Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Fletcher throws his phone onto the bench. “I can’t do it. I’m not calling her.”
“Call her.”
“No. I don’t know what to say.”
“Call her,” I demand as I point to his phone with my wineglass.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” I grab Patrick’s shoulder and lead him into the living room. “We’re going out here. Do it now.”
“What if she says no?” he stammers in a panic.
“Who cares?” I shrug. “The world is full of hot girls, Fletcher.”
“Not as hot as her.”
“So why are you wasting time talking crap to us, then?”
Fletcher’s eyes hold mine. “Okay, I’m going to do it.”
“Good.”
“I’m going to call her right now.”
“Less talking, more action,” I call.
“Okay.” He begins to pace again, and I roll my eyes. Heaven help him if he actually gets the chance to do the deed . . . he’s as green as a fucking tree. Hell, I was fucking twenty-five-year-olds at his age. What in the world has this kid been doing all this time?
I sit on the couch next to Patrick. “Do you want to watch a movie while we wait for pizza?” he asks.
“There’s pizza coming?”
“Uh-huh.” He smiles and picks up the remote and begins to flick through the movies.
I glance at my watch. “What time did your mother say she was coming home?”
“She’s just having dinner. Not late.”
“Has she been out with Paul from Pilates before?” I ask.
“Yes, but she has to hide from Harry. She can only go out when he’s not home, because he’s very rude and embarrassing.”
I sip my wine as I act uninterested. That evil fucker is good for something after all.
Who knew?
This isn’t their first date? What the fuck? How long has she been seeing him?
I begin to see red.
Fletcher comes rushing back into the room. “She said yes.”
“She did?”
“We’re going to get food.”
“You are?” I’m as shocked as he is. “Great.”
His eyes widen in fear. “What will I wear?”
“Oh Jesus.” I roll my eyes, and Patrick slaps his forehead. “Just wear something nice. And have a shower. Girls like dudes who smell nice.”
Fletcher stares at me, as if I am an alien. “Since when?”
I screw up my face in disgust. “What does your mother actually teach you about girls?”
“Nothing.” He widens his eyes. “She thinks I’m too young to date.”
I tip my head back to the sky in disgust. “And anyway, how come you didn’t attack Paul from Pilates? Why is she allowed to go out with him?”
“Oh.” Fletcher shrugs. “He’s gay.”
I narrow my eyes in delight. “Oh, he is . . . is he?”
“Well, I don’t actually know that for sure.” He shrugs casually. “But he isn’t Mom’s type, so . . .”
“Why isn’t he your mother’s type?”
“Because she does Pilates with him. Nobody does Pilates with a guy they like . . . do they? And besides, he wears a pink sweatband around his head. He’s odd. Weird, even.”
“Hmm.” I think on this as I tap my chin. “That’s a very good point, Fletcher. Nobody does date a guy who wears a pink sweatband around their head at Pilates,” I say, thinking out loud.
“Precisely.” Fletcher turns to go take a shower.
“Oh . . . and, Fletch?” I call after him.
“Yeah.”
“Spank the pony in the shower.”
He sticks his head back around the corner. “What?”
I nod. “Do that . . . you know, the thing.”
Fletcher frowns. “What for?”
“Do you want the whole restaurant to know how happy you are?” I widen my eyes and look at his crotch. “You want to appear as least . . . excitable . . . as possible.”
He frowns in horror. “This is a thing?”
Patrick frowns. “Wait, what? There’s a pony in the shower?”
“It’s a song,” I mutter, distracted. “This is the thing, Fletch. Nobody goes on a date without listening to ‘Spanking the Pony’ before they go. Everybody knows that. It’s the dating rule number one.” Except me, of course, the first time with Claire . . . damn it. I got sloppy and didn’t even remember the basic rules.
“Are you serious right now?” He frowns.
I roll my eyes. “Trust me on this one.”
He shakes his head and mutters to himself as he walks up the stairs. I turn to Patrick. “What do you want to watch?”
“Godzilla?” he asks.
“Yeah, that’s a good one.” I nestle back into the couch. “I hope the pizza hurries up. I’m starving.”
Patrick smiles up at me like this is the best night of his life. “Me too.”
Where the fuck is she?
I get a vision of her laughing at dinner with him, and my blood boils.
Finally I hear the car pull up, and I glance at my watch: 10:45 p.m.
What time do you call this?
I slide out from underneath Patrick’s legs as he sleeps, and I walk over to the window and peer through the side of the drapes.
They’re talking in the car.
If you kiss him, you’re in deep shit, woman.