Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
I coughed a laugh at the last part.
He smiled.
“Are you into birds or something?”
“I am!” He hopped up to sit on the island. “James and I, for instance—we’re black swans. Also known for occasionally being hella gay, and they sometimes steal the babies from the ladies. Which we’re trying to do with his nephew.”
I felt my forehead wrinkle. “You’re trying to steal Emmett?”
“Uh, yeah. Don’t get me wrong, James’s sister tries, but she’s way too focused on her next boyfriend, rather than giving a crap about Emmett’s friends. Who are, like, super bad for him. They do drugs and steal cars and ruin stuff.”
I furrowed my brow, suddenly wishing James had told me this. He’d only mentioned that Emmett was running with the wrong crowd. I’d at least thought the kid had a good home environment.
“In short, we want him to spend more time with us,” Jordan said. “He doesn’t have to live with us or anything, but maybe spend the night a couple times a week and let us influence him to aim higher.” He paused. “I thought James told you about him. Didn’t you play basketball together with your son?”
I nodded. “He glossed over it, I guess. I didn’t know the extent of the issues.”
“Well, fuck me twice, then—I did not open this conversation with an easy-breezy topic.”
I grinned, liking this crazy little guy.
“We can discuss the weather if you’d like?” he offered.
I laughed. “I reckon we can be a bit more interesting than that,” I said. “How long have you and James been together? I know you met through mutual friends at a sports bar.”
“Ugh. That’s how he tells our story? Way to turn the most romantic meet-cute into something boring. No, no, no—” He shook his head and gestured with his hands, as if to wipe the memory clean. “Picture this instead. It’s a little over six years ago, right before the holidays, and I’m meeting up with my friends at a sports bar. Not really my thing, but my family lives in Seattle and I couldn’t afford a plane ticket, so I was gonna be alone over Christmas for the first time ever.” He paused, maybe for dramatic effect. “I get there a little early and order a burger because I’m hungry. And right next to me sits this hotter-than-hell man, eating his own burger. So we sort of get to talking—but he’s also focused on some game on the screens above the bar. I’m thinking, he’s not really interested. I go quiet and doodle instead. And after a while, he’s like, did you just doodle all over my napkin?”
I smiled, figuring that was James. Jordan was right; he was way better at telling a story.
“I apologize profusely, but he stops listening,” he went on. “He inspects the napkin and asks if he can keep it. He even wanted me to sign it! And suddenly, it’s like he notices me. We left the small talk behind and lost track of time. Every now and then, I’d look to the door, hoping my friends wouldn’t arrive. And we’re like right there, about to flirt openly and possibly ask to exchange numbers, when his buddy shows up. And I’m super bummed. I can kind of tell he is too, but I was on the shy side back then, so I let him go.” A big smile spread across his face. “Two minutes later, my friends show up, and it turns out we’re all part of the same group. We end up next to each other in a booth, and it’s when we realized we hadn’t introduced ourselves. So he extends his hand to me and says in his warm voice, ‘I’m James, by the way, and I’d love to take you to dinner sometime.’”
Well, fuck. That was a good story. Why would James water it down?
“We spent the holiday together, barely leaving his house,” he said. “A year later, he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him and move in. I could not say yes faster.”
Damn, I loved a good story like that. And their happily ever after was still ongoing.
“I have half a mind to give him shit gigs at work for not doing that story justice,” I said.
“Right?” He punched his palm. “Punish his ass!”
I chuckled and went to grab a clean mug for my next caffeine boost. “I assume he has some redeeming qualities.”
He sighed. “Heaps. Unfortunately. So, no punishment?”
Christ, this kid.
Over a great breakfast sammich with tomaters, the three of us came to an understanding that Jordan would now cover all storytelling, and James agreed while rolling his eyes.
After that, James ended up staying and helping me with the kitchen. Jordan had preparations to make for Fashion Week, so he went back to their place. But every now and then, he stopped by with little treats. He brought over a speaker I could borrow so we could listen to music. He prepared a fruit salad, which might’ve been the best I’d had. He said the secret ingredient was half a cup of orange juice. Then around four PM, he arrived with beer and homemade potato chips, fresh out of the fryer, and the announcement that dinner would be served at seven right here, not at their house.