Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I liked myself. And I was successful, too—here in our small town, at least.
But it was like the moment I started thinking about Rush, teenage Shawn came flying right back into my brain. Shy, awkward, and desperately trying to keep my crush secret. I wanted to be more than that now. I wanted to make a good impression, even if Rush barely remembered me.
“Rush could flirt with a piece of rebar. That’s how good he is. What’s wrong with asking him for wingman help? I’m sure he can give you tips.”
I groaned. “It’s already embarrassing enough that I can’t find anyone. I don’t need the whole world knowing about it.”
“You joke about it with Charlie, Morty, Bill, Jesse, and just about every single subcontractor, plumber, or realtor we ever meet,” Nathan said. “You’re an open book. I sure as hell didn’t think you’d care if I told Rush. He’s basically like a brother to us.”
“He’s like a brother to you,” I corrected him. “He never gave a shit about me back in school, and he hasn’t been back here in town since.”
“Sure he noticed you,” Nathan said. “Kind of. Sometimes. He was a busy guy.”
“He called me Little Wood, too,” I said, “I hated that shit.”
Truthfully, I wanted to hate the nickname, but some part of me held a fondness for it, too. It was one of the only things Rush used to say to me, walking past me when he came over to hang out with Nathan. Oh, hey, Little Wood, he’d say, sometimes giving me a quick high five as he quickly passed by to go find my brother.
“Well, he’ll find out soon enough that you aren’t little anymore,” Nathan said. “Maybe he’ll call you Big, Beefy, Construction Man Shawn instead.”
I let out a breath. “It’s no biggie. We’ll have a great night.” I was trying to convince both Nathan and myself that it was the truth. “I have no clue what a fuck nugget is, by the way.”
“We’ll ask around. Make sure we get to the bottom of fuck nugget research,” he joked.
After closing up shop at the house, we hopped into Nathan’s truck and started to make our way back over to the center of Jade River. He played the Beatles, which I loved just as much as he did, regardless of the fact that they definitely qualified as “Dad Rock.” We cruised down forest-lined roads to “Helter Skelter” until we ended up on the narrow roads that led to town square, turning onto Spruce Street.
I loved Spruce Street. It was the closest thing Jade River had to a main drag, and the street was lined with trees that had string lights wrapped around them all year long. The sidewalks were wide and paved in cobblestone, and there was a tiny bridge that formed down the road, going over the little offshoot of the river that came through the town square.
Here, it always felt bustling, even though our town was small. So many Mom and Pop shops had been able to survive here on Spruce because Denver was about an hour away down the mountain, and people needed something closer here. Hazel’s Diner, Jade Brewery, our Fixer Brothers offices, and dozens and dozens of other tiny shops for coffee, food, hardware, dry cleaning, or anything else were here—there was even a tiny store where an old woman named Pat had sold candles and soaps for my whole life.
No place on Earth felt more like home to me than the town square, and making our way under the canopy of trees knowing that we were about to see Rush was a unique thrill I hadn’t felt since way back in high school.
“I promise tonight will be fun tonight,” Nathan said, tapping his hands on the wheel along to the Beatles. “It won’t be awkward.”
I waved a hand. “I mean, you might see me sloppy as hell, singing All By Myself drunk and leaning on the jukebox later tonight, but just make sure I get home safe and everything will be okay.”
Nathan laughed. “Deal.”
It’s all okay.
My biggest teenage crush already knows that I’m still the same old hopeless Shawn Wood.
Just act normal, chill out, and don’t fall for him again.
2
RUSH
I pulled down on the cold, chrome handle of the beer tap, pushing back just enough to get the foam velvety and perfect. I slid a frosty glass over toward Jax, then pulled another pint for myself.
“This is how the Pilsner should be served, every time,” I told Jax. “Just remember: a perfect Pilsner is like a perfect date. At the end, you really want to give it some good head.”
Jax snorted a laugh, wiping his lips after taking a sip. “Got it, boss. Um, the ‘head’ is the foam, right?”
“Bingo. You’re learning so quick.”
Jax was one of the younger bartenders here at the brewery, and he was still learning about the whole process. Jax was in his junior year of college, had turned twenty-one a few months ago, and started bartending when my dad gave him a shot. Jax was a straight frat boy, but he seemed to love when I made any jokes about giving head or taking dick, so I figured I’d keep amusing him.