Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Lummy happily shrugs. “Of course not.”
Pecks expression instantly shifts to one of disapproval, “Wings-”
“I’ll be fine, Papi.”
“But-”
“No.”
“But-”
“No.”
“And earlier-”
“Coño,” she bitterly bites prior to pulling away her grip, wiping her hands against one another, and throwing them up in a frustrated fashion. “Ta bien, listo, Papi.” Her palms plant themselves firmly on her string bikini covered hips. “Entiendes?”
His frame melts in obvious dejection, convincing Cap to shove him backwards into the pool. “There.” The giant splash gets Neena giggling and Lummy clicking. “He understands now.”
“Gracias, Cap.”
“Da,” he grunts on an amused shrug. “Just doing my job.” Peck pops back up above water prompting our fearless leader to point a stern finger at him. “Ostyvat'.”
“Come on, Cap,” the center grumble chortles, “you know I’m bad at Russian.”
“He’s barely passable in Spanish, and we’ve been together forever,” Neena sassily interjects.
“It means ‘cool down’, Pecks,” I inform during my guiding of Gilly away from the group.
“You speak Russian?” she excitedly inquires, our casual stroll filled with additional finger waves to other players and their family members.
“Understand,” bashfully leaves me. “And only a little bit.”
“What about Spanish?”
“More than Russian.”
“Czech?”
Her acknowledgement of what Matty was speaking receives a quirked eyebrow. “How’d you know that was Czech?”
“I know the boys too,” she saucily winks, “remember?”
Right.
Guess I should be thanking the Lord most of them don’t know her.
Otherwise?
Cap probably would’ve pushed me in and held my head under.
Wild thing is…I have this unfortunate feelin’ that that’s still a real possibility.
“Do you know how to Hula?” I easily segue with an excited smirk.
“No.”
“You up for learnin’?”
“Are you?”
“Of course, Gillybean.” Bringing her knuckles to my lips for a chaste kiss precedes another crooked grin. “I’m willin’ and ready for any and every adventure that involves you.”
The faintest hint of red hitting her cheeks causes my chest to swell yet again.
I swear every time they turn that shade, I find myself loving that color more than the one I wear on my sweater.
Wonder if I could get Dub to work it into my bucket design.
Have a little piece of her out there with me.
Having my back.
Cheering for me in secret.
Ooooo!
I bet I could get him to work in jellybeans pretty easy.
Then again…would that be too on the mask?
We’re talkin’ ABBA most iconic song too obvs.
Hmm.
Somethin’ to think on before he finishes up his first round of sketches.
After giving one more cautious, big brotherly glance to Bronny – who is now gearing up for a noodle jousting competition against Lyam Wheaton, our other goalie – we resume our trek to the dance area that immediately reveals a general lack of interest in the activity.
However, I don’t let that dissuade me.
I never do.
I never would.
Life’s about the tunes you wanna make, not what everyone else wants to hear.
Courtney Hale – Corbin’s older sister – warmly welcomes us to the space, introduces us to the male and female dancers she’s brought along, and naturally progresses into her prepared speech regarding the activity’s cultural history as well as significance.
Side by side – still linked by our hands – Gilly and I drink in every word.
Ask questions.
Clarify pronunciations.
Poke fun at one another when we screw ‘em up.
Effortlessly allow ourselves to become tucked away from the rest of the world.
Lost to the magic melody that we make whenever we’re together.
Around the time we’re slipping kupe'e leis on around our wrists, Cap is begrudgingly being dragged over by his adorable bite sized, blonde-haired, first-born daughter, Bella. “We gonna hula, Daddy.”
“Daddy is too big to hula,” he grouses yet continues to let himself be bullied into standing where she commands.
“Uncle Groffee is bigger than you, and he is hulaing,” she states matter-of-factly.
“Sure am, Princess Bella,” I warmly concur prior to pulling on a green colored loincloth. “I’m even wearin’ a malo.”
“Daddy, you wear one too,” instructs the little handful dressed in a red and white swimsuit that reminds me of peppermints.
And I’m pretty sure that’s probably the point.
Her mom – technically stepmom but the only mom that has ever and will ever matter – Joey Alexeyev is obsessed with Christmas.
She even comes to me when she wants to mix up her holiday themed playlist.
James Brown’s “Santa Claus Go Straight To The Ghetto” was a huge hit for her last year while The Ramones “Merry Christmas (I Don't Want to Fight Tonight)” became Bella’s daily must anthem, something Cap creatively punished me for by blaring it near my ear whenever I managed to drift off to sleep on our plane.
How was I supposed to know she was gonna turn into a little punk rocker who then only wanted to hear that band night and day?
Though they do have some bangers.
“Nyet,” huffs Cap, arms folding firmly across his chest. “Vot gde ya provozhu chertu.”
“Is it?” Joey teasingly inquires while Gilly helps straighten my accessories. “Is that really where you draw the line?” Her curvaceous frame arrives into the space between me and Bella. “You really won’t wear a man skirt for your little hatchling?”