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“You know what I hate the most? I hate that he has to be right all the time. It really pisses me off.”
Shitville. Population: Me
Shelby shifted her weight and twitched her ears, which was horse-speak for “go home and apologise you idiot.”
I rode Shelby back at a walkin’ pace and was unsaddling her at the shed when Ma found me. And I mean found me like how an angry piranha finds a bleeding swimmer.
“I’ll use words like ute and mozzie, and I’ll even call a cell phone a mobile, but I draw the line at using the word Maccas.”
It wasn’t long until he worked me into a sheet-grabbing, back-arching, holy-fuck-yelling frenzy.
But then I looked at his gorgeous cock jutting proudly onto my chest with the head swollen and glistening precum. I licked my lips. “Feed it to me,” I whispered.
“Yes, you were. But you’re my dick.” He stopped walking and tilted his head. “That didn’t come out right.” I laughed at him, and he put his hand on my shoulder and then the bastard pushed me into a street sign.
He grinned something special. “And you think you’re not romantic.” Before I could blush myself stupid, I pushed my trolley and headed for the checkout. “I never said that.” Then I stopped dead and turned to him. “Wait! Did you say that?”
He had this way of making me love him just a little bit more by doing the simplest of things. The littlest of things.
The way he held me, the way he looked at me, it was the closest to heaven I’d ever get without dyin’.
“Do you know what the odds are that I would ever find someone? I live and work in the middle of the desert, and he gets on a plane from the other side of the planet and arrives at my doorstep.” I took a shaky breath. “The most perfect guy, and for some reason I will never understand, he chose me. I’ll tell you what the odds are.” I raised my pointer finger. “One. One chance in a lifetime. That’s all I get.”
