Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“I like the comforts of home.”
I grin at her when she murmurs, “Hence the hundred tins of Milo.”
I notice her scent is a little more flowery today when I gesture for her to move in close for a lesson on how to make a true glass of Australian Milo. “Any Aussie mother will tell you that two tablespoons are plenty—”
“Tablespoons? As in the big ones?”
After nodding in appreciation of her supposed daftness, I continue, “But a true native knows the only way you’ll consume two spoonsful of Milo is if you use a ladle.”
That gets a giggle out of her… until she realizes I’m not joking.
“That’s a lot of Milo.” McKayla laughs so hard she almost snorts when I place a quarter cup of milk onto the half-full glass of Milo. “That ratio is way off. It can’t taste good.” Her laughter snags halfway out when I pull the damp Milo-coated spoon out of the mix and direct it toward her mouth. “Is that right? You haven’t mixed it properly.”
“It’s fine. Trust me.”
She does, although hesitantly.
I don’t wait for the Gods of Nestle to tiptoe across her taste buds. I devour the clumps of malty goodness she left on the spoon before digging in for a second helping.
“Oh… my… god…”
When McKayla steals my spoon to help herself to another mouthful, I say, “Good, right?”
She nods.
“It’s weird but good at the same time. Kinda like The Flowers in the Attic.”
I’m envious of her tongue when it delves out to collect a crumbling of Milo from her lip before she breaks them into a smile. “I told you if you looked past the incest and child abuse, you’d enjoy it.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” After gathering a second spoon so we can share the drink I made, I correct, “I didn’t say I was enjoying it.”
She shrugs off my confession as if it is untruthful. “Yet you bring it up in every conversation we have.” Which, in case you are wondering, is approximately four hours every day. Sometimes more.
Since McKayla’s sass is in abundance this afternoon, I attempt to bring it down a notch. “Because my tutor loves including lessons in every interaction we have.”
She doesn’t deny my claim. She simply shrugs before plopping her backside onto the edge of my bed. After a beat, she murmurs, “I like Milo.” Her eyes glisten in the lighting above our heads when she lifts them to me. “But I prefer Cash. Do you care what I call you?”
“Nope.” I talk through the large scoop of Milo I stuff into my mouth. “As long as it isn’t something hideous like Einstein.”
McKayla’s snarl could only be hotter if it was done without a massive smear of murky brown goop across her front teeth. She looks like she belongs in the alleyway of a bar with hissing cats and a banjo playing in the background.
When I raise my hand to her face, she blinks in rapid succession. “You’ve got… um… you have Milo on your teeth.” I don’t know what the fuck my hand is doing. I can’t drag my thumb along her teeth to remove the stain.
My tongue, though…
I shut down my inappropriate thoughts when McKayla grimaces before she scrubs her tongue along her teeth, then she hunts for her backpack. “We should probably get a wiggle on. Your bedtime is rapidly approaching.”
Although thankful she isn’t going to point out the obvious tension between us, I can’t let her off the hook. “Ha ha, Miss Smarty Pants.”
I regret my reminder about her brain power when she pulls out a calculus test. It appears as if I am set to be tortured for another two hours, but I’m saved by an unlikely source. “Do you ride all those boards, or are they just for display?’
As I shift my eyes to the display stand for my skateboards, I say, “I ride them.” I twist my lips after a truth spills from them. “Well, I did. I haven’t had time the past couple of months.”
I return my eyes to McKayla when she asks, “Could that contribute to your stress?”
“I’m not stressed,” I bark out with a laugh.
She acts as if I never said anything. “Do you think you could teach me?”
“To skate?” When she nods, I do the same. Then I choke on my spit when she dumps the calculus test on my bed and leaps to her feet. “You want me to teach you now?”
Again, she nods.
“I thought you said we needed to study?”
She fans her tiny hands across her waist. “And I thought you said creativity is intelligence having fun.”
My brows crumple. “I said that?”
I’m certain she has the wrong person, so imagine my shock when she jerks up her chin. “It might have been while I was holding your head ransom to a basketball, but wise, nonetheless.”