Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Trust me.
It happens.
When Drew snorts, I put a note of it in my phone. When he picks up the menu and stares holes through it as if he were planning on ordering food—a first date no-no—ignoring his date, I take note of that too.
Nothing escapes my attention.
I feel the tension from the table, literally. Call it twintuition or call it reading the room, but he’s not having a good time.
And neither is she.
He needs to vet these chicks more—which is easy for me to say because I have no interest in finding a girlfriend, but IF I DID, I would definitely make more conversation before leg shackling myself to a table with one for an hour.
This is what you get for asking a girl out face-to-face like a chump instead of chatting with them on a dating app, like normal humans do.
It appears my brother ordered food, a big no-no for first dates. Now he’s stuck sitting there making small talk! No fleeing the scene if she’s a drag. He has to finish his food and try to entertain her.
Or, I mean—he could get drunk, but that’s not really my twin’s style.
Mine, either.
It’s a solid plan if this chick is boring, which it looks like she is.
I wonder where he met her?
Probably a class.
Or in the student union. He tends to hang out there doing his homework in the common area.
Dude loved living in the dorms our freshman year. Don’t ask me why because I always thought it was a cesspool of immature idiots out of their parents’ house for the first time who had no idea how to behave on their own, let alone make their own food.
Dorms reeked like weed and burnt mac ’n’ cheese.
But I digress…
This dating thing? It’s new.
He seems to have gotten a burr up his ass about it since Dallas, our older brother by one year, moved his girlfriend into the house and was all domesticated before he moved back out to play football. Drew loves Ryann, Drew loves Posey, Drew wants to find someone of his own, so off he went to find her.
I’ve also noticed he hasn’t been happy on the field. I don’t know what the problem is but he doesn’t seem as focused, and he sure as hell ain’t having fun. Not the way he used to.
The Colter brothers were always a trio—until Dallas graduated. I assumed that after he left, my twin and I would take over where he left off and dominate; not just during the games but on campus.
I was wrong.
It feels like he’s more focused on his personal life than our football careers, and if dating someone and finding a girlfriend will make him happy—more determined—then as the closest person to him? I wanna help.
Continuing my recon mission, I lean behind the girl in the chair next to me, doing my best to blend in. Though the bright-red hoodie probably isn’t doing me any favors, nor are my square jawline and gorgeous brown eyes.
It’s not my fault heads swivel when I sit, and the bartender is overly attentive.
I spy.
I wish I could read lips, but my brother has a bite of burger in his mouth and is talking around it. Something else we’ll need to discuss: manners at the dinner table. You’d think it was me who needed scolding on etiquette, but it’s always been Drew who couldn’t conduct himself during a meal, moaning when the food tastes good and smacking his lips.
So annoying.
Listening to him eat cereal makes me want to commit a crime.
Drew wipes his hands with a napkin, scoots out of the booth and says something to his date, then walks to the back of the bar toward the bathroom.
I rise from the barstool where I’m parked.
And follow him like a creep.
I avert my gaze and lower my head when I walk past his date’s table, but it’s pointless because she’s already on her phone, most likely texting her friends about him.
I can imagine what her message says: Drew Colter is Boring AF
That bitch—how dare she malign my brother.
He’s a catch!
We all are!
“Dude.” I shove through the restroom door, immediately cornering him as he takes a piss at the urinal.
“Dude,” he repeats in the same tone. “Why the hell are you here?”
He finishes, jiggling his dick a few times to make sure it’s totally empty, then zipping his fly and walking to the sink.
“Coz. You can’t be trusted to do this on your own.”
“Gee, thanks.” He rolls his eyes. “Seriously, though, what are you doin’ here?”
“I am bein’ serious. I wanted to check on you to make sure things were on an upward trajectory.”
That’s true at least; I say nothing about not being able to mind my own damn business.
“And?”
“And…” I hesitate. “I have some notes.”
“Of course you do.” My brother pulls two pieces of brown paper towels out of the dispenser to dry his hands. “I’m not going to stand in here yappin’ with you when I have a date waitin’.”