Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 128417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
My heart skips a beat. Damn, my brother has a knack for hitting the nail right on the head sometimes.
Dax picks up the envelope and begins counting the hundred-dollar bills inside, shaking his head with awe as he does. When he’s finally done counting, he looks up at me, his eyes glistening. “Thank you so much, Kat,” he says. “I’ll repay you one day, I swear to God, every last penny.” His voice breaks adorably. “I’m gonna do everything in my power to make you proud of me, Kat.”
I grin from ear-to-ear. It’s so rare that Dax calls me Kat. With him, I’m always Jizz or sis (or Splooge or Protein Shake if he’s feeling particularly silly). He must feel uniquely overcome right now to be addressing me by my real name.
“You never need to pay me back,” I say. “It was never my money in the first place. And I’m already proud of you. All I want is for you to make the exact album you wanna make—no holding back.”
He lurches at me and wraps me in a fervent hug. “I love you, Kat. You’re my all-time favorite sister.”
I laugh and kiss his cheek, my eyes stinging. “I love you, too. You’re my all-time favorite baby brother.”
We hold each other for a long beat.
“Now get the fuck out of my house, you mooch,” I say, pulling away from our embrace and wiping my eyes. “I’ve got a thank-you email to write to our mutual benefactor, and then I’ve got a hot date with a certain piece of motorized machinery.”
Dax laughs. “No shit, you do.” He rubs his eyes. “Thanks so much, Kat. I’ll never forget this as long as I live.”
“I didn’t do it so you’d owe me something. I did it because watching you make your dreams come true will be the same thing as making my own dream come true.”
He wipes his eyes again. “I’ll make you proud, sis.”
“You already have.”
There’s a beat. We’re smiling at each other like simpletons. I think this is one of the best moments of my life. Way better than if I’d received something amazing for myself.
“Now get the fuck out,” I say. “You’re cramping my style.”
He kisses me on the cheek again, shoves his guitar into its case, scoops up his envelope full of cash, and strides toward my front door. But a few feet from the door, he stops short and looks down for a very long beat, his back still to me.
When Dax finally whirls around to face me, I’m expecting him to thank me again, or maybe say something deep and poignant—but that’s not what happens.
“You slept with Cameron Schulz?” he blurts. “The baseball player?”
My eyes dart to the coffee table, searching frantically for Josh’s note—but it’s not where I left it. Goddammit!
Dax holds up Josh’s card between his two fingers like he’s holding a cigarette, a wicked smirk on his face.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I say evenly, pointing to the door.
Dax tosses the card onto my kitchen counter. “Wow, Jizz,” he says smoothly. “You’re my fucking hero, dude.”
19
KAT
The minute the door closes behind Dax’s back, I pull out my laptop from my carry-on bag, log in remotely to my firm’s network, and check the shared calendar, trying to figure out when I can realistically commit to a trip to L.A. to see Josh.
Based on the workload I’m seeing on the firm’s calendar, I seriously shouldn’t go for at least a month. I was in Las Vegas way longer than I ever expected to be, and, based on what I’m seeing on my firm’s calendar, my absence has quite obviously been felt. Dang it. If I’m gonna stay at this job, I really should take a chill pill on skipping town for a while. But am I gonna stay at this job or open my own firm in the near future? That’s the million-dollar question. And if I am gonna start my own thing, then I suppose in good conscience I really shouldn’t sit for too much longer on my company’s payroll while I’m getting my own ducks in a row. Shoot. I’ve got some big-girl decisions to make.
I flip into my personal calendar, just to see if there’s something requiring my attention here at home next week. Whoa. Today’s the eighteenth? All this time, I’ve been thinking it was the seventeenth. I look up sharply from my screen. Wait. Did I miss taking a birth control pill somewhere along the line this past week?
I quickly rummage into my bag and pull out my pills. Oh crap. Yeah, I missed a day. Well, it’s no wonder with the crazy hours Josh and I kept in Vegas. Who could keep track of day and night the way we were going?
Quickly, I pop one of my pills to make up for my lapse. It really shouldn’t make that big a difference, right? It’s just one day. In fact, I’m pretty sure the pill I missed was yesterday.