Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
"Living room. Since you insulted me, you get to suffer for your food."
"That…sounds fucking ominous, actually."
Her only response is a soft laugh.
Chapter Three
Elsie
"What the fuck is this?" Noah asks, his brows furrowed as he stares at the TV like he's never seen one before.
"Well, that's a television," I tease before lifting the remote. "And this is a remote. If you press buttons on this thing, it works that thing. Kinda like magic."
He narrows his eyes at me. "I meant, what the fuck are we watching, Dimples?"
"The Masked Singer."
He stares at me blankly.
"They dress up in costumes and put on performances, and then the judges try to figure out who they are based on a set of clues. They're all famous people."
"And they willingly put that shit on?" He quirks a brow at me. "They can't be that famous, then."
"Some of them are," I protest through laughter. "It's a fun show."
"Your idea of fun and mine are drastically different."
"What do you watch? Wait! Let me guess." I tap my bottom lip like I'm really thinking about it.
"If you say LivePD or Cops…"
"I was actually going to go with Tiger King," I say conversationally. "It seems right up your alley."
"Fucking Tiger King," he mutters, making me laugh. "I do not watch Tiger King."
"Tickled? Cat Dancers? Finders Keepers?" I suggest, balancing my plate on my knees.
"I don't even know what the fuck any of those are." He scoops up a big bite of lasagna. "But I'm deeply disturbed that you do."
"Hey. Don't judge my addiction to strange documentaries until you've watched a few yourself. They're good reminders that we can build a community from any interest and find a sense of belonging anywhere if we're determined enough." I pause. "Or argue over anything."
"That…" He eyes me sideways. "That's actually not a bad observation."
I grin at him as he pops his bite into his mouth.
"Fuck," he grunts, his eyes widening slightly. "That's good."
"Thanks. I made it myself."
"It's damn good," he mutters, taking another big bite.
I realize that I'm staring at him and quickly glance down at my plate before shoveling a bite into my mouth. For long moments, we eat in silence before the show comes on.
"Explain this shit to me again," he murmurs when the first performance starts.
"After the performance, the judges will try to guess which celebrity is under the costume. The audience and judges also vote, and each week, the contestant with the least number of votes is eliminated, at which point they take off their mask and reveal their identity. The last one standing wins."
"What do they win?"
"A trophy."
He blinks at the TV. "That's it?"
"Yep."
"Yeah, fuck that. There's no way I'd die in a costume that big every week for a trophy."
"Uh, don't you literally chase people with like fifty pounds of stuff around your waist?" I arch a brow at him.
"That's different."
"How so?"
"I'm not dressed as a giant goddamn lizard man, for one," he retorts. "And for two, I can't breathe when I'm chasing a suspect, let alone sing for the masses."
I laugh despite myself. "You should probably get that looked at. I'm pretty sure you should be breathing if you're running."
"Who are you telling?" He cocks a brow at me. "These motherfuckers have me out here dying every night while they're running like goddamn Olympians. If I could throw a fucking truck at them, I would, just on principle."
"Settle down there, Hulk," I say through peals of laughter.
"Hulk has nothing on me." He winks, and I'm instantly thrown back to our conversation about Hulk on his porch earlier. My traitorous gaze even drifts toward his lap before I realize it. There's no mistaking the bulge in his jeans. It's obvious. And definitely proportionate. Jesus Christ. He's got a coke can cock.
Alice is going to die when I tell her. Wait. What am I thinking? I can't tell her about his dick. I'll never hear the end of it if I tell her that I was looking at his dick. It is impressive, though.
Noah clears his throat, and I rip my gaze away.
He just caught me looking at his dick. Oh my god.
Why did I keep unpacking after he brought me cookies? Now I really have to move, and most of my stuff is already unpacked.
Alice is going to love this.
"Um, I…um…"
A loud knock on the door saves me from having to come up with some excuse that won't materialize.
"I'll get it!" I practically bolt to my feet, barely managing to catch my plate before I dump lasagna all over the floor.
This is a disaster.
Why was I staring at his cock?
Oh, right. Because I've gone through two sets of batteries in my little friend since I met the man, it was right there waiting to be noticed, and I'm a glutton for punishment.
The plate thuds against the coffee table before I scurry toward the front door as fast as I can, leaving him staring after me.