Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69424 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69424 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
The new chair was a papasan-type chair that had built-in heaters along the backside of it, making your tushy all nice and warm when you sat curled up in it.
Jasper had taken one look at me in the chair the first night I’d found the package and shaken his head at me in exasperation.
I did notice, however, that no other chair had been delivered to his house.
I wondered if he was getting them delivered somewhere else now…
“Got it last week,” I lied. “Off Amazon.”
“Huh,” she said. “That’s a pretty good idea. You know, it’s weird, because Jasper was just asking us last week at dinner where the best heated chairs could be bought.”
I dodged her inquiry and said, “Imagine that. Ask Cutter’s wife, Milena, what number Cutter is. Maybe Jasper will be close to that number.”
Searcy hung up with a promise to get in touch with Milena. Meanwhile, I got my new heated chair out of my bedroom where I kept it hidden in case Jasper made any unannounced visits, grabbed my biggest blanket off the recliner—one of the only pieces of furniture that I had in my living room—and headed outside.
I arrived outside just as the first of the runners that weren’t having cameras pointed in their faces started past.
I still couldn’t believe Jasper was running.
He didn’t run.
As in, ever.
I’d seen him do workouts out of his garage, and when it came time to run, he biked instead.
He was notoriously bad about skipping the run if given the option.
I’d once given him shit about it, because he’d written it on his big, fancy whiteboard and had biked instead.
My comment of “why write it down if you’re not going to do it” had gotten me a good glare.
I wanted to point out the hypocrisy of his daily choices, which was why I was parked right on the side of the road.
The snow was still coming, though in very fine flurries, and I pulled the blanket up over my head and continued to watch.
Searcy texted back with a “Milena doesn’t know their number” which left me to people watch until I saw him nearly an hour later.
I was on my fourth Christmas Tree Cake when Jasper finally came dragging ass past.
He saw me and looked instantly relieved. “Can you take my phone? It’s rubbing my leg raw.”
I caught it just as he threw it at me and said, “Sure.”
He kept shuffling past, and I sort of felt bad.
I could’ve at least offered him something to eat or drink.
I knew he was doing the damn marathon for a reason he hadn’t shared with anyone else.
Which was why I stole his mountain bike from his back porch, loaded up with some water and snacks—my last two Christmas Tree Cakes—and headed off to find him.
I stayed to the sidewalk while the runners took to the street.
I pulled up next to him and said, “Yo. You want some water? A banana?”
He looked over at me with torture in his eyes and I said, “You should lose the shirt, too. You look hot.”
He grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “no one wants to see this.”
I continued to ride next to him and said, “Listen. Don’t be a little bitch. Give me the fucking shirt!”
He contemplated it for all of two seconds before he whipped it off and tossed it at me.
I gagged when the wet fabric hit my face and neck.
“That was uncalled for.”
He didn’t apologize, and I almost turned around with his damn banana and water.
Except I was in a good mood today and gave him the water and the banana one by one as he continued to shuffle his way along.
“You look like you’re dying,” I said helpfully.
He grunted.
“You also look like you might should’ve done those running workouts instead of skipping them,” I continued.
He tossed me a glare over his shoulder.
I continued pedaling. “I have a Christmas Tree Cake if you want one.”
He looked interested in that. “Sure.”
I handed it to him and he ripped the packaging off. He swallowed the delicacy in two bites then handed me the trash.
“I should’ve worn different shorts,” he grumbled. “My taint is killing me.”
“You can feel your taint?” I wondered.
He glanced over at me. “Yes.”
“Huh,” I said. “I just always figured that was burned as well.”
“My balls and dick are fine. So is my taint and asshole.”
I smiled. “That’s good.”
The race started to turn, and he waved me off. “Turn back around. They’ve been kicking off non-race participants from the course. They’ll make you walk back if you’re not careful.”
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll have another snack cake waiting on your second time through if you make it back a second time.”
He snorted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
I gave his pitiful looking form a long glance and said, “You look like shit, man. I’m not going to blow smoke up your ass.”