Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I’d always liked this house. It felt homey, even if my first years living here were chaotic with the arrival of Fox and Greg, the house itself was always warm and inviting, decorated all over with Mom’s favorite photos and paintings.
“In the kitchen,” Mom called out. I found her alone next to the dining table.
I heard the click of Cocoa’s nails on the hardwood and soon she bounded up to me, happy and wagging. Cocoa was Mom and Greg’s big black Labrador, the sweetest sixty pounds that had ever existed. I gave her some good neck scratches before heading into the kitchen.
“You’ve got a whole setup here, don’t you,” I said as I walked in, surveying the dining table.
“Strawberries, raspberries, carrots, sugar snap peas, celery, dip, fontina, cheddar, two types of crackers…” Mom said, waving her hands like Vannah White as she moved from side to side showcasing the table.
“Isn’t it bad luck to eat before swimming?” I asked.
She waved me off. “Old wives’ tale.”
“Then I’m going to dig right in.”
Mom came in to wrap me in a big hug, squeezing me tight. “Everybody’s out back,” she said as she pulled away. “Aunt Laura, Uncle Jim, and Logan are already here.”
My aunt and uncle had one son, Logan, who was a cousin I’d watched grow up over the years. He’d always been pretty quiet, and the past few times I’d seen him, he’d seemed nerdy but sweet.
“I imagine Logan’s about as excited for this trip as I am,” I said. “How old is he now?”
Mom snickered. “Maybe even a little less. And he just turned twenty-one.”
“No. Not possible,” I said. “Logan’s drinking age?”
She nodded.
“I remember when Logan was born. Christ, I’m old.”
“You are a baby,” Mom said. “Twenty-eight is not old. Talk to me when your knees start cracking every time you move.”
I grabbed a strawberry, popping it into my mouth and leaning forward, trying to glance out to the backyard pool. “Is he here?” I asked softly.
Mom lifted an eyebrow. “You’re going to be on a road trip with him, you can use your stepbrother’s name. Fox is out back with everyone else.”
She gave me a look, tossing her head back and making a glass-tipping motion with her hands, indicating that Fox had been drinking.
“Oh, he’s already started in on the liquor?”
She nodded silently.
Tonight was out last night in town before we all headed out on the road tomorrow. Mom had been planning this night for the last two weeks—she wanted all of us to get together at her house to have a kickoff party the night before we left.
I wasn’t surprised to hear that Fox had already been drinking the day away.
“How’s it been with him around?”
Mom eyed me. “Interesting.”
I stifled a laugh as Greg walked into the kitchen, in swim trunks with a big beach towel draped around his shoulders.
“Sammy boy! How’s it going,” Greg said, walking over to give me a hug. Greg was actually a great stepdad, even if his son was the spawn of Satan trapped inside a hot guy’s body. Greg seemed like he always belonged in Margaritaville—ready for a cold beer and a lounge chair any time of day.
“It’s going well,” I said. “I hear the RV isn’t crawling with roaches anymore.”
Greg laughed. “Haven’t seen a single bug inside her,” he said. “Did your mom tell you what we’ve got to grill?”
“She’s been holding out on me.”
“Crab legs,” Greg said, as if he was describing a mystical treasure. “And of course, the usual burgers and hot dogs as well, complete with grilled pineapple and grilled pound cake.”
I furrowed my brow. “Wait a minute.”
“Oh yes,” Greg said. “You can indeed grill pound cake, and it is going to change your life. Let’s head out back and rally everyone to help start grilling.”
I followed into the backyard, where they had set up the pool with a handful of multicolored floaties, a fire pit going on the side of the yard, and the big round table decked out with an umbrella on top of it.
“Hey guys!” Greg called out to Jim, Laura, and Logan, and he crossed over to the table where the three of them were getting ready to swim. I stopped at the edge of the pool, where Fox was lounging on a big, blue inflatable raft.
He looked every bit the part of Nicholas Fox. Black Ray-Ban sunglasses, legs crossed, and a glass of Scotch in the drink holder. The afternoon sun glittered on the water all around him, making it look like he was in a damn cologne advertisement.
I hated how fucking good he looked.
Fox’s body had never been the issue I had with him. He had a perpetual slight tan, lean, toned muscles, and just the right amount of dark chest hair. It was really too bad the beautiful outsides didn’t match the inside at all.