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)
Evie is still in her room getting ready, claiming some kind of online emergency yet again, and I text Ace for the seventh time to get an update.
Me: Where the hell are you guys?
Ace: The traffic on the GW was fucking bananas. Thatcher hung his head out the window on more than one occasion saying he needed air like he’s a fucking husky or some shit. Gunnar is wearing five tons of Axe body spray though so I can’t even really blame him
Me: Okay, I’m just bored!
Ace: TRUST ME when I say you wont be bored when we get there. My parents are fucking psychopaths
Me: Is my dad gonna flip out?
Ace: Most DEFINITELY
Me: Oh Jesus! Can you give me a hint?
Ace: Steve Irwin?
Me: The Australian guy who died? Did they exhume his body?????
Ace: Trust me Lia. Let yourself be surprised
Me: Fine. But you better be here soon.
Ace: We’re pulling into the front gate of the neighborhood now
I jump excitedly, grab another carrot dunked in ranch, and run for the front door to be waiting when they arrive. If Ace is saying something crazy is going down, I can trust that it really is unhinged, and I want to be the first person to know the details.
As I pull the heavy wooden front door shut behind me, the Kellys’ Escalade pulls up at the curb. Ace is the first to get out, and Gunnar is right behind him, strolling casually in an open button-down shirt. His whole chest is still out, but his shoulders are covered, so I guess he’s at least taking the occasion semi-seriously.
Thatch and Cassie get out the other side, and Nathan, Thatch’s driver, gets out and heads for the back hatch. I watch with pointed interest as he opens the door and then hesitates, Thatch stopping behind him and rubbing his hands together with excitement.
“What the hell is about to happen, Ace?” I ask, terrified.
“Well, Thatch says, at our parents’ age, if you’re not crockin’, you’re not rockin’.”
“Yeah. I’ve heard that before. About those shoes, right? What’d he get him, a bunch of shoes?”
“Oh, Lia. I beg of you…just wait.”
I turn back to the car just as a huge Rubbermaid bin is lifted out by Nathan and Thatch, holes drilled in the side and, if I’m not mistaken, a crocodile inside. A little baby crocodile, of course, but one, I imagine, will grow into an adult at some point in the not-so-distant future.
“Is that a—”
“Yep. It sure is.”
The Steve Irwin clue suddenly makes a whole lot of sense.
“My dad is going to lose his shit.”
“Yes. Yes, he is. There are also three pairs of Crocs, in varying colors, because as Thatch says, ‘Every good birthday deserves a theme.’”
Ace and I split apart, jumping to the sides of the front porch as Thatch and Nathan carry the crocodile box through the front door, Cassie holding it open for them with a smile on her face.
I rush through after them, not wanting to miss a moment of my parents’ reaction, and Ace crowds me at my back, positioning us just to the side of the kitchen with his hands at my hips as Nathan and Thatch set the container on the kitchen counter among the appetizers. It jumps as the little croc lashes out at the plastic sides of its container, knocking the carrots I was just eating to the floor, and I put a hand to my mouth. “Oh, dear God.”
Gunnar leans against the living room wall, talking to Lexi, and my mom comes down the stairs, her attention turned back toward Evie, who’s yapping behind her. “Evie, please. I need a break from the interrogation about your father and me. If you’re that concerned about something, why don’t you just come out and say it?”
“Evie!” I caution quickly, pulling her up short before she can add to the already tense moment with questions about dick-pic screenshots. “Not now.”
“Julia, if your sister has something she wants to ask me, she should just—”
“Mom,” I interrupt. “Look at the counter.”
She spins to face the island, spying the mess first and then trailing slow eyes up to the culprit. Thatch and Cassie stand proudly on the other side, a pair of Crocs on their hands so they can dance them around.
“Is that a…”
“Hey, Georgie,” my dad calls, his voice rising as he makes his way down the stairs. “Have you seen my green tie? I can’t find the one with the—”
My mom smacks his stomach, and he stops talking, his keen eyes falling directly on the box on the counter.
“What in the fuck is that?”
I choke on my saliva, and Ace squeezes my hips behind me as we all brace for impact.
“Happy birthday, T-bag! If you’re not crockin’, you’re not rockin’.”
Oh my God. “Things are about to go nuclear,” I whisper.
Ace provides the countdown. “In three, two, one…”