Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Chapter 7
Zero
Salay leans over further, black and white polka dotted bikini covered tit actively brushing against my bare chest in a way that my dick can’t resist.
Straight facts.
I’m only fucking human!
And if I wasn’t human?
If we were on some animal kingdom, animal planet shit?
Her little boob graze here – that’s made her nipple as much as my cock stiffen like it did earlier when we were eating ice cream – would be the Gentoo penguin equivalent of her accepting my smooth pebble for her nest.
We’re bonding.
I mean, we definitely spent all afternoon that way.
From making out in front of the ice cream place to making out in her jeep to making out in the sand while the waves kept our feet cool – plus cleaned them – we’ve done quite a bit of physical pairing up for breeding season.
Not that I’m trying to breed her.
Or think she wants to be bred.
Or that chicks have a season like penguins do.
I just meant…that um….this…whole…treasure hunt for your life adventure thing is basically our version of that.
She’s my penguin.
And I vibe with having someone I can share a nest with.
Even if it’s only temporary.
“Okay, let me get this straight,” she casually begins, finger pointing to the left side of the screen. “This side is the currents map for the time the ship went down-”
“Hypothetically,” leaves me in an instant. “Using my own program, I took the information I could scrape together from various sources, fed it through a filter, applied additional variables, tweaked a few things using the previously unknown information the royal prick provided – including the supposed positioning of the moon which affects the tides – and managed to reconstruct something theoretically similar.”
“Uh-huh,” Salay brushes off with an amused eye roll, “and this side,” she gestures to the other half, “is the current currents map for the area we’re going to be exploring-”
“Secured from an advanced satellite system intended for naval missions.”
“Naturally, John King,” escapes the beauty on a giggle.
“Who?”
“The youngest pirate on record.”
“I think I’d be a good pirate.”
“You’d be a terrible pirate,” she playfully announces, bright beam remaining.
“Receipts?”
“You don’t even know the different types of ships.”
My mouth aimlessly bobs for several seconds prior to nodding in concession. “That tracks.”
“I’m aware.”
More laughter freely bounces between us reminding me of how we spent the afternoon when we weren’t in mating mode.
While I love big cats – shout out to the Siberian tiger – I vibe with learning about all types of creatures, and it just so happens that our own Little Mermaid here knows some shit about some shit when it comes to marine life.
We shot the shit about whales.
Dolphins.
Lobsters.
Both rock and electric.
We laughed and argued and laughed again.
It was the best unofficial first date I think I’ve ever had.
Shoving crab imperial stuffed mushrooms into my mouth while verifying banking data during a vintage car auction with Garcia easily comes in as a close second.
At least Salay can admit she’s attracted to me.
And at least I know at the end of our night, she’s probably not gonna end up banging one of the models over the hood of a fully restored 1958 Jaguar Roadster.
Her arm drapes itself across my lower stomach at the same time she asks, “And what exactly is the point of all this?”
“To help narrow down where you’ll start diving.” It’s impossible not to tug her closer. “Plus, once I find a rough draft of the ship’s manifest or inventory list or whatever they used to call it in the ancient days, I can get a better idea of exactly what it is you need to bring to the surface to serve as enough proof we’ve found the sunken ship and didn’t just fake some shit to get Weslington’s foot off my hard drive.”
She struggles not to smirk over my word choice. “What are you thinkin’?”
“Probably a painting?”
“Unlikely to be found undamaged enough to generally be accepted as a non-forgery.”
There’s no stopping my nose from scrunching. “Jewelry?”
“Something like what that crazy bitch threw into the ocean when her and Leo didn’t work out?”
My forehead crinkles in confusion.
“Is this where you tell me you’ve never seen the movie Titanic?”
“Is this where you leave my arms if I say I haven’t?”
“Yes.”
“Then no.”
Additional snickers leave us both along with her playfully attempting to pull away.
Unfortunately, a deep, familiar voice grunts, “You two look…” Garcia waits for our gazes to cut over to where he’s standing in the coastal themed room’s doorway, “acquainted.”
Guilt pushes me to create distance, to prepare to explain, to soothe his ego, to tell him whatever it is he wants to hear, yet is dismissed courtesy of the cut off shorts bearing female in my arms. “And you look…” she cocks her head sassily to the side, “constipated.”
Shock mixes with mirth encouraging my mouth to briefly become agape.
“I’m not,” insists the man across the room.