Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“What the hell,” I damn near shout, hitting SAVE on the seven-page ethics paper I’ve been working on for the past four hours. I minimize the Word document and rise, stalking to the door with a huff.
I yank the door open to a chagrined Miles standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall opposite my room. “What the hell, Turner? Are you trying to bust my door down?”
He gives an eye roll. “What’s with the look, man? I’m just following orders—Cubby said we had to start knocking. Said you wanted privacy or some shit.” He lowers his voice to a whisper and uses air quotes around the word privacy—like it’s a conspiracy only we’re in on—as he glances up and down the hall.
I stand, regarding him silently, arms crossed, shaking my head in disbelief. These guys are un-freaking-believable.
“Do you have any tape? I’m out.”
I keep expecting Miles to push his way into my room, but he doesn’t.
Huh. Weird.
My frown narrows in on him suspiciously, and I give a stiff nod of acquiescence before disappearing to fetch the black hockey tape we use to wrap our sticks from my closet. He waits patiently in the hallway and thanks me when I slap it down in his outstretched palm curtly.
“Anything else?”
“No.” He studies me curiously, and I nod again, grasping the doorframe in my hand, ready to close it in his face. His large hand darts out to stop it. “Wait.” Miles chews on his bottom lip. “Is it true you’re going to charge us a dick fee?”
“A what?”
“Cubby said you’re charging us, uh, a dick fee.”
Fucking. Cubby.
Miles looks so disturbed by the idea that I almost burst out laughing.
Almost.
I arrange my face into an impassive mask. “Dick fee? Yeah, I’m giving it some serious thought,” I deadpan. It occurs to me that I should be asking, And you believed that, douchebag? But I don’t. “Why. Are you worried?”
“Pfft, no,” he guffaws, but his face is solemn. “I mean, only if you’re charging by the inch.”
Wait—the hell is he talking about? “What exactly did Cubby tell you?”
Miles leans back against the wall and scratches at the roll of hockey tape with his fingernail absentmindedly. He shrugs. “Nothing. Just that if we wanted to live here we had to start knocking on your door and leaving you alone and shit. And if we don’t you’re going to kick us all out or charge us, and he’s the one who’ll be measuring our cocks and keeping track of all that shit.” He rambles on. “I mean—that’s not really cool, man. Dick size isn’t something you can control.”
Unable to keep a straight face any longer, the laughter erupts out of me in a deafening sputter. I bend over and clutch the doorframe with my right hand to keep myself from falling over, tears spilling out my eyes. “Oh my god, dude. I c-can’t… You fucking idiot… Oh, Jesus Christ, did you just admit you have a small dick?”
I’m wheezing and coughing now, and when I squint up at Miles’s angry scowl through teary eyes, I laugh even harder. “Small dick... Turner, how am I going to take you seriously? Oh jeez, this is a good one…”
“Shut the fuck up already! Stop saying small dick!” Miles implores, glancing down the hallway again. “God, you guys are assholes.”
I hold my hands up in surrender, biting my entire lower lip between my teeth as I struggle to regain my composure. “Why the hell would you believe anything Billings has to say? He’s a complete moron.”
Miles crosses his arms, pissed. “You know I wasn’t being serious about my dick. I knew the whole time it was a crock of shit.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever you say, man.” I chuckle. “Except the privacy crap. You guys need to stop treating this place like it’s a frat-house free-for-all. Because it’s not. You scared off my, uh… Abby. That shit is no longer acceptable.”
“Okay, Dad,” Miles mocks sarcastically. Then he gets a good look at my face. “Okay, okay. Yes, fine. No more barging in.”
I point a finger in his face. “And start picking up your own shit around the house.”
“Baby steps, Showtime. Baby steps…”
Cecelia: You’ve been texting me a lot lately. I don’t mind, but you’re making me worried.
Abby: There’s nothing to worry about. I’m just trying to figure all this out without having to spill my guts to Jenna.
Cecelia: Do you want me to drive up this weekend? It sounds like you need a hug and a dose of BFF…
Abby: You would do that?
Cecelia: Are you crazy!? Of COURSE I WOULD. I heart you. Besides, it’s only little over an hour drive. I can be there in two days. By the time you get done with classes on Friday!
Cecelia: Heads up, Matthew was reading that over my shoulder and he says he’s coming with…