Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“Abso-fucking-lutely not. What we’re not gonna do is . . . that,” Dominic declares, pointing his fork at Griffin even while I continue to mull over the fun of the possibility. “I think we need to set some ground rules here about acceptable ways to behave if you don’t want me to blow an aneurysm, which I think we can all agree is for the best. First, no sex talk. I do not want to hear how you rawdog railed my sister, ever. Nor do I want to hear how you pegged my best friend’s prostate and made him shoot like a fountain.” He wiggles his finger in the air, which I’m guessing is supposed to be a prostate massage. An overly dramatic shiver runs through him as he makes a gagging noise.
“That’s what I sounded like this morning,” I tease under my breath, repeating his gag with a much different insinuation.
At the same time, Griffin sputters, “Dude, what the fuck. I don’t tell you that kinda shit anyway.” Then he looks at me. “Do you talk to him about stuff like that?”
I shake my head. But Dominic’s declaration has had the opposite of the intended effect. Now I want to share too-intimate details just to irritate him, because that’s how siblings show their love. Or at least, it’s how we do. “So you’re saying you don’t want to hear about Griffin’s magic dick? That’s totally the best I’ve ever had. And biiiig. He let me measure it against a hockey stick, and guess who won?” I blink innocently before answering, “I’ll just say I’m the winner-winner, chicken dinner. Ding, ding, ring-a-dingaling, dong.”
Griffin chuckles. Dominic’s face goes slack in horror, and he slams his hands over his ears, singing, “La la la la. I can’t hear youuuuuu.”
Torturing my brother is so fun, and the best part is, I’m telling the truth. Griffin did let me do a comparison, one hand on his stick and the other on his stick. And yeah, I’m definitely the winner here, with Griffin.
When Dominic releases his ears, he mutters, “Now I’m scared to say rule two.” At our expectant looks, he sighs. “I’m not your mediator. Fight or don’t, but leave me out of it. Though, if you hurt her, I’ll break every last bone in your body in multiple places, maximizing your pain as much as possible.” That last part is directed at Griffin, and I can’t help but be touched by my brother’s caring. His “rough around the edges” continues clear down to his core, but he does truly care about me, and his protectiveness is how he shows it.
Griffin dips his chin, agreeing. “Deal. What else?”
“We still get bro days without Penny-Nickel-Dime invading and wanting us to go shopping or get our nails done or some shit like that.”
I scoff, holding up my short, bare nails in protest of his stereotyping. I rarely wear polish, because my work would ruin it, and on the occasion that I do, I have Talia help me. I’m not the type to sit in a salon for the whole day, getting pampered and primped.
“Dom, in my whole life, the only time I’ve gotten a pedicure was with you,” Griffin announces.
“What?” I screech, turning on my brother. “You got a pedicure? Did they do a rose-petal soak of your little piggies, and scrub between your janky toes, and paint your nails Bubble Bath? Or was it Funny Bunny?” Grinning at my obvious win in our never-ending battle of one-upmanship, I shove a bite of my chicken-rice bowl into my mouth.
But Dominic isn’t the least bit embarrassed. “The fact that you know those colors says I’m right to worry you’re going to girlify my bro here.”
“The fact that you know they’re popular colors says maybe I need to be the one worried?”
“I know because I date,” he explains. “Telling a girl her new Bubble Bath manicure looks good is a surefire way to get her to wrap those fingers around my dick.”
That actually makes sense. And also, ew!
“You’re disgusting,” I scold my brother.
“To clarify, all the Hawks went for pedicures as some sort of team sponsorship deal from the salon,” Griffin informs me, interjecting into our sibling back-and-forth. “You should’ve seen Jacofovich. He jumped every time they touched his feet. So ticklish.”
“She should’ve seen Brody and Pretty Boy arguing over who had the better feet and demanding we hold a blind competition where we all voted on whose were prettiest. As if it’s not obviously Brody, but we would never tell him that because he’d be even more insufferable than he already is.”
The guys are grinning and laughing like friends again, not an angry glance between them, and I’m glad. I certainly didn’t expect to fall for Griffin, but even though I have—completely, totally, and wildly—I wouldn’t want to come between the two of them. Especially because I know how important the friendship is to Griffin.