elly dashes off to find them with an excited yip, and Grammercy follows her, grinning like the happy man he is.
Marriage really agrees with some people. Not sure I’m one of them, but I wouldn’t mind having a girlfriend before summer takes hold.
As I get in line for my third hot dog, I scan the crowd for prospects, but as beautiful as these women are, most of them don’t seem interested in flirting. They’re all in witchy, female empowerment mode, most of them summoned here by the fact that Beatrice, their rock witch queen, is the main event at ten.
It’s an odd thing for a specimen as fine as myself to smile and watch women turn away, but it’s probably for the best. It’s rude to flirt with other women when you’re out on a date, even if it’s a date with a friend.
Still, it stings a little.
I’m busy debating how many of these women are probably gay—and therefore not interested in any man, even the crème de la crème—when I hear Keely’s name uttered in front of me and my ears snap to attention.
I shift closer to the two women ahead, both in clingy orange dresses that display their charms to maximum advantage. The shorter one is a flat-out bombshell brunette with a figure that’s pure Marilyn Monroe, and the taller one is equally foxy, though seriously pregnant.
Still, she’s working what the good lord gave her, and has an ass that won’t fucking quit. I’m respectfully and discreetly admiring said ass when she says, “Yeah, that’s her. That’s Zack’s ex.”