Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Dipsy is determined to do so in an elf costume. She stubbornly refused my offers to buy her something else to wear after we returned yet another wrong suitcase to the airport’s customer service desk.
Where its contents caused quite a commotion…
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone blush as red as Dipsy did when describing the carry-on full of purple dildos. I was tempted to pull out my cell and snap a picture and absolutely laughed my ass off as soon as we were out of earshot of the frazzled-looking airport staff.
“Stop,” she’d hissed, her dimples popping. “It isn’t funny. Those things are dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” I’d arched a brow. “How big were they?”
She flushed pink again as she shook her head. “No, not that. The plastic. It was the bad kind, the kind that isn’t safe for…that sort of stuff. But the size was nothing to sniff at, either. Certainly nothing your average person would want to encounter in the bedroom.”
That had sobered me up pretty quick.
I’m a big man and not just when it comes to my height and fighting weight. My last serious girlfriend found my size uncomfortable at times, especially if we ran out of lube, and she wasn’t nearly as tiny as Dipsy. There’s a part of me that worries that Dipsy and I might have similar issues.
Talk about putting the cart before the horse.
Or the cock before the kiss…
The inner voice makes a good point. Since she emerged from the bathroom, Dipsy has been careful not to stand too close, let alone do anything that could be construed as flirting or romantic encouragement.
But the air between us is still charged, electric, a fact that makes our small couch in the corner of the crowded lounge feel even smaller.
“Pardon my reach,” I say, leaning over to prop my crutches against Dipsy’s side of the couch, out of the way of the kids running back and forth between the water station and the ice cream bar, squealing.
“No worries.” Her voice is breathier than it was before, and her gaze lingers on my lips for a beat before she clears her throat. “So, are you going to tell me what happened with that?” She casts a meaningful glance at my cast.
I settle back onto my side of the cushion, the sweet smell of her perfume teasing at my nose again. She smells so damned good. Her perfume, but also just…her. She’s the type of woman who should be named after a flower.
Which gives me an idea…
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll trade you a cast story for a name story. I’d love to know how you went from Rose to Dipsy.”
She rolls her eyes with a laugh, but nods. “Sure. But you go first. I’m sure your story is more interesting.”
“Not really,” I say. “I was at the warehouse about a month ago, checking on my stock of Clyde dolls, when an out-of-control semitruck slammed into a door nearby. The door flew off the hinges and into my kneecap. It shattered, and I’m in a cast for two months.”
She gives a full body wince. “Oh my God, Bear. That’s horrible. I’m so sorry. I had no idea! Your social feed has been so happy and Clyde-tastic lately. I had no idea you’d been through something like that.”
“I’ve been keeping it pretty quiet. I had enough of the spotlight when Clyde was gone.” I smile, trying not to read too much into the fact that Dipsy’s still tuned in to my social media. It’s Clyde she can’t get enough of, not me. “Time for the cameras and the attention to be back on the cats where it belongs. And I’m healing well. After physical therapy, I should be back to normal. It’s just going to take time.”
Her forehead furrows sympathetically. “I’m so glad, but still… That’s awful. Was the guy driving the truck drunk or something?”
“Something like that,” I say evasively, not wanting to flat-out lie to her, though I can’t share many more details.
Matty McGuire and his CIA friends made it clear this is a story they’d prefer I keep to myself.
She cocks her head. “So, this happened a month ago…right before Clyde came home.” Her jaw drops. “It was the people who took her, wasn’t it? Did they come after you with a baseball bat? Did you have to fight them with your bare hands to rescue your sweet baby princess? Did she belch in their faces and claw up their mean, catnapping fingers the way we were all hoping she would?”
I laugh. “No, it was a truck and a flying door. But you’re not completely wrong.”
“I knew it! I knew I smelled a story.” She leans closer, her clever eyes flashing. “Tell me all the scandalous details. I promise I won’t say a word.”
“Said the ace reporter,” I murmur.
“Cub reporter,” she counters. “And I’m off duty.”