Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
I mean, nice guy or not, I can see it so clearly now. Within six months, my married reality would’ve been watching my husband pulling out his phone, wincing, and telling me he just checked his calendar and noticed we haven’t copulated in several weeks. Then he’d ask if I wanted him to pencil me in. Would I be needing oral, or would penetration do for our appointment? He could schedule both, but he wasn’t sure if that would work this week.
First of all, always oral. Second of all, no. I want my husband to break down doors with his broad shoulders, carry me to bed, ruin my favorite clothes and underwear in the process of getting them off (and of course, offer to buy me new ones in a cutesy little couple’s shopping trip later) and ravage me.
No calendars. That’s right. I want to be married to a man who doesn’t need to remind himself on a calendar to sleep with me.
I just want some excitement. Spontaneity. True freaking love.
But what now? What the hell am I going to do when I get to Frosty Harbor? I have nothing but my badly torn wedding dress, a tube of chapstick, one slightly used floss pick, two quarters and a dime, and a hairpin. I don’t even have shoes. For all I know, now that I’m a missing person, Jake isn’t even going to leave New York and come to Frosty Harbor like he planned. I’ll become the weird homeless lady in a wedding dress. Kids will make up scary stories about me.
Nope. No mopies. It’s fresh start time. The mopies can come in a few weeks when I face all the problems I caused by running away and figure out how to make it up to everyone.
For now, I’ll hide out in Frosty Harbor for a while until tensions back home cool off. Jake will show up eventually. Probably. I’ll hang out with my brother and the teammates he’s always refusing to let me meet. It will be just perfect. I hope.
My car sputters, gives a concerning shake, and then starts smoking. I try to steer off the side of the road and the steering wheel feels like it weighs a million pounds.
I’m no mechanic, but my gut tells me that’s not a good sign.
I pull hard on the wheel and something beneath the car makes a loud noise. Now the wheel weighs nothing, which is great, but it’s spinning like a kid’s toy and apparently useless.
“Not good!” I shout, still shaking the wheel side to side because I have no idea what else to do with my hands. I feel like a toddler pretending to drive her mom’s car.
I slam on the brakes because I see a bend in the road coming up and the car is drifting toward the steep shoulder. The brakes only manage to make the car spin, throwing me back against the seat.
The last thing I see is the road, but my car is going backwards and then there’s a split second of weightlessness followed by a deafening crash.
I blink a few times and feel like I just woke up from a great nap–only the reason I woke up from my great nap is somebody hit me in the forehead with a bowling ball. I put a hand up to my forehead and find a drop of blood there. Blood?
Did I just crash my car? Awareness cuts through the groggy fog and I look around, recognizing what happened bit by bit.
I look at the dashboard, still confused. The airbags came out and already deflated. The windshield is cracked. The whole car smells kind of like gunpowder for some reason.
For a few long seconds, I just sit there in the driver seat of my suddenly unfamiliar car. I conduct a comprehensive “limb thereness” test. Four limbs. That’s the right number, isn’t it?
Once I’ve confirmed two arms and two legs is all I had before the crash, I decide I’m the luckiest woman alive for surviving that crash practically unscathed.
I notice the check engine light politely flashing on the dash.
“Oh, that’s helpful,” I say. My voice sounds distant and muffled after the bang of the crash and the airbags.
I scoop up my veil from the passenger seat, and then I have to throw my shoulder into the door a few times before it creaks open.
“This is great,” I say, breathless from the effort. “I’m talking to myself now, and not just in my head. We’ve gone full crazy because we’re talking out loud. And look. I just crashed my car. Is this like some kinda on-the-nose visual representation of the state of my life right now, universe?” As usual, the universe declines to answer my questions.
I walk in front of the car and consider checking under the hood, then I realize the state of the engine probably doesn’t matter since my car is wedged into a ditch. Then again, even if the car wasn’t stuck in a ditch, the only thing I know about engines is metal thing makes car go vroom vroom. Unless words of encouragement can fix mechanical problems, I have no hope of getting this thing running again.