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…she shrinks to the size of a piss-ant!”
“Shrink?!” Laura was already feeling a bit undersized standing next to Fiona and it didn’t help that Prince, who usually came up to her hip when she took him for a walk, was now a foot taller than she was. Actually, looking at him, maybe a foot and a half…had she been standing on tiptoe when they kissed in the cave?
“So why are you wasting our time bitching about split ends?” Prince huffed. “Get a move on.”
Laura took a step toward them, but then her tennis shoe caught on the hem of her jeans. She pitched forward and would have fallen on her face if Prince hadn’t been there to catch her.
“Easy, Princess,” he said, giving her a sexy half-smile.
No, he was more like two feet taller. The top of her head barely reached the middle of his chest. Glancing down, Laura saw that her jeans were much too long, the bottom edges smeared with green and brown where her feet had mashed them into the forest floor.
“Oh, shit!” she cried, tugging at the waistband, now several inches too loose.
“I’m pretty sure that’s just mud, actually,” Prince said, looking down at her feet. “But the monkeys are probably not that far behind…”
“No, you idiot!” Laura cried, shoving him backward. “I mean oh-shit-I’m-shrink—” The last word transformed into a scream as Fiona hooked two huge fingers through the back of Laura’s tank top and lifted her about five feet off the ground.
“I hate to interrupt your little lover’s spat, but we’re in a hurry,” Fiona said. “Granny’s not going to pay me in full if she needs a microscope to find you when we get there. Can you keep up, Dog-Boy, or do I need to carry you, too?”
Fiona didn’t wait for Prince’s answer, but took off through the woods. Laura twisted around to look behind them, finally spotting the pink plume of Prince’s black battle helmet, bobbing up and down as he plowed through the underbrush fifty feet or so behind them. A few minutes later, a stray branch snagged the edge of Laura’s jeans and peeled them away. Not that it really mattered—the tank top now hung down to her ankles.
“How far are we from Granny’s?” Laura yelled, craning her neck to look up at Fiona, who didn’t hear her at first. “I SAID HOW FAR?”
“What? Oh—it’s in the clearing, about a quarter mile ahead,” the giant boomed, glancing down at Laura, who had knotted the fabric of the tank top in her tiny fists and was clutching it around her body, partly to protect her modesty but mostly to keep from tumbling to the ground, which seemed a lot farther down than it had when she was several feet taller.
“That’s good,” Laura said. “I can’t hold on much longer.”
Fiona sighed and pulled the bodice of her red t-shirt out, dropping Laura into her ample cleavage. Laura hooked her arms over the edge of the fabric, pulling herself upward, both to see where they were going and to take her mind off being pummeled from both sides by two enormous, slightly sweaty breasts.
Laura saw the clearing just ahead. She pulled in a sigh of relief, but before she could exhale…
RYSA WALKER grew up on a cattle ranch in the South. Her options for entertainment were talking to cows and reading books. (Occasionally, she would mix things up a bit and read books to cows.) On the rare occasion that she gained control of the television, she watched Star Trek and imagined living in the future, on distant planets, or at least in a town big enough to have a stop light.