Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 119230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Mom lets out a heavy sigh. “You know I hate it when you do that. There’s a perfectly good bowl of fruit in the kitchen.”
“You know, normal people eat their fruit,” I tell her, just in case she hadn’t quite figured it out, but just to get my point across, I take another bite. “What’s wrong with vases or flowers or shit like that? Do you know how uncomfortable it is when the guys are here and I have to explain why they’re not allowed to eat the fruit in the fruit bowl that’s right in front of their faces? It’s like dangling a hooker in front of Riley and telling him he’s not allowed to lick it.”
Mom’s eyes go wide. “TANNER MORGAN!” she gasps, horrified by my loose tongue, though I don’t know why, she’s heard a lot worse slip from my mouth. But hell, Mom thinks I’m her precious little star. In her eyes, I can do no wrong and that’s the way it’s going to stay. She doesn’t need to know about the list of women I’ve worked my way through, the amount of hearts that have broken under my boots, or the number of jaws I’ve dislocated and broken.
Not going to lie, I’ve been in more shit than anyone at my school. I all but live in the principal’s office. Me and Principal Dormer have a solid understanding. He leaves my mother out of it and allows my father to deal with me, and in return, I ensure that he has the number one high school football team in the country. Who knows what he’s going to do when I graduate next year, but I suppose that’s not my problem. I’ll be onto bigger and better things with a long list of college teams begging me to join them.
“If you must know,” my mother continues, realizing that she’s not about to get an apology out of me, “I’m heading out. I’ve got a bunch of chores to do and then I thought I’d go visit your sister.”
I nod, having figured as much. “Tell her hi for me.”
Mom rolls her eyes and gives me a hard stare. “You could always come with me and say it yourself.”
My face scrunches. Mom knows how visiting my sister fucks with my mood. Every time I’ve seen her over the past few weeks, it sends me into a blind rage. Don’t get me wrong, I love my sister. She’s the reason I push myself so hard. I want to show her that anything is possible, but right now, I'm not sure I can be the kind of brother she needs.
Mom doesn’t bother waiting for a response, knowing where I stand on the topic. She loops her handbag over her arm and makes her way to the door, digging through her bag for her keys. Being the gentleman she thinks I am, I pull the door open and hold it for her.
Mom steps out and raises her head only to let out a heavy sigh. “Oh damn. The neighbor’s truck is blocking our driveway,” she mutters to herself, irritation lacing her features. “How am I supposed to get out around that?”
“Do you want me to ask them to move?”
She presses her lips into a hard line, her eyes flicking between the truck and her car. “No, it’s alright. I think I’ll be able to squeeze past.”
“Sure?” I question, looking up at the narrow space, not feeling good about the safety of her new Merc. Mom isn’t the greatest driver. There’s a reason we have a brand-new mailbox, and it has nothing to do with dumbasses driving past and knocking it down with baseball bats. “I can back out for you. It’s no problem.”
Mom scoffs. “Oh please, you ride around on that silly motorcycle all day. Besides, I have been driving for much longer than you have. I’ll be perfectly fi—” she trails off, watching as Channing’s new girlfriend steps out of the house and strides up to the movers, collecting boxes and taking them inside.
I can’t help but watch the show. She doesn’t strike me as the typical gold-digging girlfriend I’m used to seeing come and go from the house, but she holds all the typical qualities of a woman Channing likes—bleach-blonde hair, big eyes, and false lashes. Plus, she’s got a killer body to go with it. Clearly this is where her daughter gets it from.
Mom’s lips pull up in irritation and I smirk at her response. “What? Not keen on the new neighbor? Usually, you’d already be over there with a fresh tray of brownies, welcoming her to the street. I’m appalled, Mrs. Morgan. Where are your neighborly manners?”
Mom shrugs. “I don’t have time for that today. Besides, I wasted good brownies on the last two women who came through here and neither of them even bothered with a thank you, but I suppose that’s what you get when you date women lower than your class. They lasted only a few months each. If this new floozy makes it past the four-month mark, then I’ll introduce myself.”