Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Nope. We’re not anymore.”
“What the hell? Why?”
“’Cause you’re too good-looking, and she thinks so,” he says, pointing to Callie. “Stay away from her, unless I am around. You two have to be supervised. I don’t trust either of you.”
“What? I’m not like Owen.”
“I don’t trust Adlers,” he jeers.
I totally forgot he had a thing with my older sister Shelli. Since I will not disrespect Aviva and bring that up, I feign hurt. “But I’m a good Adler. Some say I take after my mom.”
“Your mom is a very nice lady, but I don’t trust any of you.” Nico looks at Aviva. “Can we hire Callie a nanny? Or do they have RAs who do that?”
Callie flashes a sneaky grin. “Evan is an RA.”
Oh, if looks could kill. “Calliope, that is not funny.”
Nico hands the baby to Aviva. “I need some fresh air. I’ll go grab the food out of the car. There probably isn’t enough, Adler. You should just go to the dining hall.”
“I’m coming for the conversation. I’m not hungry,” I say to his retreating back.
Aviva laughs as she looks over at me. “I’ll ask him to behave.”
I shrug. “Good luck.”
I look at Callie, and she is shaking her head. “He’s exhausting.”
“Yeah. But I do have a question.”
She glances over at me. “Yeah?”
“Is it true you like the way I look?”
She grins. “Just a bit,” she says with a wink. “And don’t worry. I’ll share my food with you.”
Callie’s pinkie runs along mine as she swiftly follows her family, sending chills down my spine. And I’m pretty sure as I follow her that I’m more than likely following her into a body bag.
Maybe I should make Emery’s inevitable mission of finding my murderer a bit easier and leave her a note that says Nico did it.
twenty-one
Evan
I learned something new about myself today. I don’t like when Callie falls on an event.
It doesn’t make sense since I’ve watched her fall a million times and get right back up, but it’s different when it’s a meet day. I know she’s put an immense amount of pressure on herself to bring in a good score for her team. I know how badly she wanted it, and it’s frustrating when her warm-up was incredible and she didn’t miss one little backward flip thing with no hands. She was killing it, but then she didn’t land it.
As much as it sucks and my heart dropped for her, her strength is without compare and inspiring. Callie glared at the beam, took in a deep breath, and got back on, finishing the rest of her routine aggressively and flawlessly. They still had to drop her score since it was the lowest, but she gave them a fighting chance just in case someone else fell. As much as I wanted to talk to her about it and tell her how incredible she is to me, she only did our handshake without making eye contact.
As an athlete, I respect her process. Even if it makes me twitch and long to comfort her. All the while, I’m so impressed by her, it only makes me like her more. I remember when my cousin Ryan would talk about his now-wife, Sofia, and how she was the best of the best as a gymnast. He would say that the humility of gymnastics and the strength it takes only make you respect the gymnast and the sport even more. I didn’t know it then, but he was right. This sport can humble the hell out of anyone. One second, you’re on; the next, you’re not. It’s insane and truly frustrating.
I put my foot on the mat to keep it from sliding as the crowd loses their damn minds while Callie preps for her tumbling pass. Her floor routine is my favorite. She shows the hell out, and I love watching her. It’s not only because I like her and I think she’s incredible and smart and gorgeous, but for real, she’s the best. Even with her fall on beam, if she lands this pass, she’ll finish strong. As she starts her run, I clap my hands, hollering her name as she hits the floor and does two layouts in the air before landing with no rebound. A stick, the girls call it. The whole gym loses their shit, screaming and cheering as Callie rolls to the floor and poses with one leg bent to touch her head while she holds herself up with her hands.
God, she’s indescribable. She stands, saluting to the judges, before she runs to her coach, hugging him tightly. She has to run by me to get to her teammates, and when she stops for our handshake, my heart soars. Our handshake has become almost like breathing. It’s just what we do, and I dig it.
“Proud of you,” I say as our hands move together as one.