Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“You don’t get to pick, it seems.”
Banks yawns. “I think I’m going to grab a shower.”
I pull my legs down and sit up in the recliner. “Time for you to go home then.”
“You have an extra bathroom upstairs that—”
“Go home.”
“Jess …”
I get to my feet and stretch. “I’ll tell you what. If you go home now and don’t come back, maybe I’ll hang out with you Saturday.”
“Really?” He stands. “Deal.” He turns toward the door. “I’ll go see what Dad’s doing.”
I shake my head and follow him to the doorway. As soon as he’s outside, I lock it behind him.
The house is quieter than I remember. Even with the television on, it feels empty. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve had a people-filled day or because two of my brothers were just here. But, for whatever reason, I’m unsettled.
I gather the empty bottles from the evening and carry them into the kitchen. My mind wanders to the pretty, intelligent brunette I crossed paths with today.
“You have to get a grip, Carmichael,” I say aloud. “You can’t sit around thinking about Pippa all night.”
Instead of focusing on another topic, all I can think of is how her eyes lit up when I whispered in her ear.
“Nope,” I say, adjusting myself and heading for my bedroom. “I’ll stand in the shower and think about her instead.”
4
PIPPA
“To the left,” I say, motioning with my hands. “No, your left, Kerissa. The other left.”
She drops the picture to her chest and looks at me over her shoulder. “This project is turning into a Beyoncé song.”
I snort.
My new apartment in Kismet Beach is everything I hoped it would be.
The balcony off the living room has a small glimpse of the ocean, but the building between us blocks much of the coastal wind. The walls are thick enough to block out my neighbors' sounds. And, best of all, it’s clean—and cheap.
Well, cheaper than every safe neighborhood in Lakely and available rental in Sunnydale.
“There has to be a hack for this,” Kerissa says, climbing off the sofa. She sets the piece of art I bought at Seachella a few years ago down on the coffee table. “There’s a hack for everything these days.”
“I wish there was a hack to losing weight.”
“It’s just mathematics—”
“Don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t start with it’s just addition and subtraction of calories in and out.”
“But … it is.”
“And … we’re talking about a hack. As in—I don’t want to do the math. Math sucks. Give me a way to suck calories out of pizza, not an easier way to do algebra.”
She laughs. “It’s basic arithmetic, not algebra, you dork.”
I flop on the couch. “If you’re not a math person, all numbers are algebra.”
“Well, don’t hold your breath for a calorie hack. Crap like that is how these scammer companies make millions.”
“Speaking of making millions, did you see the kid that makes millions a year playing with toys online? He gets them sent to him, his parents film him playing with them, they post it, and voilà! Money.” I frown. “I need to be sponsored.”
Kerissa sits down beside me and scrolls through her phone. “Who would you get to sponsor you?”
Good question. I look around the room and take in the eggshell-colored walls and ceiling fans that probably remember the late twentieth century. It’s not like the marble countertops and crystal chandeliers that I grew up with or the modern, sterile unit I occupied in Lakely … and I really kind of like it.
All the updated rentals in Kismet Beach are occupied and have a waiting list behind them for when they’re not. If I wanted an ocean view for a realistic price, my only choice was to move into something that needed work. I was nervous about it at first, but now I understand the pull some people have to places that need to be renovated.
I’d love to do so many things with this place—things I won’t do because I don’t own it. But if I did, I’d paint the walls something warmer and less uninviting. I’d remove the wall between the kitchen and living room so I could hang out with people in one bigger space. This place would turn into something cozy and comfortable. It would be a place like I’ve never really lived before.
“Hmm … I’d take one of those architectural shows that come in and renovate your dream home. Or a car company so they can send me new cars every year, and I can just drive them around and video myself. Or if I’m being practical, the insurance company. I feel violated every time I see that payment clear.”
She hums in agreement.
“What about you?” I ask. “Who would you get to sponsor you?”
“I don’t know. I’d be happy with a sugar daddy at this point in my life.”