Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
What did it say about her that one of her closest friends wasn’t old enough to drink and the other was JD Green? She had an affinity for orphan boys and open hearts? These two were her lifelines most days, but lately—and by lately, she meant since Wyatt moved in a couple of weeks ago—they’d been giving her nothing but grief.
“Just saying,” she shrugged. “Young college boy, hanging at a bar during happy hour…”
“I’m nineteen, Fiona. I do what I want. And part of this will be mine someday.”
“All hail Prince Jake of Pub Finn,” JD joked, bowing his head regally in the younger man’s direction. “Although, and I cannot stress this enough, any man who must say, ‘I am the king’ is no true king.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “You’re bringing up Thrones, Green? Too soon.”
“You’re right.” JD leaned against the bar despondently and reached for his beer. He still had a thing for Brady’s Stout. “The ending ruined that show’s quotability forever.”
Fiona sucked on her lower lip to keep from laughing. It was a habit she hadn’t managed to kick since losing the piercing. “It’s a fictional series, guys. You need to let it go.”
“Tell that to David and Rory,” Jake countered. “They didn’t sign the petition, but their YouTube channel held a live chat that felt more like an Irish wake after the finale.”
“I can’t believe Seamus was okay with you watching that.” Fiona grimaced. “It was all violence, incest and brothels, wasn’t it? I read somewhere that the two biggest romances were between relatives, and the only strong female characters dressed like men. I feel like the author needs some therapy.”
“Spoiler alert,” JD burst out, causing several people, including the other two bartenders, to turn in their direction. “Sorry. Bad habit. But you really need to read the books before you start judging.”
“And once again, nineteen.”
Every time he said that it gave Fiona a start. He’d grown up so fast. When she’d first met him, he’d reminded her of an adult trapped in a teenage body, but now his body was starting to catch up. Jake was taller than JD at this point. All broad shoulders and a new confidence that made all the coeds swoon. Jake might not look like a Finn, but he’d inherited all of their best qualities. Including charisma, if his busy social calendar was anything to go by.
“I miss nineteen,” JD sighed. “But not as much as I miss the days when Fiona used to talk to her two besties about her two boyfriends. Should I point out your tendency to collect matching sets instead? Or—ooh, I know—how about your fetish for self-sabotage?”
As an advice columnist for the lovelorn, JD was fantastic at reading people, incredibly entertaining and usually very helpful.
Usually.
But you told them instead of the people who really need to know.
“Not now, Green. Weren’t we talking about violence in television and writers with strange fetishes?”
“Yeah, not now, Green,” Jake echoed, ignoring her attempt at deflection. “It’ll be better to have this conversation in a few months. When the real reason she came back early is obvious to anyone with eyes.”
Fiona stiffened, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to this end of the bar. “It’s only been two weeks. Wyatt is just now getting to the point where he can take a shower without needing a breathing treatment and a nap. And he and Thoreau are finally able to be in the same room without snapping at each other.”
“They snap in texts,” Jake corrected. “But you’re right, they’re not physically snapping at each other.”
That didn’t mean they’d decided to be friends. No one had been more surprised than Fiona was when Thoreau volunteered the Wayne-plex for Wyatt’s recovery. Or more shocked that Wyatt accepted. She’d been so tired at that point, and everyone else had seemed so relieved, that she hadn’t taken the time to consider what it meant.
Both of them. Together under the same roof. She and Thoreau taking turns nagging Wyatt about his medicine and taking him to the doctor. All three of them arguing about dinner and sharing a bathroom. All three of them going commando while their underwear shared a spin cycle in the washing machine.
It was heaven. It was torture. It was almost perfect, and she didn’t want it to end.
She shook her head. “Now is not the time to throw a live grenade into the mix.”
“A baby is not a grenade, Fiona,” JD scoffed, pushing his longish hair out of his face impatiently and adjusting his glasses. “It’s a gift. You know that better than anyone.”
She folded her elbows onto the bar and pressed her forehead against the cool wood. “I do know that. Of course I know that.” She looked up at him. “But these last few weeks I’ve seen hints of how great it could be to have them both right there with me. Even if they are texting passive aggressively. It won’t last. It can’t, and I know that. Wyatt would never be okay with this for the long haul and I have—well, you know what I have. I just wanted to enjoy it while I could without adding any complications. Is that so horrible?”