There was an awkward moment where I waited for Morelli to prolong our time together. I would have liked him to walk back to the car with me. Truth is, I missed Morelli. I missed the passion, and I missed the affectionate teasing. He never tugged at my hair anymore. He didn't try to look down my shirt or up my skirt. We were at an impasse, and I was at a loss as to how to end it.
“Try to be careful,” Morelli said. We stared at each other for a moment, and we each went our own way.
Stephanie Plum 8 - Hard Eight
7
I LIMPED BACK to the concession stand and got a Coke and a box of Cracker Jacks. Cracker jacks don't count as junk food because they're corn and peanuts, which we know to be high in nutrition. And they have a prize inside.
I walked the short distance to the water's edge, opened the box of Cracker jacks, and a goose rushed up to me and pecked me in the knee. I jumped back, but he kept coming at me, honking and pecking. I threw a Cracker Jack as far as I could, and the goose scrambled after it. Big mistake. Turns out, tossing a Cracker Jack is the goose equivalent to a party invitation. Suddenly geese were rushing at me from every corner of the park, running on their stupid goose webbed feet, waggling their fat goose asses, flapping their big goose wings, their beady, black goose eyes fixed on my Cracker Jacks. They fought among themselves as they charged me, squawking, honking, viciously snapping, jockeying for position.
“Run for your life, honey! Give them the Cracker Jacks,” an old lady yelled from a nearby bench. “Throw them the box, or those honkers'll eat you alive!”
I held tight to my box. “I didn't get to the prize. The prize is still in the box.”
“Forget the prize!”
There were geese flying in from across the lake. Hell, for all I knew they could have been flying in from Canada. One of them hit me square in the chest and sent me sprawling. I let out a shriek and lost my grip on the box. The geese attacked with no regard for human or goose life. The noise was deafening. Goose wings beat against me, and goose toenails ripped holes in my T-shirt.
It seemed like the feeding frenzy lasted for hours, but in fact it was maybe a minute. The geese departed as quickly as they came, and all that was left were goose feathers and goose poop. Huge, gelatinous gobs of goose poop . . . as far as th