Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Yup, I knew this day was farged right from the start. The bacon was just the beginning…
“Divorce papers.”
CHAPTER 2
Echo
I know better than to enter a house I don’t know with a man I don’t know, but I guess I do kind of know him because I married him. Erm…okay, that’s a story for later, and by later, I mean it’s coming right up because I’m here now, and I’m getting this dealt with. Anyway, I do know better, but I got suckered in when a very pretty old lady appeared at the door behind Orion and set a hand on his shoulder. She then invited me in. Her exact words were, “Oh boy, we better have a sit-down and some cookies and talk this through. You guys sit. I’ll start making the chocolate chip stress-relieving mouth-bliss cookies.”
She then hustled off, and I was led into a living room that was already packed with people. Strangers.
That’s where I’m at now. And, haha, mouth-bliss cookies. I’m standing at the entrance to the living room, debating about bolting for the front door. There are five guys in here, including Orion, and they all give off big-guy vibes. Obviously, because they are seriously big guys. I would have run the second I walked in here, but there are also four women in here, and while they might be studying me with open curiosity, they have truly kind faces. One of them is even holding the world’s most adorable toddler.
I’m here to get the divorce papers signed, but I’m staying for the baby, alright? Who doesn’t love babies? I know, I know, a lot of people, but I’m not one of them, and there’s a good chance those people are crazy anyway.
“Married?” The guy who looks the most similar to Orion shakes his head and eyes his brother. This must be his twin. Part of the reason I was able to track Orion down was because of what he and his twin brother got themselves mixed up in when they were basically still kids. Alright, teenagers.
Orion is standing about five steps away from me. He looks around wildly, then at me. He has nice eyes. Stormy gray ones. His deep brown hair is shoulder length, and he gives a new definition to the word broad. Broad shoulders, broad chest, and big strong legs—I don’t know if I could use the word broad there to describe his legs. The word definitely doesn’t apply to his ass, which I did shamelessly check out while I was walking behind him. He makes a black T-shirt look like sex on a pair of jeans, which also look like sex, and on his feet, he’s wearing black plastic slides—okay, I don’t care if they’re on him, those are not sexy.
My husband wears slides.
My husband has a nice ass. For the record, it looks like two boulders sandwiched together by the hand of god when he was in a really good, creative mood and a boulder phase—and that’s when he’s wearing jeans. I don’t want to wonder what his buns would look like in a pair of black leather pants or, um, maybe in nothing at all.
My husband’s legs are thicker than tree trunks, and I was so very close to climbing him as though I wanted to get to the top and check out the scenery from there.
Full disclosure, what happened in Vegas only happened because we were both sozzled, multiplied by shit-faced, multiplied by incredibly hammered, multiplied by whatever tree I was just thinking about, multiplied by being off our rockers—okay, to summarize, we were both very drunk.
Orion’s eyes narrow. He gives me a hard stare down that makes my heart beat just a little bit faster. Drunk me apparently had really good taste, and no, this isn’t the first time I’ve thought it, but it is the first time I’ve thought it in person because in-person Orion is even spicier than in-photos Orion. He looks at me like he expects me to burst out with a big April Fool scream, but it’s not happening.
Unfortunately, our marriage is legit, and so was the year of my life I spent trying to track him down so I could get a divorce. I made a mistake. A big one. Being married to someone you don’t know who ran out and disappeared right after the ceremony was done is kind of a big drag. It does have some serious repercussions for the rest of one’s life, and I’m not one to take that sitting down, standing, or at all.
Mr. Boulder Behind finally gives a conciliatory shrug and goes and sits down on the couch next to the woman with the baby. He gives everyone a very helpless, clueless look, which means all eyes—confused and otherwise—are on me again.
I feel like a cornered teacher standing at the front of a classroom, trying to teach a pack of zombie students. Though not real zombies. Just regular teenagers. It’s like I’m trying to teach them something embarrassing. Like the old condom meets banana trick. Mmm hmmm. I’d probably keel straight over with mortification.