Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
But that was the best kiss I’ve ever fucking had.
In fact, it was fucking spectacular.
How would you know what a spectacular kiss was, dipshit? You’ve barely had a dozen basic ones.
Thems are the facts.
We ended the kiss, and it wasn’t awkward. Nothing about it was. I pulled back and helped her down from the dresser, my raging hard-on a glaringly obvious sign that I need to get laid, or jerk off, or get myself a goddamn girlfriend.
Get myself a girlfriend.
A novel thought.
One I haven’t had before.
I mull the idea around in my head.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” I had told her.
“I feel so fucking pretty,” she’d said.
Then to the sound of her other roommate arriving home, side-by-side we’d cleaned up the remainder of the mess and tossed the trash, and she’d walked me to the middle of the yard.
I didn’t have the guts to ask her to come to my place.
Or on a date.
But maybe…
The sun has set, and I flip on my bedside light, debating.
Should I text her and have her come over? Would she even come if I asked?
I don’t want her to think all I want is sex ’cause trust me, that’s not what this is.
I’d walked into the house earlier, like a zombie, and had gone straight up the stairs, my roommates' curious stares trailing after me—for once keeping their traps shut.
It’s a Christmas miracle.
I flop onto my bed, mattress bouncing, staring at the ceiling, hands behind my head.
That kiss was…
Something.
It was wild.
It was…
Yeah.
My phone buzzes, and my heart stops.
Anticipation fills my—
Dammit, it’s fucking Sully.
Sully: If you want to invite your friend over, we all talked about it, and we’ll leave you alone.
We talked about it, and we’ll leave you alone?
The fuck.
That’s almost worse, isn’t it? Them knowing I have someone here?
Jesus Christ, Brodie—you can’t avoid it forever. At some point, you have to stop worrying about what they think and do what you want to fucking do.
They couldn’t give a shit about what I think.
Why do I care about them?
I ignore my roommates’ message, but go back and reread it at least three more times, mouth twisting as I debate.
Do I trust that they’re actually going to leave me be?
Or do I operate on the assumption or the notion that they can’t be trusted?
Sully: Well, since you’re not answering, the jury voted, and we’re going to a movie. Starts at nine but we’re going to Walmart first. Reed has a rash on his leg.
It’s seven o’clock.
Brodie: Are you seriously trying to tell me you’re all purposely leaving the house on a SUNDAY night instead of going to bed early?
Sully: So you can get laid? Yes.
I roll my eyes. Why do they assume I want to bang? Maybe I want to have deep, meaningful conversations before falling into bed with someone.
Another message comes through almost immediately.
Sully: Calm down, I’m kidding. But for real. We’re giving you the house to yourself because you’re hopeless, and we don’t need you fucking this up for yourself.
Sully: We’ll make sure to make a shit ton of noise when we come back, just in case.
Sully: You’re welcome.
Shit.
Now I’m torn.
Why are you debating about this, idiot? Text the fucking girl and invite her over. Guys do this every fucking day without being pussies about it, so why are you hesitating?
Okay, first of all, calm down and stop swearing.
“I’m not talking to myself. I’m not,” I tell myself, going to the closet and staring at my shirts.
I had a bro tank on earlier when I was at Lizzy’s helping her paint and stare at my options before I decide to message her.
I pull out a baby blue T-shirt because it’s a good color for my skin tone and hair color, and I pull off the tank top that’s gotten a little bit of pink paint on it.
“Never washing this,” I joke as I toss it to the floor, leaving the same shorts on that I had before because I’m not about to try so hard that I look like I’m trying so hard.
Maybe I’ll ask her to go on a walk.
Or for ice cream?
It’s nice outside.
An activity might feel less like a booty call and more like a…
Date or whatever.
Yeah.
Ice cream.
Good idea.
Brodie: Hey neighbor
Send.
Um. I feel like I should have said Hey cutie, or Hey, what’s up—and now second-guessing my every move seems to become my norm.
Lizzy: Missing me already?
She’s so damn confident and sure of herself. Not that I’m not, but I do better on the ice than I do in real life, at least with women.
Brodie: I’m jonesing for something sweet. Want to go for ice cream?
Lizzy: I could do ice cream, for sure.
Brodie: Awesome.
Lizzy: Like—now? or…..
Brodie: Yeah, I was thinking now? Unless you’re busy and want to do it some other time.
Lizzy: Of course I’m free now. This 12-page paper due in 3 days can wait ha ha.