Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“I swear to god I hate you.”
“Bro. Is that a nice thing to say to your probably future brother-in-law?” His eyes linger over my caramel cake, setting his muffin back on its plate. “Are you gonna eat that?”
Irritated, I push the cake forward. “Just take the damn thing.”
“You’re so charming. I don’t know how the ladies can resist you.”
“Fuck you.”
“No thanks. I’m fucking your sister.” Matthew casually takes a bite of my cake.
“What the hell did I tell you about saying shit like that?”
“Sorry. You’re right. Molly prefers the term making love.” He shoves the caramel cake in his big1 fat mouth whole, chewing slowly. Crumbs fall out in chunks and land on the table, his tee shirt, and the floor.
“Are you always such a slob?”
“Would you stop deflecting your issues on to me? I’m not the one throwing a bitch fit because I treated the girl I’m falling in love with like a damn groupie.” He wipes his stupid face with a paper napkin and points a calloused finger at me. “Last time I checked, that would be you.”
“Um….”
“Congratulations. If you wanted to make her feel like a cheap whore, I’m sure you succeeded.” I glare at him but he continues, spreading his hands out on the table.
Frustrated, I run my fingers through my hair. “You know that wasn’t my intention. She and I have been tiptoeing around each other for weeks now, and I’m… I’m so horny I can’t even see straight, dude. I want to fuck her so bad.”
“So is this all that is to you? A quick lay?”
“No… no.”
“Then maybe you should try telling her how you feel and start being honest.” I might be imagining it, but I swear he mumbles ‘for once in your life.’
“What the hell do I look like? Some kind of pussy?”
Weston gives me a pointed look that says ‘yes you do’ and in return, I shoot him a glare. “Don’t you dare answer that.”
“I just think it’s fucked up you think sharing your feelings makes you a vagina. When were you born, the fifties?”
“Actually, I think you’re starting to sound like a vagina. My sister sure did a number on you with all this feelings bullshit, didn’t she?”
He shrugs. “Whatever dude. I’m the one getting laid, so…”
“So you keep saying,” I complain as I begin shredding a napkin. “It’s not like I actually wanted a relationship with her.”
Weston slams his fist down on the table, startling me and a few nearby patrons, some of whom glance over at us, worry etched on their faces. “If you don’t give a shit, then enough already. Let it go. You’ve treated Cece like shit from the beginning, now she thinks you’re a dick. If you want to get laid so goddamn bad and you don’t care who it’s with, go. Go fuck a groupie. Be my guest. But then don’t waste my time with all this… whatever this bullshit is.” He stuffs a muffin into his mouth, then says with a mouthful, “And let’s not forget: you called me to talk, not the other way around.”
I stare at him, passive expression pasted on my face.
He rolls his eyes. “Cut the crap. Do you want to say ‘fuck it’ or do you want to fix it?”
A loud clearing of the throat from the next table interrupts us, and we both turn in our seats to acknowledge the older, gray haired woman sitting directly next to us. She looks old enough to be my grandmother, and is glaring at us through narrowed eyes. “Excuse me, young men. I’ve been sitting here since you sat down and I must say, the amount of cursing coming from this table has ruined my morning coffee.”
“Sorry ma’am.”
“Don’t apologize to me, young man. Apologize to whatever young lady the two of you are yammering on about. If you ask me, she would be lucky to be rid of you. If you were my grandson, I would be ashamed of your behavior. Appalling.” She stands, grabs her giant satchel of a purse, her coffee, and huffs at us before waddling off, murmuring, “Kids these days.”
Embarrassed, shocked, and horrified (take your pick) neither Weston nor I say anything long after she’s departed. Instead, I pick at a straw wrapper and Weston stares blankly out the window, watching the old woman slowly hobble to her green ‘95 Cadillac sedan.
“I hate to be the one to say this, but… that old bag made a really good point.”
“Which is?”
“Maybe Cece is lucky to be rid of you.”
“Seriously dude, whose side are you on?”
Weston shrugs, his broad shoulders move up and down faintly as if he’s not committed to the task of his forthcoming lecture. “Look. You start training camp in a few short weeks in California. A relationship wouldn’t have worked between the two of you anyway unless she was willing to move.”