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I passed the sign that led into Elmwood, my gaze catching on the text below the town name that was scrawled in nearly illegible white letters: Come for a day, stay for a lifetime.
I was a five-foot-nothing ball of rage. I ran on plant fuel and sarcasm—even dragging a thousand-pound chain of trauma behind me, I still only weighed about five pounds soaking wet. I knew I was about as intimidating as a bug-eyed chihuahua.
Looking at Blair Evans was like staring into the sun. Too long, and I was sure he would blind me.
Blair was a hurricane, a storm, a natural disaster. Beautiful and world-shattering, with the power to rewrite the future and repaint the past.
If I could just—if I could just pretend—maybe I could get my skin to fit my body again.
“You’re a fucking badass. Even though you look a bit like a wet rat right now and people say black cats are kinda unlucky. That’s okay. I’m kinda unlucky too.”
He was so fucking pretty I wanted to crush him like a petal between my fingers.
The best part about him, however, was his shoes. God. I wanted to lick his boots, marry them, and run off into the sunset.
God, Richard better not sparkle like Edward fucking Cullen or I was going to have to do something drastic. Like burn the city down.
Did I want to be Richard’s chew toy? Fuck yes. Was it going to happen? Probably not, but a boy could dream.
The fact he was strong enough to move me around like a Barbie Doll wasn’t lost on me. Or my dick. Down boy.
Richard was a cocoa wielding, flannel wearing, sex machine who may or may not be undead.
Either something was seriously wrong with me, or I was in love with Blair Evans.
“God, Rich. You could kill me and I’d say ‘Thank you.’”
“Sex and then trauma?”
could hold you down, speak to you all sweet, and you’d spread those sexy thighs wide open like a pretty little flower.”
“Motherfucker, promise me you’ll last at least three minutes or I’m cutting you off.” I threatened my dick angrily where it very clearly pressed against the zipper on my jeans.
Sex, trauma, then questions. “Can I suck your dick?”
“So you won’t know if I’m horrible or not,” he joked, with a boyish twist to his lips. “Rich, I’m pretty sure you could quite literally bite my dick off and it would still be the best blowjob I’ve ever had.”
“If you’re about to take me to a field to play baseball I’m going to throw myself out of this car,” I told him, clearly referencing Twilight. It was a test of sorts, to see if he would get the reference. “Whatever you say, spider-monkey,”
“You’re so fragile.” Fragile? Motherfucker. “Fuck you, Edward Cullen,”