Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 31927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Mr. Snugglebutt is already perched on the kitchen counter, his massive orange body sprawled across my mail, one paw deliberately knocking my favorite mug dangerously close to the edge. His amber eyes narrow to slits as he glowers at me, tail twitching with the slow, methodical rhythm of a predator contemplating his next move. I barely get my keys on the hook before he lets out a yowl that starts as a low rumble and crescendos into a sound that could wake the dead three zip codes over.
“Sorry, sorry, I know I'm late," I mutter, grabbing his chipped blue ceramic bowl with the faded fish painted around the rim. The wet food plops from the can with that distinctive squelching sound, and the pungent smell of "Seafood Medley" hits my nostrils. Mr. Snugglebutt gives me an unimpressed sniff, his whiskers twitching in judgment, then lunges forward and starts eating before I've even set the bowl down, his rough pink tongue darting out between sharp teeth.
Honestly, the cat is even more spoiled than Beckett’s unusual pets. If Beckett Hot ever saw the way I baby-talk this fluffball, he’d probably run for the hills.
While Mr. Snugglebutt eats, I change my clothes, fluff my hair, and take one last look in the mirror. Showtime.
CHAPTER THREE
BECKETT
I pull into my driveway, still high on the adrenaline from meeting Elsie, which is not how I expected my night to go, but apparently, the universe enjoys having a laugh at my expense.
I don’t even get the door all the way open before Beans barrels in, immediately hunting for food like he hasn’t eaten in weeks.
First things first. I yank my phone from my pocket and punch in Mario’s Pizza on speed dial.
“Mario’s, whaddaya need?” It’s the same bored teenager every damn time.
“Large meat lovers. Extra cheese, normal sauce. And cheesy breadsticks.”
He makes some kind of snarky comment about my cholesterol and gives me the total before hanging up. We have thirty minutes.
Across the room, Pork is dead to the world on his custom dog bed—a ridiculous monstrosity from Etsy with his name stitched in gold thread. The dog’s legs are in the air. He lets out a single, condemning snore and rolls over, completely oblivious to my sky-high stress level.
Beans, on the other hand, is wired like he just snorted a pound of sugar. He paces, tail corkscrewed, doing victory laps around the coffee table. Every few seconds, he pauses to stare at the front door like he can sense Elsie is coming over.
I catch myself in the hallway mirror and nearly have a heart attack. My hair is a disaster. I run a hand through it, which only makes it stick up more. Fuck.
I duck into the bathroom for a quick touch-up. Get a fucking grip, Hot.
I square off with my own reflection, reminding myself not to fuck this up as my phone dings with a text from Elsie, letting me know she’s five minutes out.
Fucking hell.
Four minutes and thirty-two seconds later, the doorbell rings, causing my heart rate to accelerate.
Beans launches into full-blown riot mode. He lets out a piggy bark as his hooves hammer a drumline on the tile. I take a deep breath and try to look casual as I swing the door open.
Holy shit. Elsie stands on my front porch, framed by the glow of the porch light, hair blazing like a red-hot warning. She’s grinning, cheeks flushed, eyes so blue I forget how to breathe. The little curve of her mouth nearly knocks me on my ass.
For a full two seconds, I can’t move. I’m just standing there gaping, probably looking like a Neanderthal who never learned words.
I step aside so she can walk in, and holy hell, she’s even more beautiful up close. Tight yoga pants do nothing to hide those curves, and the light blue sweatshirt makes her eyes look nuclear. My hands itch to grab her, haul her against me, but I force myself to act like a normal human instead of a caveman. “Come on in.” My voice comes out rough, like I’ve been gargling gravel. “Beans has been doing laps waiting for you.”
Her laugh is pure sunshine. “I heard him from the driveway. Is he always this excited to see visitors?”
Beans lets out a high-pitched squeal and nearly wipes out trying to make a beeline for her. Elsie laughs again and drops to her knees instantly, placing a bottle of wine on the ground before wrapping her arms around the idiot pig. “Hi, handsome! Did you miss me?”
Beans pretty much melts on the goddamn spot. I swear to Christ, I’ve never seen a pig look so fucking blissed out. Beans flops right over, belly up, legs in the air, tongue lolling. The little traitor doesn’t even look at me. He’s laser-focused on Elsie, grunting and chuffing as she runs her hands over his bristly head.