mardi 12 septembre 2017

Cowsex de Lesley Jones



 A paraître le 29 septembre en auto-éditions
design de la couverture : T.E. Black Design
Photographe : Franggy Yanez Photography
Modèle : Franggy Yanez- Fracrox 

Résumé 



 
 Plus d'infos sur Goodreads 






Extrait 

“He scoops ice out of a drawer in the freezer and wraps the tea towel around it before heading back towards me and placing his makeshift ice pack gently on the back of my wrist.

“Hold this in place,” he orders. I do as I’m told—with a lot of concentration, this is something I am occasionally able to do.

I continue to watch him as he repeats his movements from earlier, only this time he slides the ice pack under my wrist.

He then proceeds to retrieve what I assume are a couple of painkillers from a pack he takes from the pantry. He hands them to me, and I put them in my mouth before accepting a bottle of water he pulled from the fridge.

“You drugging me?” I question.

“Yep. They’re magic pills that stop you from talking, but they only work on beautiful girls. Not sure if you qualify.”

“Oh, and he’s a fucking comedian as well as a first-aider. What other skills can you impress me with, Cowboy?”

He scratches at his beard and gives his head a slight shake. “You have a smart mouth for a little-bit, anyone ever tell you that?”

All the time.

“And you should quit with the cussing. It doesn’t become you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Charming.”

We stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, and I feel a bit mean for being rude. He didn’t have to help me out with my arm, but he did, and he did it with a gentleness that surprised me.

“So, where’d you learn the first-aid skills?”

“Played a lot of football, got a lot of injuries, learned how to fix myself up.”

“By football, I assume you mean that game where men wear lots of padding, run along carrying a wonky ball, knock other men out of the way until they reach a line, where they then proceed to throw down the wonky ball and score a point, or a goal, or something similar? Would that be the game you’re referring to?”

He folds his arms across his chest and leans back against the worktop opposite where he sat me.

“It would be the game that’s played something like the way you described that I’m talking about, yes.”

I nod and then shake my head. “Always puzzled me why you would call that football when so much of the game is played with the hands. The foot and the ball, rarely actually coming into contact.”

“Well, what would you call it?”

“Big men that are scared of getting hurt, so they wear lots of padding while they run, ball.”

“Now who’s being a comedian?”

“I’m female, so it’s comedienne.”

“What’s the difference?”

“We’re actually much funnier.”

That earns me a smirk, and I swing my legs while sitting on the worktop, basking in the satisfaction that I’ve almost made him smile.”

 


Lesley Jones 

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