Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
She takes off like nothing. Meanwhile, I’m halfway to panic, but when I step outside and join the others on the grass, the mere expression on, well, every single Johnson face is enough to drown it out.
It’s clear as day how much my son means to them.
They love him.
Mason loves him…
I swallow, catching his eye, but his smile quickly moves back to Deaton as his mom lifts him from the seat I just put him into.
“Okay, shoo.” She turns away from us. “Call me later. Or don’t. I assume all we need is in the bag.”
I open my mouth, but only a laugh comes out, and I nod. “I mean, yeah.” I look to Mason.
“You can’t have him all night.” He frowns. “I hardly got to play with him, and they leave tomorrow.”
“Uh-huh. Bye.” And off they go, my infant son in their arms.
My shoulders fall, and I sigh. “Well, shit.” I glance up at the man beside me. “What now?”
He frowns after them for a moment but then swings his head my way with a grin.
“I’ve got a few ideas.” He takes my hand, and I let him lead me where he wishes.
“Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes. Come on, girl. Get that booty in here before I lift and lower you myself.”
I chew my lip, eying the ATV with distrust. “There’s roll bars.”
“What are you, a girlie girl or something?” he teases, well aware of my pageant days, forced or not. “Come on. I’ll even let you drive.”
“Hell no. Then we’ll really be in for it.” I look to the other couple climbing into one on the left and say screw it, settling into the seat and strapping myself in. I glare at the man beside me. “If we flip over…”
“Don’t worry, baby. If you get hurt, I’ll kiss it better.”
He’s teasing, but his words are like a flame across my skin, and I face forward to hide it just as he slams his foot down on the gas.
I hold on tight, stiff as a board for the first minute or so, but then I start to relax, and fear turns into fun, leaving me laughing. I knock my shoulder into his. “Go faster! We’ve almost got them!” I shout over the whine of the engine.
“Hold on, Pretty Little.” Mason floors it, whipping us through the grassy track, dirt kicking up and hitting the goggles on my face.
I’m suddenly super glad I put on the ski goggles like they suggested. We thrash through the brush, and I squeal when we are airborne over the next blind hill, coming down in a bouncy crash without missing a beat.
We’re coming up to the end of the path, a giant checkered flag coming into sight, just as the other ATV barrels through the split in the trees across from us.
They look our way, and we look at each other.
“Go, go!”
“I’m going! We’re winning this one!” he screams.
We skid and slide, flying toward the end with squeals and shouts of excitement.
We miss the mark by three seconds, taking second place.
“Noooo!” I shout, my palms slapping at my goggles, and Mason laughs at my side, nudging me with his shoulder and helping me with the buckle.
The other two are cheering, the guy lifting her on to his shoulders for a victory dance that’s a little obnoxious but in a fun way I wish was us.
Mason must see it, because the next thing I know, his arms are wrapped around my knees, and I’m hoisted into the air. He pumps his fist, shouting and cheering, and my eyes are wide behind the mask.
“Stop it,” I hiss, smacking his head.
“Fuck yes, second place!” he screams.
The couple ahead frowns our way, shaking their heads as they trudge up the short dirt path, but Mason isn’t deterred.
He keeps celebrating until finally I cave, cheering and laughing with him.
Only after I give in does his laughter morph into a deep chuckle, and he slides me along his body until the tips of my shoes meet the ground. His arm stays locked around my lower back, and he lifts his goggles, then mine, before tugging our masks over our heads.
He grins, and it’s ridiculous. He has a full-on dirt mustache and dirt glasses, and I have the sudden urge to wash it away.
In a hot shower.
Just the two of us.
Mason’s smile slowly falls, his brown eyes darkening, and I swallow at the sight.
Suddenly, he licks his lips and looks away. “Come on, Pretty Little. Let’s get cleaned up and find some food.”
I have no idea how dirty we actually got until I look down at the photo the souvenir lady took of us at the end. Thankfully, the place has an outdoor shower, so we rinse quickly, and I put on a pair of extra sweats he had in his trunk with one of his university hoodies.