Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“Just look at it this way. You’ve been out of therapy for, what, a year now? If you were a car, you’d go in for a service after a year, so pitch it to Mum and Dad that you need a check-up. And when your psychiatrist says you need to come back to regular sessions—which she will—tell our parents you’re delving further into your issues because you’re doing better. That’ll get them off your back.”
With another sigh but more resolve, Anders pops the cap on the bottle and swallows a pill dry.
“Bit early for it, isn’t it?” Our drive will be almost two hours to Mum and Dad’s place.
“We better get on the road, and God knows I need something to help me suffer your singing all the way there.”
“Love you too, brother.”
Anders stands. “Let’s get this over with.”
The anti-anxiety meds turn out to be a good thing for Anders because he sleeps most of the car ride there. It turns out to be bad for me, though, because it gives me alone time with my thoughts, and that’s never a good thing. Especially when I can’t get a certain blond teacher out of my head.
Maybe the mental image of him jerking me off should fill me with guilt, but all it does is make me wish I’d stayed for more. It’s not like I can go back there. No matter how much his text this morning makes me want to. Wasn’t anything major—just a simple got plans this weekend?
Yeah, I do. I’m going home with the guy you think you fooled around with but didn’t.
And that’s why I have to ignore him and move on.
I won’t think of his hard chest, the rough stubble from his five o’clock shadow, or how I pinned him against the wall and fucked his hand. Nope. Not gonna think about that.
My dick has other ideas. I shift in the driver’s seat to try to get comfortable, because driving with a hard-on is never fun.
Stop thinking about Reed.
Anders’ snoring is a constant reminder he’s beside me, so at least that helps deflate my cock.
As soon as I pull off the motorway for the Byron exit, Anders snorts so loud he wakes himself.
“Shit, we’re here already?”
“Yup.”
He throws his head back on his seat and shuts his eyes again, but I know he’s not going back to sleep. He’s trying to disappear.
I’ve been around Anders enough to know he doesn’t need encouraging words right now. He needs tough love or silence, and seeing as today’s going to be hard enough, I opt for silence.
Mum and Dad bought a house along the beachfront thirty years ago when property prices were insanely low. Now, the street where our childhood home sits is filled with beach mansions. They have high fences and no yards with private paths that lead to the beach.
Our house is still a shack, but it has the classic Byron hippie vibe. Our yard has surfboards lining the back fence instead of security cameras, and we have an actual lawn.
As soon as we pull into the driveway, Anders pulls out his eyebrow barbell.
“Really, man?” I ask. “We’re still playing this game?”
He grins. “Wouldn’t hurt to make them feel a little guilty about getting us mixed up before we ask them for money.”
There’s no fighting that logic.
When we climb out of the car, the scent of strawberries makes my mouth water. The fruit and veggie patch that lines our garden has fruit year-round thanks to the tropical climate. The smell reminds me of my childhood and running from the beach after a surf and scarfing down fresh fruit while Mum prepares dinner.
I breathe in deep and savour the salty air that’s home. I’ve thought about moving back, but it’s not a possibility. Not with Anders. Plus, I make more money in the city. More students to teach.
“My babies,” Mum says from the front porch. She has love in her smile but worry in her eyes.
“We’re twenty-eight,” Anders grumbles.
It’s not that we don’t come home often—although we could probably step up the visits—but the fact she’s a worrier. Her house may be on the hippie side, but she’s far from the free-spirit persona this town was built on.
Mum hugs us both in a deathly grip.
When she pulls back, she cups my cheeks. “Anders, honey, I hope you got that rash cleared up. It’s never good having a rash down there.”
My eyes widen and then dart to Anders.
“Mum!” Anders snaps and turns to me. “She’s lying.”
She doesn’t even try to cover her smugness. “Serves you right for trying to trick your mother, Anderson. Put your eyebrow ring back in. Your dad lost his glasses again, so he’ll have no hope telling you apart.”
“Oh, don’t pull the mother knows everything card,” Anders says. “You once dropped me at Law’s soccer practice, thinking I was him.”