Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
It feels like it’s the first time anything’s gone right for me, and I already want to feel a lot more of her than myself, come to think of it.
My eyes have stopped flashing with spots and those strobing, stabbing pains for now, which means I can look my new best friend up and down even better as we walk.
My eyes are glued to her ample chest, and the rest of my curiosity is satisfied, catching her reflection in the huge storefront windows we pass.
I let out a low groan of satisfaction, undressing her outer layers in my mind.
She’s wearing a white puff parka over a wool knit sweater, jeans, and pretty heavy-looking footwear for a girl her size.
“You okay?” she asks me again, adding that I really should get my head seen by a doctor.
“At least call the cops. I mean, those guys must’ve taken thousands from you,” she notes with a shake of her head, commenting on what this world is coming to.
I don’t clearly remember actually handing over my wallet or money to anyone, but the mention of my wallet strikes an unusually defensive chord in my emotions.
“My wallet,” I murmur bitterly, not knowing why it hurts so bad to have lost it, and somehow knowing it’s not about the money.
“So, were you following me?” I ask, needing to change the subject to something brighter like her.
She almost stops walking and, missing a step each, and we almost trip and fall all over again.
My arms shoot out and grab her by the waist, and my hands end up holding her by the hips.
Hips that match my grip like a glove made for them.
Hips that match the size of her chest and that fine ass of hers.
She has the perfect body, and yet she’s so much shorter than I am. But then again, almost everybody is when you’re as big as I am.
I can see her blushing, looking away at my question, which makes me laugh a little.
Only a little until my head pounds again with pain.
So she was following me.
I open my mouth to ask her why but think better of it.
There’s something unbelievably soothing about this not knowing.
The mystery and even excitement it generates must be way better than who I am or what I am supposed to be doing.
With Holly in my grip, I’m really not interested in anything else right now.
The idea of heading back to her place was an excellent one, too, I might add.
“So… Where do you live?” I end up asking. Familiar with the sights and sounds of where we are, but not the names of any streets or buildings.
She tells me which neighborhood, and again, without actually knowing why I just know it’s a bad area.
Bad compared to what? You don’t even know your name let alone where you live.
“Are you from out of town?” she asks, explaining her question when I only shrug.
“It’s just, nobody in their right mind would walk around with that much cash in the city. You were stopping at every ATM and loading up,” she recalls.
I try to keep the same expression and keep walking like normal when I feel everything spinning again.
Like I’m falling backward and forward at the same time.
I lean heavily on Holly again, feeling her almost buckle under my weight as she hooks her arm around my waist.
My strongest arm is around her shoulders, resting against her heavy chest.
But it’s a struggle to stay upright, let alone feel her or look her over how I’d like to.
“We could get a cab,” she grunts, gnawing at her lip as she thinks aloud.
It’s an excellent idea, and I tell her so, but she hesitates for a moment.
I lift an arm, hailing a cab, and feel her tense up next to me.
“I just…,” she starts to say but thinks better of it, and before either of us can say another word, we’re in a cab, and she’s told the driver where to take us before fishing in her handbag.
Turning it to one side so I can’t see for some reason.
Counting out crumpled bills and coins, watching the meter, I can feel her fretting.
I feel bad because I can tell she feels embarrassed.
“I get paid next week,” she murmurs as if it should mean something to me.
As if it means the world to her.
Patting my own pockets, I fish for cash of my own.
A guy dressed like me, wallet with thousands in it. Must have something else in here….
Hello, what’s this?
I produce a cream-colored, thick envelope from my breast pocket.
No name on it, and it’s thin.
Apart from the wallet I had taken, it seemed to be the only thing on me.
The only reminder left of who I am and what I was doing before I hit my head.
Holding the envelope up to the light, I don’t see the green of cash showing and decide to stow it for later.