Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Brady points at them. “Have you met our dads?”
We move into the living room, and Brady and I sit on the couch while our dads share a single armchair, Dad sitting in Pop’s lap. Because, you know, PDA and parental affection add to the torture of them being here.
But no one says anything. They all just keep staring at me.
I throw up my hands. “What? None of you have been friends with someone you had an awkward hookup with four years ago?”
“No,” they all say in unison.
“Well, I must be a more mature human than all of you.”
And now they’re laughing.
Fucking hell.
“What are you guys doing here anyway?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.
“We can’t come see our sons because we love them?” Dad asks.
“You can, but there’s usually a reason you pop in unannounced other than you like to catch us in embarrassing situations so you can mock us about it. You know, you’re lucky I’m going to play in the NFL and earn the big bucks. I’m going to need it to pay for therapy.”
Brady snorts.
“We came to see your game,” Dad says.
“It’s on Saturday. It’s only Monday.”
“And to check up on you,” Pop says.
“And …” I roll my hand in a gesture for them to get to the point.
“And we came to celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving with you.” Dad smiles.
“We’re not Canadian. Plus, that was last week.”
Dad and Pop share a glance that’s full of guilt, and then Pop says, “Well, we’re not going to be in the US for the American one, so …”
“Ah,” Brady says. “They’ve come because they feel horrible about abandoning us on Thanksgiving.”
“We can cancel our trip,” Pop says.
Dad’s gaze flicks to Pop’s, and Jesus H. Christ, do I look like that when I’m pouting? I hope not.
“Go and enjoy Thanksgiving,” I say.
Dad is, of course, the first to take us up on that. “If you’re sure.” He nudges Pop. “They’re sure.”
“We can throw our own Thanksgiving here. Invite all the losers whose parents also hate them.”
Dad doesn’t fall for the guilt trip, but Pop looks genuinely sorry.
“Seriously. It’s okay. Brady’s just being a brat. Something new and different for him.”
Brady shoves me, so I shove him back. Then we’re suddenly in an all-out wrestle, and the only thing I can hear is Pop muttering something about it being a miracle we haven’t killed each other in the last four years while they left us unsupervised.
I’d argue that they’ve left us plenty of times before that without supervision, but I’m too busy trying to get out of Brady’s headlock.
I hate that my little brother is stronger than me, but he gets that from Pop. He slams me into the carpet, and my back hits the floor with a thud.
“Watch his throwing arm,” Dad yells at Brady, but that doesn’t stop him.
“Okay, okay. I tap out,” I say.
When my brother climbs off me and we stand, Brady looks smug, and I’m tempted to push him back down, but that will only result in him taking me down with him.
“If you two are done, are either of you planning to go to class today?” Dad asks.
“You came and got me from class!” Brady yells.
“Hmm, true. We really are bad influences.”
“You are,” Pop says. “I said we could wait for them here. You’re the one who insisted.”
“Not that it mattered. Pey wasn’t even in class, and who knows what we would’ve walked in to find had we come straight here.”
“We spilled coffee,” I exclaim.
“Mmhmm. Your pop and I ‘spill coffee’ all the time.”
I screw up my face. “You know what? I am going to class. I might even ask if there’s night classes I can take up for the next … how long are you guys staying?”
“We fly out Sunday morning,” Pop says.
“Okay, I’m making plans for the next six nights.”
“You know where you could stay?” Dad is so setting a trap.
“Ha, ha, I could stay at Levi’s because we share clothes and were naked and had one hookup. You guys are soooo funny.”
Dad shakes his head. “I was going to say you could sleep at the stadium seeing as you have a 5:00 a.m. practice tomorrow, but hey, if you want to take it another direction—”
I give up. I try to leave, but I have to say, storming out of the house has a lot more impact if you don’t have to turn right back around. I only get two feet out the door when I realize I don’t have my laptop. And when I make my way back through the house, my entire family snickers. “I need my backpack,” I mumble.
With our dads staying for the week and no way to contact Levi without creeping him on social media, I’ve resorted to walking the long way home past the law department each day.
No dice.