Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
It's a distracting daydream. But since most of them are blissfully off the relationship market now, I’d be turned off and disappointed in their life choices if one of them did agree to join my sexy harem. And honestly, experimenting with multiples sounds like a lot more trouble than it’s worth. A few of the Finns are in committed poly relationships, which just sounds crowded to me. Not to mention physically demanding. It really seems like it would spoil the mood, having to stop and think about who goes where with what, you know? Like a bad game of Dirty Jenga or Twister. Like math.
Are you listing the reasons you can’t have a harem right now? That’s not how this works.
Because my brain is a vindictive dick, my rescue fantasy fail is swapped out for a highlight reel of my life flashing in front of my eyes. Laughing with friends. Celebrating with students. Singing on stage.
Meeting that ponytailed, sweet-assed sexy beast at the pub. The one who brought me to my knees in a very literal way.
I guess I’m not too cold to fantasize after all, because my blood starts heating as I think about picking up where we left off mid-hookup. I didn’t get his name or number because of what happened to Bex that night. He disappeared somewhere between the screaming and the arrival of the ambulance. All I know is, by the time I thought to look for him before I drove to the hospital, he was gone.
Maybe he’s a criminal. Or just a mildly insensitive jerk who wanted to get off but not deal with drama.
Either possibility should have been enough to wipe him off my fantasy roster, but he’s still in my head more than I’m comfortable admitting. In fact, he’s the only one I’ve been thinking about for a while. I tell myself it’s because I hate leaving things unfinished. Like good books and trays of brownies. And orgasms. Something neither of us got to have. But it’s more than that. There was something about him I can’t seem to shake. The way I felt when he looked at me. The way I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.
You are in actual physical danger, Winnie. Your pathetic love life isn’t important right now.
Now I’m lost and depressed.
A loud crack echoes through the trees and I hop-spin in a jerky half-circle with both hands and one leg lifted up for a fight. I’m the damn Karate Kid. Instead of looking badass, the fear-fueled maneuver throws me off balance and I fall face first into the nearest tree, scraping my cheek against rough bark. “Shit.”
You can’t unsee that, can you?
My Skinny Winnie movie is a slapstick tragicomedy instead of a hero’s journey. Raise your hand if you’re surprised.
I hug the tree that so rudely broke my fall and think about my friends again. Val would have built a shelter by now, and the only thing Connor knows more about than coaching is camping. Bex could probably MacGyver an emergency beacon from sticks and snow pellets—not that she’d need to, since she never forgets to charge her phone and her boss is always on speed dial.
Or he was, until Bex took a leave of absence from her job and her apartment, asking for space. I’m sure Tanaka’s checked in with her doctor, but I haven’t seen him again until today, when I caught him whisper-arguing near the front desk with his fiancé Brady. I tried to listen in, so I could tell Bex I was doing what she asked without having to lie. But I found myself glaring at him instead of paying attention to what they were saying.
I’ve lowkey hero-worshipped the man for years, but there have been times over these last few weeks when I admit I’ve thought about punching him in the face.
Okay, enough of that. Back to my current emergency. Out of all of our friends, I’m the only one unprepared to survive something like this. I’m the musical entertainment, the shoulder to cry on and the only friend to phone when the topic is American history, song lyrics or eighth grade tween problems. Invaluable at social gatherings and emotional interventions. Absolutely hopeless in the wild.
I didn’t even dress right, since my phone app assured me the weather would be nippy at best. It might explain my pointless cotton gloves and decoratively buckled boots with no tread or support. My thermals and new red jacket are the only things saving me right now, and the latter I only purchased because I’m susceptible to sales and it was half off due to winter being nearly over.
Winter is clearly not over.
You’d think I’d know better, since I live in the megalopolis most famous for its snow days. My only excuse is that cold weather hits different in the city. I’m outside just long enough to dash from a warm apartment to a warm vehicle, where the streets are magically plowed and salted before I wake up. If I decide to walk, there are five coffee shops between my apartment and the school, and they all have heat and clean bathrooms. And coffee.