Chapter 9
STANDING IN an unfurnished kitchen that cost more than Kevin’s house, the girls and I stared slack-jawed at the abomination charging up the basement stairs.
Even as my guts screamed Spider! Giant doomsday spider! I knew that it wasn’t actually a cow-sized spider. It had the right number of legs, sort of, and it hugged the ground as it scuttled straight at me, but it wouldn’t squeeze into the mental slot labeled “spider.”
Then my brain figured out what my eyes were reporting, and I wished for the giant doomsday spider.
Take a man and a woman, lying down, face-to-face. Wrap her legs and arms around his body, exactly as people have done for hundreds of thousands of years.
Then squeeze them together.
Tighter. Until their hips and gut flow into one another.
The woman on top? Ma
