Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
So of course I said some things.
About her ‘fix it’ behavior. About her good girl complex.
Which means she said some things too. About me being stubborn and an idiot.
And so we had a fight of sorts, which ended in her crying and me licking up those tears, and finally giving in.
Because I can’t do it.
I can’t see her cry; it makes my chest hurt.
I wasn’t going to play soccer with Homer though, the game I hate because of him; I have my limits. So I invited him here. On my turf, among my friends.
And fuck me, but there was this happiness on his face.
When I’d issued the invitation.
I did it on very short notice too. A couple of hours ago, just when we were leaving work — which still blows by the way — thinking he might have plans. He did. But he cancelled them to meet me here. He’s not even wearing his usual clothes, a three-piece suit with a handkerchief. He’s got a dress shirt on and dress pants; not really bar clothes but definitely a change for him.
But the biggest kicker is that we’re not having that bad of a time.
Homer specifically.
Probably because he’s not as much of a newcomer as I’d like him to be. He’s sort of friends with Stellan and Shep, or used to be back in high school. They’re about the same age and played soccer against each other. While they’d lost touch after that, they seem to be reconnecting well.
“No more, all right,” Shep goes. “I love my fucking niece. I love her to pieces. But if I have to see one more fucking picture of her pooping, I’m gonna lose it, Jackson.”
“Fuck you, you dickhead,” Reed grumbles, flicking through yet another photo of his baby girl, Halo. “She wasn’t pooping in that picture. She was playing with a poop toy. And even if she was, it wouldn’t be gross. Because my baby girl poops glitter and farts unicorns.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Shep throws his hands up. “Please someone make this moron stop. He’s killing my hard-on.”
Reed flips him the bird before showing off yet another picture of Halo, his thousandth probably, since we sat down.
Ledger shakes his head, taking a pull of his beer. “It’s not as if you can do anything about it. You’ve got a fucking girlfriend, remember?”
“Who do you think my hard-on is for, genius?” Shep throws back.
“Okay, genius,” Ledger mocks. “Unless you know how to magically teleport her here from New fuckin’ York, you still can’t do anything about it.”
Shep shoots his younger brother a look. “I can. It’s called a telephone.”
“I believe the correct term is phone sex,” Reed puts in before jerking his chin at Ledger. “Which means you’re gonna need some earplugs tonight.”
It’s Shep’s turn to flip Reed the bird.
Through all this, my eyes inevitably go over to Stellan, Shep’s twin.
According to Ledger, who’s the biggest gossip ever, there’s some tension between the twins. Regarding Shep’s girlfriend, Isadora. Apparently, Stellan wants her too. Not that Shep knows, or so Ledger tells me. I’m not privy to a lot of details but all I can say is that if it’s true, that was a low blow on Ledger’s part.
For bringing something like that up in front of Stellan.
Who’s keeping his eyes on Reed’s phone, staring at his niece’s pictures like his life depends on it.
I lean toward Ledger. “Nice job, asshat.”
“Just trying to get him to snap out of it. Because it ain’t happening. Shep’s fucking crazy about his girl. Besides, what’s he thinking, going after his twin’s girl? That’s the biggest fucking violation of the bro code and…” He glances at me, at my ticking jaw. “Well, you know what he’s thinking.”
“Shut the fuck up or I’ll make you.”
He smirks. “That’s not very nice. I was gonna say sorry but now I’m not going to.”
I clench my jaw. “That’s because you’re a fucking moron. And why don’t you worry about snapping out of your funk, huh?”
He takes another pull of his beer. “Fuck you, I’m fine.”
“Sure, you are.”
He isn’t.
Ledger’s in a bad mood; he’s always in a bad mood but since the soccer game last week at his sister’s house, his mood’s been blacker than usual. It’s Tempest. He gets that way after seeing her. He hates everything; he kicks at things; he rages and then he calms down.
Whatever.
All I want right now is to get out of here.
Which I do when my own brother starts talking smack about me.
Well, not smack but it might as well be. Because he speaks as if he knows me. As if he knows anything about me and my life and my fucking soccer skills.
“Of course, he’s much better than me,” he says to Shep. “And I wish I could take credit for it, but it’s all him.”
I choose that moment to spring up from my seat. “I’m gonna take off.”