Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“If you’re unable to reach down into the wall to retrieve the squirrel or critters, you may need to cut a hole with a skill saw. Unless you’re an experienced do-it-yourselfer, you will likely need a wildlife professional.” I glance at him, looking cool as a cucumber next to me as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “That’s not you.”
He shakes his head. “Nope, that’s not me.”
“That is no help.”
“Nope. None.”
“Would you stop it?” I’m so annoyed.
“Stop what? I agree with you.”
“Yes, stop agreeing with me! It’s not helpful!” I squeak, totally frustrated but also with a giggle. “Why can’t you be wildernessy?”
“What’s wildernessy?”
“It’s a word I made up meaning outdoorsy but good with animals.”
He scoffs, adjusting his ass on the bed to get more comfortable, leaning more in my direction so we can talk.
“Even if I was, there is no way in hell I’d blindly stick my hand into a wall to grab a live animal. No fucking way.”
Good point.
I wouldn’t want to do that either.
But someone’s got to and it won’t be me.
“You were never a Boy Scout, were you?”
“Didn’t have the time.” When he shrugs, his shoulders brush up against mine, reminding me that it’s skin-to-skin and we’ve been sitting here arguing with no shirts on.
All casual and sexy like.
As far as hanging out with a guy and not doing much of anything goes, this could be categorized as pretty damn great. He’s not pushy, he’s not obnoxious, and he doesn’t spew stupid shit. Granted, Brodie could not build me a fire by rubbing two sticks together ala: Boy Scout if we had to stay warm, but his body heat would probably do the trick.
He’s not touchy-feely.
He doesn’t seem needy.
Low maintenance, he’s already come in handy on several occasions: squirrel patrol and painting my room.
And I don’t annoy him with my overenthusiastic behavior, a.k.a. squirrel patrol and having him help paint my room, which are two things I voluntold him to do.
Sigh.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
BRODIE
“If we don’t wake her up, she will be late for class.”
“How do you know she has a class? I have no idea what her schedule is.” There’s a pause. “Do you know my schedule, too?”
“Uh, yeah—obviously.”
At the sound of female voices, I crack my eyes open and immediately become aware of two things:
Lizzy is dragged on my chest, arm draped over my body.
We’re still not wearing shirts.
We must have fallen asleep at some point in the evening during our heated discussion about her rodent problem, the lights still on, the television off, the squirrel still in the confines of the wall.
I turn my head.
The door is ajar and Jill and Bethany stand in the crack, peeking through, cautiously not daring to enter but clearly struggling with whether or not to wake up their roommate. Or interrupt. Or barge in.
“Hey,” I greet them. Put my hand on Lizzy’s back and rub it to stir her, not wanting to jostle her or move an inch. “Lizzy.”
“God his voice is sexy,” I hear one of the girls whispering in the hall as if I wouldn’t be able to hear their chatter.
“I know, dude. It makes my vagina tingle.”
“Do you think they boned?”
“No—they’re both wearing clothes.”
They carry on for several more moments before one of them lightly knocks. Pushing on the door a bit so she can stick her head through, she whispers, “Hey sleepyheads, wakey wakey,” then comes to stand beside the bed.
Jill stares down at her sleeping roommate, and I can’t decide if she’s actually staring at me or trying to wake Lizzy up via mental telepathy, but she’s not trying very hard to do it.
“I’m getting her up. I just don’t wanna startle her.”
“Don’t want to star….” Jill groans as if I’ve said the dumbest crap she’s ever head. Reaching over, she gives Lizzy a shake. “Wake up, asshole, you have class in a half hour.”
“She can thank me later. She gets participation points for showing up.”
I have classes like that. There aren’t many exams or assignments, so attendance counts as a large percentage of the grade.
Lizzy stirs after another nudge from Jill, and I feel like a prisoner trapped beneath her body. Her roommates are hovering, and I crane my neck to see if there’s a lock on the door. Did she lock it last night, or was I imagining it?
“What time is it?” she mutters, lifting her mouth from my chest, our faces inches apart. It takes a few for her to focus on my face, recognition and realization setting in one slow second at a time.
“Morning.”
She smiles, drowsy and adorable like. “Hi.”
“Um hello—get moving, girl.” Jill tosses Lizzy’s discarded sweatshirt on the bed before exiting the room with a backward glance. “Text us later!”
“Yes, text us!” Bethany parrots, hovering in the doorway.
Then the house goes quiet.
Lizzy is still on top of me, hands beginning a slow roam of my chest, palms wandering over my skin as if she were going to begin exploring. It would be awesome if she did…