Page 146 of Bride of Choice

With a grunt, he placed my hand back on his hair. I laughed, just like it was old times.

But it wasn’t like old times. Things have shifted, changed. It wasn’t at all like it used to be.

Would I have rather Odix caught us, I wondered, thinking it all over as I absently ran my fingers through his mane while he passed the fuck out in my tits.

I couldn’t say how I’d have wanted that to all go down. I couldn’t argue the fact I’d liked Rek tagging out to push Odix center ring.

Shaking my head at myself, I groaned. I’m such a mess it’s not even funny.

The urge to talk to someone about this rode me. There was always Kooky, but I worried sometimes about him asking Celuk to supply some vigilante justice on my behalf. I didn’t want that either. I wanted to handle my own shit.

Glancing down, snarkily chastising myself, I thought, yeah, and look how well handling my own shit is working out for me. I needed a damn mediator, a middle man, juggling all these crazy fools.

I had bits and pieces of matings going on, but not one full-fledged mate! What nonsense was this? Together, I could probably stitch all their bullshit up into a mating. How messed up was that?

Sleep eluded me, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t stop thinking about Bum-bum and Cuddle Monster, or Odix, or Kooky, or even Rek or Gopher.

With a groan, I rolled to my side. A laugh escaped me as Rek, dumped off of me unceremoniously, immediately sleepily found his way right back to me, snuggling right up behind me, spooned me like no other. “Mine,” he mumbled into my throat.

Was I, though? I didn’t even feel like I was my own.

Chapter 21

Rek snuffled awake, lifting his head from the inflatable wobbling clown punching bag looking thing I’d stuffed a fluffy sweater I’d rummaged from this pile of nonsense to use as a personal substitute.

One look at that overly happy, crazy looking inflated clown face stuffed into a sweater with two shirts shoved up underneath it for tits and not me, he let out a surprised shout and punched the thing away from him.

Of course, this just caused it to pop up as it shot backwards, the weight at the bottom making it wobbly sending it shooting right back towards him.

A sharp snort of laughter gave my position away as he shouted again when it smacked at his face as he sat up, then punched it away from him with a growl, for the same thing to happen all over again in an amusing, never ending cycle.

One slash of his claws at clown substitute me’s face had it death screeching the rapid air loss. Hopping up on the bed, Rek bent down to growl at it and stomp his foot down onto it. Kicking it off the bed, he snarled and pointed, “Stay down!”

Frowning, I held up the small, silicone tips coated tongs buried in one of the smaller piles. “What item on this wackadoo list translated into Rek-speak made you think I wanted one of these?”

“This many,” he corrected, holding up both hands, then two fingers.

“Twelve… salad tongs?” I blurted.

“Corn tongs,” he muttered absently as he scratched at his belly, yawned, then stretched.

“Corn tongs,” I echoed, studying the list.

Oh my god. “Corn dogs,” I cried out with a laugh. “It says box of corn dogs. Twelve.” My eyes widened as I read down a bit further. “How the hell off my rocker was I?”

“All the way off,” Rek grunted out, lips twitching as he walked past me, making sure to brush along my back, nabbing up one of several waterskins hanging on hooks in the designated kitchen area.

“You had help with this,” I murmured, eyeing the little doodles next to some of the words.

Rek grunted but pointedly turned away, giving me his back.

“Booger helped you… and maybe somebody else?” I guessed.

Rek let out a louder grunt but didn’t seem particularly interested in divulging any info.

“Who?” Waiting for him to turn around, I got one look at the metal spring-like object near his feet and fairly lost it. Picking my way closer, my fingers skimmed it before I picked it up. Holding it out on the tip of my finger, watching it slink down before springing back up, I caught it up quick, letting the list fall, to run the slinking toy back and forth in my hands. “And where did this get lost in translation?” I asked with a laugh.

“Not lost in transflation. Rek learn. Rek find.” Looking decidedly uncomfortable as he glanced over his shoulder, he turned back to steeping his water, presumably for tea.

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