Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 84289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
We made the road trip over here this morning in my car, and for the whole drive over, Oliver got more antsy and talkative the closer we got.
Now he seems practically ready to leap out of his skin.
“Quit being adorable. I don’t have time to fuck you before we head inside.”
“God,” he mutters, a tiny pink blush on his cheekbones.
I squeeze his hip, biting back a smile.
I know he won’t say it, but Oliver has no idea what it’s going to be like to bring someone back home for the first time.
He’s never dated anyone, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t think through the implications of bringing me back for Christmas.
Me.
With my skin absolutely flooded with ink, including the prominent six of hearts tattoo right at the center of my hand.
With my ear piercing, and my inability to keep a filter on my mouth.
I know how Oliver thinks his parents are going to see me: like a rabid, dangerous wolf with a sign around my neck saying I fuck your son senseless and I’ll murder any soul who tells me not to.
I suppose it’s the truth.
But at least for this trip, I want to try to be on good behavior. Try. The idea of “good behavior” feels strange, like I’m in an unfamiliar coat, but I want to try my best not to fuck anything up for Oliver, for once.
We go in through the garage.
Oliver keys in a code and we enter, walking past two cars, hung-up bikes, a spare fridge, and tons of boxes of storage.
Once we’re inside, it smells like warm apples with cinnamon, and the chatter of conversation fills the air. He leads me through a short back hall toward the kitchen.
“Hey, Mom.”
A short woman with a messy bun the same hair color as his is standing over the kitchen island.
“Sweetie!” she says, coming over to wrap Oliver in a hug. “God, I’ve missed you. Are you taller? I’m just shorter. Fuck, I’m old. I’m so happy you’re back.”
No wonder Oliver’s so attuned to affection. Clearly he had a whole lot more of it than me, growing up.
“Hi, Mom. This is Niko.”
“Niko, I’m Cheryl. Get in here. Welcome.”
She wraps her arms around me in a hug, too.
A teenage kid looks up at me from over his handheld gaming console, his eyes going wide. “Holy fuck! Those tattoos are fire.”
“Language, Aaron,” Cheryl scolds him.
“Niko, this is my little brother Aaron, and my sister Emily. Aaron’s a freshman in high school and Emily’s a junior.”
Both Aaron and Emily stand up and come over to give me hugs, too.
And the award for most affectionate family ever goes to the Ashfords.
Everyone has the same golden-brown hair other than Emily, who’s clearly dyed hers to go in a more goth direction. Her hair is jet black and in two braids like Wednesday Addams, and she’s rimmed her eyes with thick black eyeliner. In high school, I even had a phase where I wore eyeliner and painted my nails black, so Emily instantly feels like a little sister to me.
Oliver’s dad is the only one who opts for a handshake instead. He sets down a cup of black coffee and stands up to greet me. He looks even more academic than Oliver, with thick-framed glasses, sharp green eyes, and a neatly-trimmed grey beard.
“Pleasure to meet you, Niko,” he says. “I’m Victor. We’ve heard a lot about you.”
I can’t hide my surprise.
I lift my eyebrows, turning toward Oliver, who looks like he wants to sink into the ground.
“You’ve told your parents about me, Ollie?”
“He’s told us, too,” Aaron says, grinning. “He didn’t say you have tats, though.”
Cheryl sighs, leaning over the kitchen island. “Aaron, if you so much as get a microscopic line tattooed on your skin before you’re 18, I will have failed as a mother. Hell, make it 25. Your brain needs to fully form before you make those decisions.”
“Niko’s not 25, and he has good tattoos,” Aaron protests.
Cheryl looks over at me, putting a hand to her mouth for a moment. “Shit. I didn’t mean any offense by that, Niko.” She comes over and whispers in my ear so that Aaron can’t hear. “Your tattoos are very beautiful. I just don’t want my fourteen-year-old getting any ideas.”
I nod. “Understand completely.”
Oliver is running his hands through his hair, putting them down flat on the kitchen island, then moving them back up to his hair again, adorably nervous.
“I told them we started dating a few weeks ago,” he admits to me. “I didn’t tell them all about you, though.”
“He said you’re popular on Instagram. Wouldn’t give me your account, though,” Emily says with a sly grin. “Ollie has had me and Aaron blocked on Insta for a while now.”
“Yeah, because you two should be focusing on school, not social media.”
Victor’s shrewd eyes are still peering at me from behind his glasses, and I definitely feel like I’m being sussed out.