Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
I glance around my own room. Three unopened boxes. One half-assembled lamp. One random strand of twinkle lights I found in the bottom of a tote bag.
Nova: It’s not my fault. He was never anything but nice to me. Granted, he was never around. So that’s a silver lining, I suppose.
Me: Fair enough…
Me: Have I mentioned that this house smells like Axe body spray and nacho cheese?
Nova: OMG stop it. IT DOES NOT. lol. So you’re NOT going out with him tonight? You might have fun. He’s a good time.
Me: Oh, no doubt about that. He’s a total Bro. With a capital B. Way too cool for me, I’m afraid… I didn’t agree to this life.
Nova: You did the second you signed that lease.
Me: Can I be traded?
Nova: Nope.
I flop back onto my bed and sigh loud enough for the gods to hear. Cash is still home and out in the living room yelling at a video game. From the sound of it, he's losing…
Me: Switching gears. What are you and Luca doing tonight?
Nova: He’s making dinner and we’re going to watch a movie. He’s obsessed with the skyline so his new thing is staying home…
Me: Awww. Love that for you.
And I do.
I genuinely, one-hundred percent, whole-heartedly love that for her. Mostly because it means one of us is thriving. And because I like knowing that Luca—Luca freaking Babineaux—has a new favorite hobby and that hobby is cooking and cuddling.
And, of course—having sex.
They have tons of it and if I’m being honest, I’m the teeny, tiniest, little bit jealous. And by a little bit I mean: A TON. But make no mistake: this jealousy isn’t toxic or sharp—it’s wistful. Like watching someone else get the exact life you didn’t know you wanted until it was too late to sign up for it.
Nova: Yeah—it has been nice. He’s adorable.
Of course he is. Big, broody, hockey-playing Luca is a secret mush ball. I should’ve known. All that angst had to be covering ooey gooey layers.
I lay, staring at my ceiling fan, finally realizing how nice it would be to have someone who cooks for you just because. Someone who kisses your forehead instead of your neck sometimes. Someone who puts the leftovers in cute little containers and labels them to make lunch easier.
Me: I used to think I loved the chaos. Loud music, guys who were emotionally unavailable, with leather furniture in their shithole apartments who never did laundry.
Nova: Remember that guy you dated with the pet snake named Linda?
How dare she remind me?
Me: Now I want a guy who has a Costco membership and knows what kind of hummus I like. Do you think I’m growing up or just tired?
Nova: Both LOL
I smile, pulling my knees to my chest and letting her words settle in. Why not both?
Me: Anyway. I’m gonna get back to unpacking, I guess. There are some boxes in the garage still and the last thing I want is for either of these guys to get irritated that my shit is everywhere.
Nova: I highly doubt either of them would notice unless your boxes were literally blocking the fridge or the TV. Lmk if you need help organizing tomorrow. I’ll bring coffee!
I toss my phone beside me and breathe in deep. It still smells like cardboard and someone else’s air freshener in here. Like a space I’m borrowing instead of living in.
But for now, it’s mine.
Mine to unpack.
Mine to survive.
Mine to thrive in.
turner
. . .
“Nugget, come.”
He runs in the opposite direction, yellow tennis ball stuffed into his mouth, ears flopping like a cartoon character. Drool slings out the side of his jowls in a majestic arc as he barrels toward the back fence like he’s been possessed by a demon.
“God dammit, would you listen for once?”
He has the worst manners.
Cash’s dog. My problem anytime he’s in town.
The dog has more frequent flier miles than I do. Seriously. Nugget’s been to Aspen, Vancouver, Salt Lake City, and three different states in the Midwest—all because Cash thinks it’s rad to film social media content snowboarding with his dog.
I bend to grab the ball again and give it a toss toward the fence.
Nugget launches after it, back legs kicking up a spray of dirt.
“Go fetch it, you little maniac,” I mutter, wiping my hands on my shorts, watching as he gets the zoomies and tears in circles all over the yard, eyes bugging out wildly.
Awesome.
Get good and tired.
Behind me the patio door slides open.
Bare feet shuffle across the concrete, Cash drops into a deck chair nearby and I can hear his groan, stretching out like an old man with broken bones.
Tank top. Hair in a headband.
A smug expression that says he's been waiting for this conversation…
He squints out toward Nugget. “That dog is cracked out.”
“He’s just excited to be home,” I mutter, still watching the dog manically spiral through the lawn. “How was your trip?”