Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Insightful,” I said with a sigh. “Fuck. I don’t even know what I’d want from her if there were no complicating factors. This is pointless.”
“I think you’d have to be blind to not see what you want,” Marcus said.
“Pussy,” Tristan agreed, nodding wisely.
I shook my head. “So what? I should just fuck her and see what happens?”
“He’s finally getting it,” Tristan said.
“All I’m saying is you are giving yourself a terminal case of blue balls,” Marcus said. “Keep this up much longer and you’ll be carrying those things around in a wheelbarrow, and nobody wants to see that. Actually, that Elizabeth girl with the blue hair might. She seems like a bit of a freak.”
“She doesn’t seem so bad,” Tristan said with a shrug. “I like the hair.”
“So I should pick up some random woman from a bar and fuck her. Is that your point?”
“It’s on the table,” Marcus said. “Or it could be on your desk. Maybe invite her to the office and just close your eyes. Pretend it’s Darcy you’re fucking and get it out of your system.”
“I don’t want to fuck some random woman,” I growled.
“Aw,” Tristan said. “He just wants to fuck Darcy. How sweet. I think it might be love.”
“I need to go get cleaned up.” I stood suddenly, snatching up my gym bag.
“Hot date?” Marcus asked.
I clenched my jaw and decided it would be wisest not to admit I needed to get cleaned up for dinner with Darcy’s parents, followed by a “romantic interview for dessert”.
“None of your goddamn business,” I said, storming off.
13
DARCY
My leg bounced and I chewed the nail on my index finger. Mom was going on about some show she was into–apparently it was nearing the finale and she wasn’t sure if her favorite contestant was going to make it. I sat on the couch I’d spent so much time reading on as a kid, halfway listening while my thoughts bounced around.
My parents had a McMansion in a suburb a little over an hour outside the city. The only time I used the old beater my dad insisted I keep was when I came to see them. There was a little known, secret parking spot I kept it in. I’d briefly worked in a building with an underground garage that had far more parking than needed for the building. So nobody ever checked permits on the cars there, and so far I’d been able to avoid the major hassle of having a car in Manhattan as long as I was willing to take the train all the way to the garage to pick my car up. Still, one of these days, I knew that old car was going to break down on me. Thankfully, it hadn’t this trip.
The lawns were manicured, the houses all looked like they were cut from the same mold, and just about every house was close enough together you could’ve stuck a hand out your window and given the neighbors a high-five. I still remembered moving here when I was seven. Dad had just sold a big story to The New Yorker and he was convinced the money was going to start rolling in.
Of course, that had been the last big story. After that, it was all financial talk and stress and worry. Mom and dad had to take on jobs as realtors to scrape by, but they were always underwater with the mortgage on this place. Still, dad didn’t want to admit he’d gone in over his head and risk embarrassing himself in front of the neighbors and his friends, so they just kept struggling.
I knew it was stupid pride on their part, but I still felt bad for my parents. It was one reason I’d always had a secret dream of making it big somewhere so I could buy them out of their mortgage and let them finally relax. I knew all my dad cared about was bragging rights, though. He wanted me to land a prestigious position at an “important” magazine or journal somewhere. Then, he could brag to his circle of friends from when he’d been involved in the world of academia and feel like he’d somehow been redeemed.
“...and he’s just gorgeous,” Mom was saying. “But I don’t think he’ll make it. He really hasn’t clicked with anyone else, especially not Jenny, and she’s definitely gathering allies to get him out of there.”
I realized my eyes had probably been glazed over, so I refocused my attention on mom and nodded, smiling. “Sounds intense,” I said.
She nodded back with big eyes. “That’s an understatement.” My mom had me when she was young. She was in her late forties with an out-of-date poof of brown curly hair she meticulously kept styled and large. In her twenties, she’d been a semi professional tennis player, but a chronic shoulder injury ended her career and landed her on the couch. There were no signs around the house about her former life and I knew better than to ever bring it up. Tennis had been her biggest passion and dream, but it was taken away from her. Now she lived through other people on her shows, I guessed.