Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“There was one woman in my freshman year. She had two younger kids, I think, but I never met them, and they only dated for like, a couple of months, maybe?”
“And our parents have been dating for what, like, five months now?”
“That sounds about right.” I sip my drink. “My dad’s been working out with me a lot more lately, maybe trying to buff up for the summer.”
“Or he’s trying to buff up for all the boning they’re doing,” Violet mutters. “He’s got an ass you can bounce a quarter off of, that’s for sure.”
I spit spray my drink all over my chest. “You checked out my dad’s ass?”
“Not on purpose.” Violet makes a face. “The first time I met him they were doing the horizontal tango.”
“Wait. What?”
Violet waves a hand around and almost smacks herself in the face. “Nothing. Never mind. It’s not important.”
“You can’t say something like that and then wave it off.”
She sighs, but launches into the story. Her face grows progressively redder and by the time she gets to the part about my dad’s bare ass, she looks like she might burst into flames.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
I don’t share the story about getting caught bringing girls home by my dad and Skye. Or that Skye drove the girls home and apparently took them out for coffee and dessert afterward.
Dad and Skye return, both wearing huge grins. We eat snacks and talk. I find out Violet is a math nerd, and she gets all A’s in school. I’m more of a C-minus student. Especially with English, since I’m dyslexic. But I have a tutor for that. Although, if I’m honest, we don’t spend a lot of time on the tutoring part. I’ve gotten really good at giving orgasms, and not all that good at writing essays.
It gets hot in the afternoon, so we jump in the pool. Violet falls in no less than three times over the course of the afternoon. Dad barbeques steak, corn and salad for dinner and Violet and I offer to take care of dishes, mostly because our parents are making eyes at each other and it’s gross.
“Okay, so I’m all about probability and statistics, and taking into account past relationships and present circumstances…” Violet says as she scrapes the plates into the garbage disposal.
“Math isn’t my favorite subject,” I say.
“You use angles all the time in hockey, though. Like when you’re shooting the puck thingy at the goal, that’s angles.”
“I just point and shoot. Why are we talking about hockey? I thought you weren’t a fan.”
“I’m not not a fan. It’s just not something I’m willing to commit three hours of my life to several times a week. Anyway, that’s irrelevant. I’m talking about our parents. I feel like they’re way more serious than I realized, which means we might end up as stepsiblings and I think we need to come to terms with that possibility.”
“Oh, right. Yeah. Well, next year is my draft year with the NHL, so depending on how fast they move, there’s a chance I’ll already be playing for the farm team by the time our parents take it to the next level. At most, we’ll only have a few months of the whole stepsibling situation, which should be manageable. You’d have your own bathroom. Or maybe they’d convert the pool house for one of us.”
“Oh, that’d be cool. I’m planning to go to a local college so I don’t have to pay out the butt for housing and stuff. I don’t want to rack up all kinds of education debt.”
“What about the whole living away from home, party like it’s your job part of college, though?”
“I’m a Mathlete. My idea of a good party includes pizza with lactose-free cheese and winning at competitive Sudoku.”
“You’re like the exact opposite of all the girls I hang out with.” I take the bowl from her and do a half-assed job drying it.
She uses the back of her hand to push her glasses up her nose. “I feel like your hanging out and my hanging out are a lot different. I also feel like most of the girls you spend time with probably want to do a lot of not talking.”
“That’s super true,” I agree.
“Ah, so you’re a typical jock fuckboy.”
I shrug. “I wasn’t always. This year things changed.”
“Your promising rise to hockey stardom made all the girls fall in lust with you?”
“Something like that.” Mostly it was the whole teeth getting fixed thing and Randy forcing me to talk to girls, but the hockey situation is like teen girl catnip.
“It’s weird that people feel the need to rub up on future stars like it’s somehow going to make them a star by proxy.” She hands me another dish. “Hockey players make good money, don’t they?”
“Not as good as football, or baseball, or basketball, but still pretty good. I’m hoping I get a contract for a few million to start.”