Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Gus grinned. “You sound surprised again.”
“I…I—okay, I am. I just didn’t get the impression that was something you were interested in doing.”
“Fair. The only thing I’ve ever been passionate about is hockey and unfortunately, I’m not good enough to go pro. As for English…I like stories. I’m not a great writer, but I think I’m good at encouraging other people.”
“You are,” I agreed wholeheartedly.
He fiddled with the air vent and tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel before glancing my way. “Thanks. We’ll see how it shakes down, but I do know this…I’m not going to law school.”
“Oh. Is that your mom’s idea?”
“Yep. She has my future figured out. She’s got this idea that while I’m studying for the LSAT, I could intern at a family friend’s firm…in Charleston. Great city, but I’m not moving there and someday, I’m gonna have to break the news to her. It’s not going to be pretty. On the bright side, I’m already the family fuckup, so it’s not like it’ll be a total surprise. More of a ‘That’s Gus for you. Always clowning around and acting like G-damn Peter Pan,’ ” he grumbled in a woman’s falsetto.
My lips twisted in amusement. “G-damn?”
“Mom hates to use the Lord’s name in vain. Very gauche.”
“Does your dad feel the same way? I mean…about your career, not swearing,” I clarified, pointing at the sign for the next exit. “We get off here.”
Gus moved into the right lane. “My dad doesn’t get involved. He’s a minor celebrity in our town…the local sportscaster. Always ready with a smile and a hokey one-liner. He doesn’t want to fight about law school. He just wants to do his own thing and keep the peace with Mom and—ha! Why the fuck am I unloading my dysfunctional family bullshit on you?”
“I don’t know. I think you were explaining your unlimited spending situation, and it sort of snowballed from there. Oh…turn left at the light. It’s that little reddish house by Mama Gina’s.”
He slowed his truck behind a white Suburban. “You’re easy to talk to. Maybe you should consider being a therapist if this skating thing doesn’t pan out. Which it will…obviously. I mean, you’re going to win in the Olympics at least three times, right?”
“At least.” I shoved his biceps and gestured at the green light with a laugh. “I’d make a terrible therapist, anyway. I’m far too neurotic.”
“Hmm. What’s your family like?”
“My parents got divorced my junior year of high school. I guess five or six years ago. I was devastated. They try to be friendly for us, but it’s weird. My sister, Vivi, lives in LA. She works at Disneyland and takes classes at a junior college. Mom’s a waitress, and Dad manages a couple of gas stations in the Pittsburgh area. I don’t see much of them. Pennsylvania and Upstate New York might as well be on opposite ends of the country. I’ll go home this summer, after graduation and—oh, just park in the driveway. Rita won’t mind.”
Gus turned off the engine and unfastened his seat belt. “Lead the way.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You don’t have to come inside with me.”
“Yeah, right. You really think I’m gonna sit in the truck after being on my ass for an hour?”
“Forty minutes.” I closed the passenger side door and met him on the hedge-trimmed pathway, adding, “This won’t take long. There’s a coffee shop at the end of the block if you want—”
“Quit trying to get rid of me. I’ll behave myself. Pinky promise.” He held up his pinky finger, chuckling when I smacked his hand away.
Rita was a lovely plump Polish woman in her forties with short blond hair who could almost always be found at her sewing machine with a measuring tape draped around her neck and her reading glasses perched low on her pointed nose. She glanced up, smiling in acknowledgment, her mouth full of pins.
“Ah, you’re here. And who is this?” Rita gestured to the giant hockey hunk lurking behind me.
“I’m Gus, Rafe’s roommate. Nice to meet you.” Gus waved. “He wanted me to see his uniform in person.”
“Costume,” I corrected with an eye roll.
Rita smiled. “Very well. Let me find it for you. Along with the tin of kolachki I made for you.”
“You didn’t!” I exclaimed.
“Of course, I did.” Rita toddled into the adjoining room and returned with a small tin. “Apricot and raspberry. Have one and share with your friend. He will like, yes? I will get your costume.”
Gus tapped the tin meaningfully. “You heard her. Share your cookies.”
“How do you know kolachki are cookies?” I asked, already prying the lid off.
“Ty is Polish on his dad’s side. His grandma always sends cookie care packages. She knows I love chruściki…you know, the ones shaped like angel wings and covered with powdered sugar? I could eat that stuff by the pound,” he gushed, rubbing his palms together like a greedy kid.