Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
I rolled my eyes again. What is with this guy and all the questions?
“I found a nanny on Care.com a week ago.”
“They have a website for pig nannies?”
“A nanny for the baby, Thatcher. Jesus. And she agreed to go ahead and start with watching Philmore on occasion until our baby boy arrives.”
“How on earth did you arrange all this in the last two days?”
I stopped shoving clothes into my suitcase and whipped toward him in a flash. “Are you seriously questioning my abilities to put together a plan right now?”
The big ogre shook his head with a dumb, gaping mouth. “No. That sounds bad, so definitely no.”
“Then pack your shit. The nanny will be here in an hour.”
And six to seven hours after that, I’d finally be able to drink in the last vestiges of my freedom.
Fluff yes. Time to get crazy.
After surviving a commercial flight out of JFK, we arrived at our official honeymoon destination, but there was no fanfare, no spring breakers flashing their tits on the streets, no loose and rowdy crowds downing beers and blasting music.
If I was being honest, it was all pretty fucking lackluster.
Panama City Beach in October might as well be the Wild West in an old movie with tumbleweeds rolling through the streets for all the activity it had today. An empty airport gave way to an easy Uber ride, and the farther we drove into the strip of bars and restaurants, the more and more I was starting to wonder if there’d been some sort of zombie apocalypse prior to our arrival.
Cassie was decked out in her finest crop top and heart-shaped sunglasses, and I was doing my best to embrace the new, trendy, thigh-length shorts she’d insisted I wear, but I’d seen The Walking Dead, and I was fully prepared to spray both of us with some zombie-style blood and guts if I had to, bitchin’ outfits or not.
“Uh, Cass honey…what exactly made you choose Panama City Beach?” I asked, treading lightly through a pregnancy maze of lasers that would rival the Matrix. I was one hot motherfluffer, but even I didn’t fancy myself in the same league as the beloved Keanu Reeves.
“It’s the Spring Break Capitol of the World, T-bag.”
I nodded swiftly, hoping to convey my allegiance enough that she wouldn’t flip out on me when I went on to question her decision further. “Of course. That makes sense, totally. Just…well, it’s October. Are there spring breaks in October?” I asked, widening my eyes in the hope of conveying innocence.
“Just what are you trying to get at?” she challenged with a point to my throat that made her finger seem a lot more menacing than it should have. Her nails weren’t even long, but all I could seem to imagine was her slicing all the way through my jugular with a single swipe.
“Nothing, absolutely nothing. I’m excited. Gulf of Mexico… Woo-hoo!”
She rolled her eyes and turned back to the opposite window of the Uber, and I inhaled deeply. The driver’s hands flexed on the steering wheel, and his eyes met mine in the rearview. They were wide and glistening with just a hint of tears. It was safe to say he was feeling the intensity too, and I did my best to apologize telepathically. Really, I insisted mentally. It’s best if I don’t say anything aloud. This woman isn’t all talk; she will castrate us both, I swear it. Lord help us all.
“So where are we staying, honey?” I continued, trying to make easy conversation. “All these surprises of yours have me so thrilled.”
Her head whipped in my direction, her hair flying over her shoulder in a seriously dramatic effect. “Are you mocking me, Thatcher? Because I’ll remind you that you’re the one who stalked me all the way to fluffing Arizona so you could rob us both of all the traditions of a planned wedding and honeymoon. I’m working with the scraps you left me, you know?”
I shook my head almost violently in denial. “No. No. Of course not. I’m genuinely ecstatic, my love. Seriously, I think the Supercock might even maintain a permanent salute. This trip so far is the real deal. I can’t imagine—”
“Shut up,” she interrupted with a heavy sigh.
I nodded. Shutting up sounds like a terrific idea.
Sweat beading at my brow, I wiped at my forehead with the back of my hand and chanced a glance at the position of the door locks. I wanted to know, if things got extreme, if kicking open my door and bailing directly onto the pavement would be a viable option.
Come on, Thatcher, I coached myself. Man up, for fluff’s sake. Your wife is one tough bitch, but you know how to handle her. You wouldn’t be married if you didn’t.
I took a deep breath and reset, and then started treating our trip with the respect and decency it deserved. Panama City Beach might have been deserted right then, but by God, it was the land of bare tits and loose behavior, and for Thatcher Kelly, that was the kind of memorial that deserved a worthy tribute.