Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“So what Jonah and I have isn’t real?”
“It might seem real right now. But give it a few more years, maybe you two will realize you were better off as passing acquaintances on another busy weekend.”
“Careful, bro.”
“And y’know what? Maybe my looks do help with my tips,” I go on, hotheaded and not caring. “Maybe my being single and flirting with tourists does help my business. But it doesn’t mean I’m a bad person.” I lean into him. “I don’t need love to prove anything.”
“And you wonder why you have the reputation you do. Y’know what?” he carries on before I can speak. “I’ve got a different theory. Listen up, this’ll be fascinating to you. I think you do believe in love … but you’re afraid of getting hurt. You push away every eligible bachelor because it’s easier than making yourself vulnerable to them. You make sure it’s you who crushes their heart first. That way, you’re always safe.”
“I didn’t ask for your advice.”
“You never do. That’s why I’m giving it.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and brings his face close. “I say this with love, bro: There’s a reason everyone on the island calls you the Heart Crusher. Either own the title or do something about it.”
Every muscle in my face tightens. I shrug his hands off of my shoulders at once. “I don’t care what people call me. I don’t care what you call me. I’m not a fucking name.”
“I’m not saying this to make you angry. It’s just true.”
“Y’know what? You and Erick are the same. You guys don’t know me at all.”
“I’m your brother. Of course I know you.”
He tries to put his hand on my shoulder again, but I smack it away. “Don’t try to smooth this over.”
“Really? We’re gonna be like this again? Fighting?” Nothing good’s going to come out of my mouth right now, so I walk away. “C’mon!” he shouts at my back. When I don’t stop, he adds, “I’m sorry your life is so hard, Adrian! Good luck coping with your beauty!”
My shift doesn’t get any better. Thanks to Kent and Erick jointly ruining my mood, I’m totally off my game. I get two orders wrong—on the same damned table, a couple of lovebirds here on their anniversary—and have to work my charm to keep everyone happy. Despite the fuck ups, when I collect my tip, I realize it includes a hundred dollar bill—and a note scribbled on the back of the receipt: We’re at the Elysian, Room 305, and we love to play. Want to make our anniversary extra special?
I stare at that note, the room seeming to grow darker all around me. With a squeeze of my fist, I crumple the words up and pitch it at the trash, fed up.
Then I fish it back out with a sigh, realizing I need it to close out their bill.
“Sweetheart, you look tired and overworked.”
It’s half an hour later when I lift my eyes from the register—where I’ve been stuck clearing up the most complicated bar tab on Earth—to find my mom standing at the counter, half a cigarette hanging from her lips. Her waves of strawberry blonde hair gather into a messy bun, with curls framing the sides of her youthful yet weathered face. Her cheeks are scattered in freckles, her peachy skin burned by the sun. She must’ve spent this afternoon on the beach. I can already picture her lying out on that favorite thirty-year-old tattered blanket of hers with a margarita.
“You’re interrupting me at work, Mom.”
“Think you can bring something by later? We haven’t eaten. Last recipe I tried off YouTube sent little Skipper to the bathroom for two straight hours, poor thing.”
I won’t ask. “What do you want?”
“What? Can’t I—” She takes a drag of her cigarette and lets it out with the rest of her words. “—visit my son?”
“You don’t ever call me ‘sweetheart’ unless you want something.”
“Fine.” She reaches to flick her cigarette over a distant ashtray, discovers it’s too far, then slides it in front of her with a grunt. “I need you to be a detective for me.”
“What? Why?”
“Don’t be mad, but … Chuck’s in town.”
I love my mom, but she can be such a handful. “Nope.”
“C’mon, sweetheart. Hear me out.”
“Why are you still so damned obsessed with Dad? It’s been ten years.”
“I just need to know why he’s here. Kent won’t help me with this. He’s still too bitter about the whole thing.”
“And I’m any better?”
“Of course you are, sweetheart. You’re more sensible, far less emotional.” She gives me a look and reconsiders. “Well, usually you are.”
I hear my boss shout for me from the back. I slap the receipt down with the rest and give her a look. “I’m not playing Sherlock what’s-his-name this weekend, Mom. You’ve got better things you can do with your time other than creeping on Dad. Take a cooking class and learn to fry an egg or something. Even I can do that much.” I turn away to answer my boss’s call.