Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“I’m not playing hard to get or being a terrorist,” Kat’s text says. “I can’t see or talk to you tonight. Please just give me a couple days to think and regroup and figure a few things out.”
Two
Kat
“Happy birthday to youuu!” everyone at the table sings and Colby blows out the thirty candles on his carrot cake.
“Thanks, everyone,” Colby says. “The cake looks great, Dax.”
Mom begins taking the candles off Colby’s cake and cutting slices for everyone while Dax assumes ice-cream-scooping duties.
“None for me,” I say when Mom offers me a thick slice.
“Are you feeling okay, honey?” Mom asks. “You look a bit peaked.” She hands Ryan the piece of cake she’d offered to me.
“I’m fine. I just went a little crazy at the karaoke bar with friends last night,” I say. “Shouldn’t have had that last martini.”
Mom shoots me a scolding look. “You weren’t driving, I hope?” she asks. She hands a huge slice of cake to Keane.
“Nope,” I say.
“And whoever was driving wasn’t drinking?”
“Correct,” I say.
“Never drink and drive,” Mom says firmly. She slides a noticeably slim piece of cake to Dad. “Just get that Uber-thingy on your phone and they’ll pick you right up.”
“You mean the Uber app, Mom?” Dax asks, shooting me an amused look.
“Yep. It’s called Uber. They’ll pick you right up.”
“Wow. Sounds neat-o, Mom,” I say, returning Dax’s smile. She’s so cute.
“Did you hit ’em with your karaoke-specialty last night?” Keane asks. He puts his hand on his heart and breaks into a full-throated chorus of “Total Eclipse of the Heart.”
“Of course,” I say. I toss my hair over my shoulder. “And I nailed it, too.”
“Aw, you cheated on me, Baby-Gravy?” Ryan asks. “I’m devastated.”
“Sorry, Ry,” I say. “The opportunity presented itself and I had to take it. I thought you’d understand.”
“Well, I don’t understand,” Ryan says. “That’s our thing, Kum Shot.”
“Stop with the semen-nicknames,” Mom says. “You know I hate that.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Ryan says. “But I think your disciplinary efforts would be better spent telling Ebenezer Splooge over there not to stab me in the heart with a rusty blade.”
“Aw, come on,” I say. “I couldn’t let the moment pass me by. YOLO, brah. That’s how I dooz it.”
Ryan scoffs, utterly miffed.
“YOLO,” Dax mutters with disdain. “I wanna strangle the genius who came up with that.”
“What’s ‘YOLO’?” Dad asks, happily chomping on his little morsel of cake.
“‘You only live once,’” Dax answers, practically holding his nose.
“Oh, carpe diem isn’t cool enough for the kids these days, huh?” Dad says.
“That’s too long to text,” Mom says, taking a bite of ice cream. “They shorten everything these days, honey. ‘LOL! OMG!’” She throws up her hands, apparently imitating a spazzoid-teenager at a mall.
Derby Field! Namibia!, I think to myself, my heart panging.
“So who sang my part for you last night?” Ryan asks. “Whoever the bastard was, I guarantee he didn’t even come close to doing this.” He breaks into singing the ‘Turn around, Bright Eyes’ part of the song with hilarious gusto.
I laugh despite myself. Ryan can always make me laugh, no matter how dark my mood. “You’re right. The guy who sang it didn’t even come close to doing that.”
“So who was this douchebag who deigned to poach on my sacred karaoke-territory?” Ryan asks, stuffing a huge forkful of cake into his mouth.
“Language, Ry,” Mom says. “Please, honey.”
“Just this guy I’ve been seeing,” I say. “Sarah’s boyfriend’s twin brother.”
“Whoa. That’s a lot of possessive nouns,” Keane says.
“The twin brother of Sarah’s new boyfriend,” I clarify.
“Yeah, I got it, Protein Shake. I was kidding,” Keane says. He rolls his eyes. “I’m dumb but I’m not that dumb.”
“Sorry,” I say.
Keane winks at me, apparently not genuinely offended.
“You’ve been seeing someone?” Ryan asks.
I nod.
“What’s his name?”
“Josh Faraday,” I say.
“Also known as the one and only porn king ‘Sir J.W. Faraday,’” Dax says reverently, and I swiftly glare at him, nonverbally telling him to shut the fuck up.
“What?” Mom asks. “You’re dating a porn king?”
“No.” I shoot bullets at Dax, the little fucker. “Dax is just being a little shit.”
“Kat,” Mom says, rolling her eyes. “Language. Come on, guys. Not at the table. Please. Can we just pretend to be civilized through one birthday meal?”
“Sorry, Mom.” I bat my eyelashes. “Dax is just being a little pill.”
“Thank you,” Mom says. “That’s my little lady. Keep it clean, people.”
“Always, Mommy,” I say sweetly.
“Always,” my brothers chime in with mock solemnity.
“Hey, no porn kings, Kitty,” Dad says. “You know that.”
“Yes, dearest patriarch,” I say. “I know the rules. We all do. No dating porn kings, porn stars, pimps, hoes, felons, junkies, or strippers.” On that last word, I shoot Keane a snarky look and he smiles broadly. We kids all know Keane’s recently been raking in the cash (one dollar bill at a time) as the Morgan Family’s answer to Magic Mike, but our parents certainly don’t know that. “Don’t worry, Pops,” I continue. “This Josh guy isn’t a porn king or a pimp. He runs an investment-something-or-other with his brother and uncle. He’s a respected member of society, I assure you.”