Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Now, on one side of the art manual logic wanted to mock him and say time probably isn’t the main reason I haven’t done most of the shit I would put on the list; however, on the other side of the guide, I liked the idea of getting to do different things than I normally would.
Explore places.
Food.
Myself.
The bonus to all of it is having Tucker at my side.
The double bonus is that him wanting to be there also keeps him here in town where I need him for several more weeks.
And after the dinner fiasco that ended with us having our portion of the meal in his childhood bedroom post a blowjob – that I totally did not foresee happening – and spending a few minutes chatting with his aunt and uncle near the entry fountain, I’m not ashamed to admit that I need all the help I can get.
He almost packed up his shit that very night and bailed.
I think the only thing that stopped him was the fact we passed out together on the couch while watching Sailor Moon and arguing about the greatest Japanese artists of all time.
We argue about artists a lot.
Which is actually amazing.
Rarely do I meet anyone who wants to talk about the subject itself, never mind actually knowing anything about it that they didn’t teach in a public high school classroom.
Jaye is somewhat an interesting exception.
She knows about some art shit but primarily because she’s read about it in a book.
She loves to read, which makes sense since she’s a librarian.
“Looks good,” Tucker unexpectedly proclaims causing me to jump in place and knock into the edge of the counter. Right as I wince, he lightly chuckles, “That didn’t.”
He’s instantly shot a scowl.
“You okay, birthday girl?”
“Other than the new birthday bruise I’m now sure is forming, yes.” Touching the ends of my hair is nervously done. “You sure it looks okay?”
“Nope.” He folds his arms across his bare chest on a crooked grin. “I said it looks good. And I fucking say what I mean, June Bug.”
Lord have Matisse does he.
All the time.
Anywhere.
Two days ago, I was bending over in the grocery store to grab a giant bag of flour for what later would be a life size papier-mâché sculpture of Koose Koose – a sculpture he attacked and pushed into the water by the way – and Tucker just announces to everyone in the nearest ear radius what a fantastic ass he believes I have.
Yeah!
Just might as well have said it over the loudspeaker!
And of course, I was caught off guard and embarrassed and ended up bumping the side of my head against the shelving.
The knot was finally gone this morning.
The uneasiness of publicly being complimented like that, though?
Still here.
I never know what is gonna come out of his perfect for kissing mouth.
“So,” his voice slowly drags out prior to a smirk forming, “I have a surprise for you.”
“You’re not leaving tomorrow, are you?!” Panic doesn’t wait to flood my voice. “I don’t wanna be fired the day after my birthday! You’d be the worst person to give the box of birthday stuff to person ever!”
Tucker’s head tilts to the side in confusion. “What?”
“The person that gives the thing to people on the day they were born.”
“You mean gift giver?”
“I mean don’t give me an anxiety attack for my birthday!”
“Relax, June Bug,” he warmly chortles, beautiful beam returning. “I’m not bailing. I promise I won’t leave without some sort of heads up. And damn sure not the day after your birthday. That would be a shitty gift.”
At least we’re on the same page there.
Something tells me that’s where this ends though.
“Besides, after actually looking into Antarctica, which was a bust – for obvious reasons – I decided to hold out. Wait and see what hits me when Edie – with one d – texts again.”
Playfulness isn’t kept out of my tone. “Don’t all dudes only have one d?”
Tucker surprisingly laughs at my simple, pervy joke.
The fact he always laughs whenever I try to be funny is something else that makes him a fucking keeper.
Even if I know I don’t really get to keep him more than a couple months.
“Who’s Edie?” I question as I unplug my blow dryer.
“Edmond – who is not to be confused with his twin brother Edward aka Eddie with two ds –”
“This whole thing is starting to sound a lot like a cartoon I used to watch as a kid.”
“I met them back in college at Clover Rose-”
“Little surprised you didn’t go to Ashwin.”
“I didn’t like the haughty atmosphere.”
“Me either.”
My roommate offers me a sympathetic smile prior to continuing. “Anyway, Edie – with one d – is my art connect. He’s got contacts all over the world for really cool less mainstream shit like foam raves on yachts and silent film showings in abandoned warehouses where the audience has to have their mouth duct taped while Eddie – with two ds – is my foodie. He puts me onto culinary gems like the boxcar brunch and balut.”