Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“Me? Say something stupid? That’s Drake’s department, and he isn’t home yet.”
“Where’d he go?”
“To Tiffany and Shannon’s.”
“Who are Tiffany and Shannon?”
Drew gives me a blank stare. “Um, the neighbors? You’ve only met them a few dozen times.”
If that’s the case, it’s because they’re like three flies on shit, buzzing around, taking every opportunity they can to weasel their way inside this house. Some girls seem to think if they fuck one of us, their magical golden vagina will be the meal ticket to a life of shopping, expensive bags, and VIP suites.
“Are they blond?”
“Two of them are.”
“They all look the same to me.” And they all want the same thing, too. “Maybe they should try a new approach.”
Drew shrugs. “Seems to be working on Drake.”
“Thought he was smarter than that.” He shouldn’t be letting them lead him around by his dick.
“Well, he’s not.”
I thought I taught him better; I thought Duke taught him better. We took all our cues from him, the three younger Colters, watched him wade through the bullshit as a high school student, as a college football player, then as a rookie in the pros. Our older brother struggled to find a relationship—a genuine one with a genuine girl—so…he was never really in one.
And neither was I.
Drew and Drake? Yeah, they’ve had girlfriends, but nothing serious.
Oftentimes when they begin dating someone and the girl realizes how little free time we actually have to spend with them, well—that’s when the fights and arguments begin.
“I was going to order pizza later. You want some?” Drew asks with a mouth full of cereal.
“No, dude, we just had pizza. Get something different.”
“Want me to order something from Gleeson’s before that girl gets here so you can pretend you made it from scratch? Steaks or something?”
Gleeson’s is the only nice steakhouse near campus and has cost an arm and a leg the few times we’ve been there, usually when Duke comes to town and we want to go somewhere nice.
“No, jackass. I’m not having her here so I can impress her.”
“Then why are you having her here?”
So I can convince her to do the impossible: pretend to be my girlfriend so I look like a better human being.
“I told you, we’re just hanging out.”
“Like—hanging out in the living room?”
“No. Probably in my room.” Obviously, we’ll want privacy so we can talk about shit. I don’t need my two brothers sniffing around while I’m trying to formulate a plan, certainly don’t need them repeating the plan to someone who’s going to sell the story to the press.
“So you have a girl coming to hang out, in your room, you’ll probably close the door even though nothing is going on, and you don’t want to serve pizza but you also don’t want steak.” Drew pauses. “Anything else we should know?”
My jaw clenches. Does he have to say it like I’m doing something shady? Or wrong? Or whatever he’s implying in that tone of voice?
He may be my younger brother, but he’s judgy as fuck sometimes.
“It’s not just any girl—it’s Ryann.” I roll my eyes.
“It’s not just any girl, it’s Ryann,” he mimics. “What the hell does that mean?”
No idea. “It means we’re just…hanging out. We’re not even friends, so get your mind right.”
“Not even friends? Then why are you hanging out?”
Dang.
Okay, little brother’s got me on a technicality, and I have no good way to respond.
“Leave me alone,” I finally growl, in no mood to keep circling around, barely in a mood to have company.
I hit the gym first. Shooting the shit with my teammates, Ryann’s name never crosses Diego’s lips. A good sign, yeah?
There’s no way I’d be able to explain using her to Diego.
Using her?
Huh.
Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m doing. I figure as long as she’s in on the plan, it’s no big deal, right? Open and honest, no matter what the honesty looks like—that’s my style.
Tearing off the Band-Aid. Cutting to the chase.
No one—including her—can accuse me of being misleading. Does everyone like the honesty? No. Those people can suck it because I’d rather be upfront than a passive pussy, Diego Lorenz being a shining example of one.
Imagine being such a pussy you can’t break up with your own damn girlfriend.
How fuckin’ embarrassing.
My watch buzzes, and I glance down at it, Ryann’s name lighting up the tiny digital screen.
Where am I going? I need your address.
To the point—I like it.
I give her my address and a brief description:
White house, blue door
Roger that. See you in ten.
I wonder if she’s walking, then wonder if I should offer to pick her up, which defeats the purpose of her coming over to negotiate, doesn’t it?
Still, half of me thinks it’s the polite thing to do. The other half of me doesn’t give a shit. Ryann is a big girl; she’ll put on a scarf if she’s cold.