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Kindle Notes & Highlights
The bartender practically knocked down a waitress in his rush to ask my boobs what they would like to drink.
Wyatt loaded the gun and commented that he was out of bird shot, so we were using slugs. I gleefully envisioned cramming slimy slugs into a shotgun and blowing them out the barrel. That would be so cool. Someone should invent that. Everyone would want one.
I would have had dirt or coffee spilled on that outfit within seconds of putting it on. I wondered if she had a dirt repelling force field surrounding her pants.
Wyatt was very appealing now, spread out on the bed before me like a prime rib buffet. I just wanted to rub my hands up his naked chest. And my mouth. Heck all of me, like a cat against a chair leg.
It was like being in a straightjacket; one that breathes on you and wraps your legs up too.
