Page 138 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
She sits beside Natalie and pulls on the black ankle boots. They suit her sleek, fitted black ribbed top and the high-waist denim skirt.
I don’t know how she nails that perfect mix of country and chic, with just the right amount of edge.
I glance down at my plain outfit again, never having noticed before how much of an ordinary country girl I am.
Josie distracts my thoughts, grabbing a mug she holds between her hands.
“This big?”
Natalie shakes her head. “Bigger.”
We laugh at Josie’s exasperation as she picks up a few more items Natalie knocks down. She finally holds up a waste paper can and stares at Natalie, waiting, with doubt in her eyes.
“That’s more realistic,” Natalie says.
She scoffs. “More realistic?”
“They’re fairies and their giant peens are, well, giant.”
Josie eyes the can, unease flickering across her face. “This is absurd, and I’ve tried some absurd stuff. The women must have magical pussy’s to fit this in.”
“When you’re swept off your feet, literally, by a wildly powerful and ridiculously good-looking fairy or ogre, all things are possible.” Natalie’s eyes are distant and unfocused, as if she’s somewhere far away in her book world, despite being right here.
Josie nods, like she’s still processing. “This might be why you’re single.”
“Trust me, when you meet a fairy prince, you’ll forget every other man exists. Especially when he’s packing magic and something else that’ll leave you begging for more.”
“And we thought Juniper was her biggest issue.” Josie sets down the garbage can.
“It’s even more heated when we bring in a second fairy and his giant cock—”
“Alright!” Josie points at Natalie. “You need a cold shower. I need a cold drink.”
“And clothes.” Hannah rescues another abandoned dress beside Natalie’s feet. “Are these the books Mama buys you for Christmas every year?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think she knows that.”
Natalie shrugs. “Or maybe she does.”
Everyone gasps, then bursts into laughter so loud we don’t hear the door swing open until Bronx comes charging in.
It happens in a flash.
All six-foot-whatever of him crashes into Josie, a full-body slam. I almost feel the thud from where I’m standing.
My sister lets out a surprised squeak, and they both freeze.
His arm instinctively wraps around her waist, holding her steady against him, like he’s making sure she doesn’t fall. He doesn’t seem to notice she’s only wearing a skimpy bra and panties. He’s too busy scanning the room, as if he’s just walked into a VIP lounge at a sports bar.
“What the hell are you doing, Ogre?” Josie tries to slap him, but her arms are wedged between them, turning it into more of a soft tap.
But the second her fingertips touch his massive body, Josie’s eyes widen, realizing what she called him, and how accurate it is. He towers, giant-like, with a savageness that can hardly be a more perfect example of the so-called ogre Natalie speaks of.
Josie sees it.
I see it.
