Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Malcolm had gasped. “There most certainly is. As the sepals on the plant age, they naturally revert to a green hue and—oh, you’re teasing me.”
Jett had hooked his foot on Malcolm’s chair and drew it toward him, then draped his arm around his boyfriend and kissed his cheek. “Guilty. I don’t know what a hydrangea is, do you, Ty?”
Ty had nodded yes before shaking his head. “I’m not sure.”
They’d snickered when Malcolm and I had rolled our eyes in unison.
And okay…it had been nice. Really nice. I wasn’t sure if I’d been relieved or worried that the “outing incident” hadn’t come up.
Ty had shrugged. “They’re madly in love, Red, and everyone knows it. If you asked now, they’d say you did them a favor. I think it’s time to let it go.”
So I did.
And I made an effort to be more open to new social situations. For some odd reason, interviewing bare-chested hockey players in a locker room with towels tied around their waists was easier than being squished in a booth at Bear Depot next to Brady and Langley.
They hadn’t blinked twice or bothered questioning our excuse that we were brainstorming for a collaboration when they’d spotted us at the diner. They’d simply motioned for me to scoot over and proceeded to bombard us with ideas.
“Dude, I’ve got one word for you…DIY,” Langley had suggested, flagging our waitress down.
“That’s three words, genius,” Ty had taunted.
“No, it’s one.”
“Do it yourself. That’s three.”
Langley had frowned. “Okay, yeah, if you get technical about it. But if you smoosh it together and go by the letters, it’s one. Back me up here, Woodrow.”
“Walker isn’t gonna back you up, Guster. He’s got a fuckin’ brain,” Ty had razzed him.
I’d swallowed my french fry, darting a quizzical glance between them. Look, I’d made it my job to study sporty people. It was a matter of survival that dated to my boarding school days. But sparring with athletes outside of my capacity as a Smithton know-it-all was new territory.
I’d cleared my throat. “Strictly speaking, an acronym isn’t a word. Sorry.”
“Boom shakalaka!” Ty had made a mic-drop gesture and tossed a fry at Langley. “Told ya.”
“And neither is shakalaka,” I’d added.
The table had burst into laughter as Brady and Langley high-fived me while Ty had pouted from his side of the booth.
“I have a killer idea for you,” Brady had piped up. “Travel. No, wait, I’m serious. I follow this guitar player on YouTube who does tutorials out of his basement. Last month he went to Nashville for a wedding or something and did a whole show on the music scene there. It was really cool.”
“Oh, that’s a good one,” I’d commented.
Brady had offered a huge grin and a fist bump. “Make it somewhere close to Smithton, like Cooperstown or Syracuse or—”
“No, it’s gotta be someplace cooler, add an activity too. Go river rafting.”
“Skydiving.”
“Paragliding.”
I’d snickered at the outlandish suggestions while reveling in their easy acceptance.
Was it cheating if we weren’t being completely honest?
Ty didn’t think so. To him, it was a simple matter of introducing new friends and old friends.
Maybe he was right.
I’d said my good-byes to Robin, packed my suitcase, and delivered Mabel to Shay, who’d kindly offered to watch her for me. My flight to Toronto left first thing in the morning, so I planned to spend the night with Ty…in bed.
We lay naked, entwined like human pretzels, panting and grinning like fools.
“I feel bad that I can’t take you to the airport,” Ty commented, tracing lazy circles on my hip.
“What time is your game tomorrow?”
“The bus leaves at nine. I’ll go home next week after the game in Granville. My sister is flying in with her family and my parents are bringing my four-year-old nephew to the game. It was supposed to be a surprise, but Wyatt couldn’t wait to tell me. Kids are so funny, and not that I’m biased or anything, but my nephew is cute as hell.”
I loved the way Ty’s eyes lit up when he talked about his family. “I bet you were cute.”
“I was a fuckin’ hooligan. Not the bad kind. I was just…mischievous.”
“Oh, I believe you. How so?”
Ty snorted. “I always came up with dumbass ideas. Like…the time my brothers and I washed my mom’s car and dried it with tissue.”
“You dried a car with…tissue?”
“Let me tell ya, that was a mess. It looked like the car had been through a snowstorm. White shit everywhere. Mom wasn’t happy, but I swear it’s one of her favorite stories to tell.” He altered his voice to a woman’s falsetto and continued, “ ‘You wouldn’t believe what Ty did. That boy!’ ”
I snickered. “Oh, geez. How old were you?”
“Seven? Evan and Lyle were five and four, so I got in trouble. But c’mon, who puts a seven-year-old in charge of washing a car?” Ty huffed incredulously. “That’s on them. You can’t be fully trusted to do a decent job till you’re at least ten.”