Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
It is hell on earth, and Finn and Scottie haven’t even managed to make it up the elevator yet. The night is so, so young.
And the only thing that could make it worse, does.
Julia hangs there with my parents and whatshisface, laughing and smiling and possibly falling a little bit in love…
With the wrong fucking guy.
My plan…foiled. Couldn’t have gone worse, actually.
Guess I’d better get busy coming up with a new one—one that’ll work.
Monday, June 9th
Ace
My mom sits spread-eagled in sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt, a bag of peas at the apex of her thighs and a sleep mask with cartoon bug eyes strapped on her head. She lies back, groaning lightly, and I sneak on light feet through the hall at the back of the couch to try to avoid conversation.
She pops up quickly, resting herself on one elbow and pulling the mask up off her eyes, and I freeze, a cramp in my toes forming immediately.
“Where are you going?” she asks, accusation making the words lash.
“I…uh…out?”
“Nope. Nuh-uh. We need all hands on deck cleaning this place up, and I’m, as you can see, vaginally indisposed.”
“Ugh, Mom.” I groan. I’m still tired, drained, and fucking bleeding from the eyes and ears over the things I saw last night—over the things that were still happening up until three short hours ago when my dad and Finn finally managed to kick the last group of lingering people out of here. I don’t need my mom saying the word “vaginally” any time of day, but of all the times of day I don’t need it, this is the pinnacle.
“Don’t ugh, Mom me. You’re on Solo cup duty until I can get my feet back under me. Your father is vacuuming.” She adjusts her position on the couch and nods down the hall, where the faint hum of the vacuum moves slowly closer.
“Vacuuming? Does Thatch even know how to vacuum?” I can hardly picture my big, meaty-handed father operating such a short domestic device with any skill, let alone to the tune of 12,000 square feet of living space.
“Please, Ace.” My mother sighs. “Ask something that makes sense. Of course he knows how to vacuum. As a matter of fact, suction is one of his specialties.”
“Oh-kay. Jeez. Really?” I cry. “Must you?” I know I left myself open by interacting at all, but you’d think the universe, having seen Julia hand in hand with Colonel Frat Mustard for so many hours last night while Finn and Scottie did an excellent job of reminding me exactly the kind of loving relationship I’m missing at the same time, would cut me a break. I’m a walking wound. My pus is festering among the mess and infecting my whole life.
She laughs, unbothered. That’s one thing about my mom—she’s never bothered. It doesn’t matter if I’m on the brink of the most formidable moment of my manhood. That’s a me problem.
An overwhelming hum enters the room briskly, my tall-ass father behind it with big black headphones on. He shoves and wields the vacuum wildly, ramming it into furniture and concentrating more on dancing with high knees than what he’s sucking up.
The machine grinds and bogs down as it picks up something bigger than its hose can handle, but he’s undeterred, pushing onward toward us while he swings his hips back and forth.
One thing I know for sure: our housekeeper is going to be so pissed when she comes in to a broken vacuum and scuffed-up baseboards.
His gaze flickers up and locks on my mom and her ice-pack-covered hoochie, and he switches off the vacuum immediately, removing his headphones and tossing them among the other debris on the coffee table.
“What are we doing here?” He grins. “Cooking up my favorite meal?”
“Oh God,” I groan, and my mom laughs riotously.
“You wish. I’m sore from last night.”
“Sore? Did we fuck and I forgot about it? Pulled a you and fell asleep while my dick was still in ya?”
She shakes her head, and I don’t bother asking. In fact, I avoid asking so hard the job is practically a paid position.
“No, you big oaf. I pulled my groin trying to outdo your keg stand.”
“Ahh.” He nods proudly. “Yeah, your first mistake was trying to outdo me, sweetheart. You know that’s impossible.”
“Shut up. I don’t have the patience to argue with you and ice my vageen, okay?”
My dad shrugs, latching on to my shoulder instead just as I’m about to escape. “What about you, son? Pretty big to-do last night. Did you have a good time?”
“Hardly,” I grumble under my breath before I can think better of it. The whole thing was a fucking debacle and a half, and I’m the reason it even happened in the first place. Not only did I not make any progress with Julia, I earned myself fucking cleanup duty this morning while Gunnar is God knows where doing God knows what. And yet, even not knowing where he is, I know my fate from his revenge lingers in the distance like a sniper in the mist.