Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
We message back and forth for most of the afternoon, but by the time I’d usually be stuffed full of turkey and close to a food coma, I’m too restless to sit still.
So I take Richie’s advice.
There are a few bars open near my place, but going somewhere new doesn’t appeal to me, so I take an Uber to McIntyre’s. It’s busier than I expected, but not as packed as usual, so I order a drink and claim a booth all to myself.
I’m going to watch the people around me and drink.
There are a few familiar faces about but no one I’ve spoken to, and before I know it, one drink turns into three and then seventy-jillion. Each one tastes more delicious than the last, until the Christmas lights hanging above me dance in my vision.
Wait … they’re not Christmas lights. It’s one light. And damn, it’s bright. My hand reaches for it, and—“Ouch, that thstings.” I put my finger in my mouth. Fucking hot burny giant Christmas light.
I’m debating with myself whether another drink will be one too many, when a large body knocks into my table.
“Hey, sorr—Seth? Seth Grant?”
I look up and shoot finger guns at Cohen. Yay, someone familiar-ish. “One of Foster’s groupies, hi.”
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your family?” His broad smile takes over his face as he drops into the seat across from me. I watch as he kicks up his feet and makes himself comfortable.
“Had to stay back to study. Today was shit. Everything is shit. Online dating is shit. It’s allllll—”
“Shit?” Cohen looks pointedly at my beer. “How much have you had to drink?”
I hold out my hands as if I’ve caught a big fish. “Thiiiis many.”
“Nice.” He leans forward and knocks his glass against mine. “Gotta love the holidays for making you feel good about yourself.”
“I feel really good. Except for the Christmas lights. Those fuckers burn.”
Cohen tilts his head sympathetically like he knows all about it. I bet he doesn’t.
I point above me. “Touch them. They’re hot.”
“Uh, Seth, that’s the overhead light. Every table has one, and even I know not to touch them.”
“Oh.”
He leans in. “Because I may have done the same thing freshman year.”
I snort. Not a little huff of a laugh, but like a damn pig. “Oops.” I snort again.
Motherfucker!
Cohen answers my laugh with his own. “I kinda get the feeling if I leave you like this, Grant will kick my ass.”
“I’m fine. Super fine.”
“Except for the first-degree burn on your finger.”
I nod emphatically, and Cohen bounces all over the place. No, wait, that’s my head still moving. “Except that.”
“I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you’re a mess.”
I lean forward, hitting my head on the table. “You’re so right.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
My head snaps up. “With you?”
“Ouch, but fair. I guess. It’s not like we’ve ever hung out before. You just like to bodycheck me outside cafés.”
That reminds me of our other run-in. I point at his glass. “I thought you were getting too old for this scene?”
“I meant frat parties. Drinking never gets old. Gotta say though, I didn’t pick you for the drinking alone type.”
“I think holidays are the exception to every rule.”
“Smart. Are … uh, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Nah, but I will be.” My eyes widen. “Please don’t tell Foster about this.”
“About you being drunk? He’s not your keeper.”
“No, but he’ll want to talk about why I didn’t go to Thanksgiving so I could drink myself stupid. Why, Seth? We have perfect lives, Seth. We’re privileged and get whatever we want, Seth. Why are you unhappy? Why? Why? Why? Maybe because you get whatever you want, you have the perfect life, and you’ve got every single thing figured out, don’t ya, little brother?”
Cohen blinks at me. “Are you still talking to me or having an imaginary fight with your brother? Is it weird I feel like I’m intruding on your private conversation when he’s not even here?”
I sigh. “Sorry. Like you said, messssssy.”
Cohen presses his lips together. He has a beard which makes them disappear, and it looks like he’s wearing a wig on his face.
I chuckle. “Wig face.”
“What?”
It makes me wonder what Richie’s face looks like. Does he have facial hair? He doesn’t have any chest hair. I know because I’ve only watched that video he sent about a billion-jibberty times. Is he like Zach and lacks complete ability to even grow facial hair? Is his whole body alllll smooth? No, wait, I’ve seen his dick area. He has to at least manscape down there.
Cohen clicks his fingers in front of my face. “Are you spacing out?”
“Yeps. I’m thinking about manscaping.”
“Man … scaping.”
“Yeah, you know, shaving your bits so your partner doesn’t floss their teeth with your pubes.”
Cohen bursts out laughing. “I had absolutely no idea Foster’s brother was so much fun.”