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)
The guys have already made themselves at home on my couch—no easy feat, since the two of them take up the entirety of the three cushions, even with minimal manspreading. Delaying the inevitable, I put my work into the biometric safe, set my loupes in their cushioned case, and turn off my LED desk light.
“Come to dinner with us,” Dominic orders. He’s always bossy like that, thinking he knows what’s best for me. Unfortunately, he’s usually right.
Turning around, I shake my head dismissively. “No, thanks. Already ate.” I pat my stomach to really sell it.
Dom tilts his head, seeing right through my lie.
“Not hungry?” I try, though it’s even more obvious that I’m lying now.
“Get dressed so we can get this over with,” Griffin grunts angrily, shoving his hand through his dark-blond hair. Both he and Dom have typical hockey flow hairstyles, but where my brother keeps his trimmed short in the back, Griffin’s hair is more flipped along his neck, giving him a rougher, casual appearance, though the man is anything but carefree. He’s more care-less, in that he doesn’t care about anyone or anything. Well, except Dominic. But beyond that, Griffin is more likely to throw hands than speak words, usually seems suspicious of anyone who claims to be a fan, and has never mentioned a single interest other than hockey.
I glance down at myself, making sure that I didn’t forget to put on clothes after my shower, but I’m wearing a sweatshirt dress and slouchy socks. The casual vibe coordinates perfectly with my air-dried brunette waves and bare face. I didn’t need a full look to sit at home and work, but I’m glad they didn’t get here earlier when I was doing both a hair and face mask with moisturizing gloves and booties on. They would’ve teased me mercilessly and probably come up with some nickname like Loch Ness Monster because of the green goop.
My eyes return to Griffin to find him scowling at my legs, which are so freshly shaved there’s not a single pokey hair on them. And suddenly, I know what to do. “Let me get my boots.”
I step into my bedroom, slip my feet into my favorite calf-high boots, and intentionally ignore the mirror over my dresser. Back in the living room, Dominic stands. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”
“Hi, Starving. I’m Penny.”
My brother doesn’t even pretend to laugh at my classic dad joke, which is blasphemy as far as I’m concerned. At a minimum, I deserve a fake har-har, and I won’t forget the omission next time he pops off with a dad-level witticism.
Griffin snorts in derision, but not at my joke. “You are not going out in that.” He points at my dress, as if there’s some confusion about what he’s referring to.
I don’t bother looking at myself again. “Yes, I am.” To my brother, I say, “Suddenly, I’m starving too. You’re right, I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
I slip my arm through Dom’s, encouraging him to move and letting him escort me toward the door.
Behind me, Griffin snaps, “Your ass is nearly hanging out. Does nobody care about that?”
At Griffin’s assertion, Dominic gives my outfit a quick glance, but he shrugs because my ass is not hanging out. Or even close to it. My sweatshirt dress is almost mid-thigh. Well, within inches of being mid-thigh, but the banded elastic hem keeps everything scooped under my butt, so there’s no chance of an accidental Marilyn blow-up peekaboo moment.
“Nope,” I throw over my shoulder. “And quit looking at my butt.”
Feeling sassy, I shake my ass in a corgi-esque wiggle, making sure he can’t help but notice. Not waiting for a reply, I urge Dominic into the hallway by confiding that I had a yogurt parfait hours ago, knowing that’ll get him moving. I’m trusting that Griffin will follow us, and a moment later, when he does, I feel a sense of triumph that’s probably discordant with the scale of the actual win, but I don’t care, because I’m unexpectedly craving a protein bowl of my own. And a bit of sweet victory.
You’d think I’d be used to the stares. I’m not. No matter how many times I walk into some store or restaurant or bar with my brother and Griffin, the stares get me every time.
I get it. They’re huge and draw more than their fair share of attention on their own. But together? There are people swooning, ones in awe, others who cower, and occasionally, fans who recognize them and want autographs.
Put the two guys together with lil ol’ me sandwiched in the middle like the tiniest of Vienna sausages in their huge hot dog buns? A whole different kind of curiosity overtakes people, and I can see the lewd questions written on their faces. The questions that make me want to yell, That one’s my brother and that one hates me, but I don’t bother. I don’t owe strangers an explanation for why two walking, talking, real-life demigods are hanging out with an average plain Jane.