Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“Son,” my dad greets me as Kevin and I step inside, Kevin making an immediate beeline to the back of the store, his cape flowing behind him. Did I mention my stepbrother sometimes wears a cape and carries a stick of a polished wood that I’m sure is some kind of magical staff?
My dad watches as he goes and then turns to me, shaking his head as he pinches the bridge of his nose. My dad has always had a youthful appearance, a baby face that probably accounts for the way he used to win people over. You want to trust him, to believe him. But ever since I moved here, it’s like he’s aging before my eyes, faster than Presidents do once they get into office, all grey hair and deep lines and loose skin.
“Did you know that I caught him painting his nails the other day?” my dad says to me in quiet reproach, putting his arm around me and leading me over to the cash register in the middle of the room.
I raise my brow. “Pink?”
“No,” he scoffs. “Black.”
I shrug, not too concerned. I faintly recall trying on my mum’s high heels when I was young, but I don’t dare voice this to him. “Kids like to experiment.”
“He’s nine,” he says as he smiles at a customer walking in, lowering his voice to me. “He’s too young for that. And that damn cape. He’s too old for that.” His eyes drift to the back of the store. “Maybe it’s my own fault. He’s so wrapped up in fantasy books and those medieval video games we keep buying him for his iPad. You know he asked me if I’d take him in a couple of weeks to this event of sorts? A camp? A renaissance fair? I don’t know, some place where kids and adults run around pretending to battle while wearing costumes.”
“He wants to go LARPing?” I ask, trying not to laugh.
“LARPing?” he repeats.
“Yeah, it’s an acronym for Live-Action Role Playing,” I explain. “It’s pretty much what he’s doing on the computer. If Dungeons and Dragons is the gateway drug to World of Warcraft, then LARPing is pure heroin.”
He frowns and shakes his head. “Then I’ll definitely not be taking him.”
I sigh, glad Kevin can’t hear our conversation. As nerdy and weird as it is, I know being able to indulge his inner geek with likeminded nerds would really cheer him up. That’s probably why he’s retreating into the fantasy world so much. It’s become so much more preferable than reality. I know after Rachel broke up with me, I dove into my work-in-progress like I was under fire in a foxhole.
“I can take him, if he asks,” I tell him.
“Just like you’ve taken over Fluffy? Blake, I’m glad you’re getting to know your stepbrother, but there’s a difference between being a brother and being an enabler.”
I narrow my eyes briefly. My father doesn’t know me well enough to make that assumption. In fact, that sounds like something that Angelica would say. I can hear her influence in him all the time, which isn’t a good thing since Angelica isn’t my biggest fan.
The thought of my stepmother and how hard it’s been to win her approval reminds me a bit of Amanda, and once again I’m hit by how annoying the next six weeks will be. At least when school is over, I can concentrate on work and what I have to do to get this place out of the red.
While I take over the cash, doing transactions with a handful of regulars, my dad goes around tidying the shelves and dusting the books. He does this at the end of every day, like putting the books back in the right order will put his life in the right order. It’s therapy without much outcome.
I’m thinking of closing a little early—not for the sake of the shop this time but because Heath just texted me wanting to grab a beer—when a stunning brunette strolls in. She’s tall, almost my height, with lean limbs that glow with a tan she obviously didn’t get here.
She’s perusing the new releases at the front, her fingers tracing over the covers, looking every bit the casual browser.
I waste no time.
“Can I help you?” I ask as I approach her, shooting her a grin. I notice her fingers are resting on top of Stephen King’s latest. “Fan of the King?”
“Huh?” she says, and then quickly looks down and shoots me a sheepish smile. “Oh, no. Actually, I’ve never read him.”
I keep smiling at her even though my brain is detracting a point for that. But my brain also notices how perky her tits are, and that she’s eyeing me with a kind of shy carnality that suggests I can take this as far as I want to.