Free Snare (Falling Stars #3) by Sadie Grubor Page A

up. The machine purrs like the well-oiled vehicle she is. I settle onto the seat, pull the snowmobile out, and park it where I've created a path.
    I turn it off and trudge back to the cabin, grabbing more firewood on the way in.
    There's no fucking way she's getting more goddamn bruises.
     
    With a fire raging to keep the cabin warm and dry out the wood I brought inside, I make my way up to the hellcat.
    I knock on the bedroom door and get no response, so I knock louder.
    "Jesus, Sasquatch, you're going to break the door," she complains.
    Taking this as permission to enter, I open the door and find her surrounded by a laptop and a ton of papers. There's a thick stack next to her held together with a binder clip, multiple folders, loose papers spread across the bed, and her laptop directly in front of her.
    "Ready for the mountaintop tour?" I ask, sitting on the bed.
    The papers shift and she glares at me.
    I'm not sure why, but her glares amuse me.
    "I told you already. I have stuff to work on."
    She resituates the papers I disturbed.
    When she moves one folder, a picture comes into view. I grab it before she can stop me.
    "What is this?" I ask, studying a mock up for packaging.
    "There're more photos in the folder," she says, keeping her eyes on the laptop.
    At first, I'm surprised she doesn't yell at me for snooping while hiding the rest of the pictures. Then, I hurry to get them in my hands before her other personality can kick in and take them away.
    I flip through the pictures of something called Toy BoXXX™ and freeze on the last one. It's a shot of the box open, revealing its content.
    "These are dildos," I blurt, unable to take my eyes off the light green rubber dick.
    The picture disappears from my hand. I follow it and see Sid examining the photo.
    "Yeah," she sighs, "that was the Tickle Pickle. It didn't really live up to the hype."
    Her eyes come to mine and her brow furrows.
    "What?" she asks in a defensive tone.
    Her question makes me realize my mouth is gaping and I'm not blinking.
    I close my mouth, swallow, then blink a couple times, shaking my head. Unable to get the last part of what she said out of my head, the question just falls from my lips.
    "Didn't live up to the hype?"
    She studies me for what feels like the longest moment of my life before shrugging and answering, "Nope."
    I don't even have to press for her to provide more information.
    "There are these little bumps covering the surface," she says, leaning forward and pointing to the tiny green nodules. "They really didn't do much. It was disappointing. I ended up not using it in the box."
    "What is this…" I pause, find the right picture, and then finish, "Toy BoXXX?"
    "It's one of my businesses," she says, matter-of-fact. Digging through more papers, she pulls out a professionally printed flyer.
    She holds it out and I take it, skimming over the marketing piece.
    "So, it's like a porn subscription box?" I tear my eyes away from the flyer and look at her.
    "It's not just porn," she argues. "Yes, porn is included, but I also include sexual health pamphlets, support groups information for sex addicts, sexual health toys—"
    "You mean sex toys?" I interrupt.
    "Sure, you can call them that, but there are others that are for sexual health." The energy that starts pouring off her is contagious enough to get me excited about this dirty little box. "See," she says, shoving paper in my face, "this is a new device."
    "It looks like a cock ring," I state.
    "True, but it's enhanced to record sexual activity stats for men," she informs. "This device is like those fitness bracelets, but for sex. It's pretty fucking cool if you ask me."
    "And you include this in your…box?"
    I set the paper back on the bed.
    She shakes her head.
    "No," she groans in disappointment. "It isn't fully realized and I can't get a BETA version to test."
    Fingering the paper, she gives a whimsical sigh.
    "So, this is a start up?" I ask, reaching for another folder stamped with