Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 46231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
She laughs. "True."
"Hey!"
"Real friends are honest."
"And you fit perfectly in Venice Beach."
She motions sorta.
"No. You’re right. You were too hip for every place in the even-hipper-than-St. Mark’s-used-to-be street. The one with that coffee shop with six-dollar drinks."
"I was."
"And this—" I motion to her new tattoo. A ‘sign of her freedom’ after her official break-up with Jamie. And ‘sure to piss off her mom.’ Though I’m not sure when her mom is going to see it, given the location.
It is cool. And extremely sexy. And exactly Izzie.
And the tattoo artist who adorned her skin—
He was smoking hot, super cool, and extremely enamored with her. He left his card, but she still hasn’t called. At least, not as far as I know.
But then she’s turning her "I need to irritate" energy on Max and me, claiming an interest in his younger brother, so she probably wouldn’t tell me even if she had him locked in her bedroom.
Which…
Nothing would surprise me at this point.
"You fit into the tattoo shop perfectly," I say.
"You think I can get a job there?"
"Doing what?"
"Staring at hot guys?"
"Sounds like a nice gig."
"What do you think it pays?"
"Negative twenty dollars an hour?"
"I pay to do hard work?" she asks.
"Well, maybe if you do some hard work."
She laughs. "Hey! I don’t do that kind of work for money."
"But you might tell your mom you do."
"Oh yeah, if she asks, you’re very concerned about my choices." She takes a long sip of her iced latte. After an early afternoon of swimming, we left Max and his younger brother to their love of the ocean, went for coffee, returned to ogle.
The view is good here. Better than at our usual spot. Max lives in Corona Del Mar, a cozy neighborhood in Newport Beach, south of our current spot in Newport Beach proper.
The beach closest to his place, the one we walk most days, doesn’t allow surfboards. Safer for kids. Packed with kids on the weekends. Screaming kids.
It’s kind of alarming. Even with my history of diving into public pools during sweltering New York summers. I guess I’m too used to the Park Avenue lifestyle, because all the screaming—
It’s not what I expect.
It’s a lot, sometimes, but it’s nice too. The excitement. The raw enthusiasm. The families.
Not that I think about a family with Max. I mean, not anytime soon. I’m happy with where I am. I’m happy to spend the summer swimming in possibilities.
But maybe one day…
I don’t know.
I’m an artist. I have an active imagination. I envision all sorts of future possibilities. An exhibit in the MoMA. A vacation in the Caribbean. An adorable kid with dark hair and blue eyes. Which is probably not even possible, since Max’s dad has dark eyes too, but uh—
"Are you seriously imagining your boyfriend naked right now?" Izzie asks.
"He’s in a swimsuit."
"Ben too." She makes a show of staring. Not that we can see anything. The brothers are sitting atop surfboards way out in the distance.
This beach is packed with surfers and people watching surfers. It’s the go-to spot. Something about waves hitting a jetty. (I’m not that California. Not yet anyway).
Though I have to admit… I like watching the surfers. There are so many different kinds of people, and they’re all exactly where they’re supposed to be. Men, women, old, young, blond, brunette, redhead. Even a few girls and guys with unusually colored hair. Which Izzie loves and hates in equal measure.
She gives up on ogling Ben and turns to me. "Are you still picturing his dick?"
"I was not picturing his dick."
"What were you picturing?"
"Romantic things."
"A wedding on the beach?"
"Shut up."
"You were?"
"I was not."
"That’s adorable, Opes. Really."
My blush deepens.
"Aww… what sweet embarrassment."
"Don’t say anything."
She mimes zipping her lips.
Can we discuss something else? Anything else. "How’s your mom?"
"Happy! She’s glad I’m in California all summer." She makes an ugh noise.
"She wants the place to herself," I say.
"Probably. She’s probably having an affair with… what’s her equivalent of a pool boy?"
"Doesn’t your family have a house in the Hamptons?"
"Your family has the house in the Hamptons. It’s not even a house. It’s a freakin’ castle."
"It’s not the Hamptons." Technically. "And that’s not my point."
"You think it is the pool boy?" she asks.
"Maybe."
"A pool boy… mister. Why isn’t there a word for a male mistress?"
That is an injustice. "Do you really think your mom is cheating?"
"No. She’s too square."
"And you’d actually admire the rebellion?"
"No." She slurps the last sip of her coffee. "A little. Are you coming over tonight?"
"Ben is leaving after dinner."
"So you and Max finally have the place to yourself again?"
"Ahem."
"Say no more. I’m not a c-blocker."
"Tomorrow," I say. "We’ll spend the day together. Find a hip coffee shop. With all sorts of hot guys and girls with unusually colored hair. Or do you need to be the cool one?"
"You know I like squares like you, Opes."