Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
Seraphina, before him, had been a bit different. We did talk, but it wasn’t over the phone. She just came over to my place during college. Or I went to hers. That’d been new to me. She was my first relationship, so I hadn’t totally known what I was doing.
After them, I’d given up, figuring dating wasn’t for me. It wasn’t going to be in the cards. And now this? With Brett?
I hadn’t stopped smiling. I was excited to see him on the field. I was being totally cheesy, but I let myself indulge. There was too much hard shit in life. So yeah, I let myself feel all the sunshine and rainbows right now because who knew what would happen in the future.
“Lo’s about to lose her shit.” Roger stepped over my feet, which were resting on the coffee table, with a bowl of popcorn. He dropped down next to me on the couch, and I bounced up from the motion. He nodded at the television, where the newscasters were making their predictions for the game. The Kings were playing Minneapolis, and for some reason, since we’d won the Super Bowl last year, everyone was counting the Kings out. They all thought they’d peaked.
I was going to enjoy it when they ate crow.
I sat up, folding my knees under me. “Why’s she about to lose her shit?”
“Because of you.” He tossed a handful of popcorn in his mouth and grinned.
I narrowed my eyes. “Because why?” I grabbed the remote and turned the volume down.
“Because you haven’t told her about you-know-who.” He gestured to the television.
Brett. “What? But…” Dread spiked in my chest. “I thought she’d hunt me down, like she always does.”
“Nope.” He shook his head, throwing more popcorn in his mouth. “Her feelings are hurt.”
“What?”
“She gets like this when she’s in her feelings. It’s on you to figure out what’s wrong with her and then say what she wants you to say.”
“But…” I sputtered.
“Good luck. It usually takes me two days to figure out what I’ve done wrong. But you’re a girl. She’s a girl. You’ll probably know what she wants to hear.”
He was right about that. She wanted to know about Brett. But man, I’d just wanted a day to keep him to myself. I groaned. “She always hunts me down. I was planning on telling her everything. She usually makes me go on a walk with her.”
He paused. “Not this time. You gotta go to her.” He glanced at the television. “Make it speedy because we got thirty minutes before kickoff.”
“But—”
“If you don’t get to her now, it’s going to make it worse. She’ll ice you out until at least next week sometime, and she’ll make all of us leave right when the game ends, and none of us wants that. Howard made ice cream. The girls are playing outside. We’re all happy. Everyone’s going to want ice cream. For the sake of my family and our love for ice cream, go talk to Lo now.” He reached over and plucked the television remote from my hands.
I stood and passed Vicky in the kitchen. I paused on the way out. “You need help?”
She shook her head, rolling out some paper at the kitchen table. “Not one bit. You go have a chat with Lo.”
“You heard?”
Howard was at the sink, washing a few things. He chuckled, his back to us. “Hard not to hear that boy.”
“Hey!” Roger called from the other room. “I’m not loud. It’s called charisma. People just pay attention to everything I do and say.”
“Yep. That’s what we call it. Charisma.” Vicky’s tone was dry.
“That’s right. Charisma. And I’m a man.”
Vicky called back, never stopping what she was doing, “You’re always going to be our boy.”
“That’s okay. I love you too, but I’m a man. With charisma.”
Howard hung a towel in front of the stove. “Well, would the man in the living room want a beer?”
Roger was quiet, then appeared in the doorway. “I’ll grab ’em. You want one, Howard?”
Howard’s gaze swept over me as he nodded. “A beer sounds real good today. Perfect to watch the game with.”
Roger went around me, heading to the garage where they kept the beer.
“The longer you stall, the madder she’s going to be,” Vicky said, still pressing her paper out.
She was right, and that made the nerves twist tighter inside me.
Two of the girls were practicing somersaults and handsprings in the backyard, under the giant willow tree, while Luna, their third, biked up and down the driveway, leaning forward and going as fast as she could.
Lo stood between them, her hand at her forehead, giving her some shade as she watched.
“Hi, Billie!” Cynthia and Charlotte stopped their somersaults and waved. They almost spoke at the same time.
Lo didn’t move.
I waved to the girls and made small talk for a bit, asking about how high they could kick. They were eight, ten, and twelve. Luna was the youngest, and how hard she was trying to crash her bike was a testament to her place as the wild one in the family.