Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Vann had a second half to his sentence, but he at once abandons it and changes his tone. “What’s this about a pajama party you and Kelsey are allegedly attending?”
Toby sighs. “Babe, I told you about it. Teegan’s party.”
“Why is this the first that I’m hearing about it? Are you sure you told me? Or is this yet another one of those things you thought you told me, and—”
“Vann.” Toby still stands at the foot of the stairs, his fingers now drumming agitatedly on the banister. “I told you about it last night after we watched that terrible movie with the sexy brothers pulling off a heist. I even sent you a text about it today asking if we should wear matching PJs, or if that’s just corny and gross.”
Vann bites his lip, drawing silent. Then his eyes flash. “Oh. That was the thing you wanted to do tonight.”
Toby calms down at once. “It’s okay. We don’t—”
“No, no, we can go. It’s just …” Vann glances at me.
Honestly, I had no idea what to expect, coming here. “I can just hang here tonight while you guys go to your party. That’s fine. I brought my sketchpad and a couple books.”
“Your sketchpad and a couple—? No.” Vann shakes his head. “You’re here to find your spark, and that means you’re just as invited to this party as we are.”
“Actually, I wasn’t invited at all …” I start.
“No one’s actually invited, per se,” explains Toby from the stairs. “Word gets around and … everyone just knows to be there. It’s how things work on the island.”
“You can wear whatever you sleep in,” suggests Vann.
“Speaking of …” Toby points upstairs. “We should get ready soon. Party’s been going on for a couple hours.”
“Right.” Vann pats me on the shoulder. “Maybe we can hit up Desert Moon for midnight tacos afterwards?”
My head is spinning, but I’m really great at pretending like it’s not. “I doubt they’ll compare to my abuelita’s tacos, but … sure, sounds great! PJs and tacos.”
“PJs and tacos!” Vann chuckles at that, then hurries to his boyfriend, the pair of them disappearing up the stairs.
I stand at the couch, where I set down my backpack and rummage through my belongings. I’m pretty sure no matter what modest excuse for pajamas I wear, I’ll stand out like a sore thumb in a sea of half-naked beauties.
But maybe it’s in exactly that kind of situation that I’ll find the thing I’m looking for. Great art comes from great angst, and where better to find it than at a house party full of sexually-frustrated horn-monsters in their PJs?
Chapter 4 - Adrian
The best medicine when you’re down is a cute guy in pajamas.
Or rather: Boxers. Briefs. Thong. Jockstrap.
“You are so not showing enough skin,” says my friend Finn, whose choice of attire is a pair of tighty whities with baby-blue piping and a heart on one of the ass cheeks. He’s a somewhat short but surprisingly muscular guy with spiky light brown hair and creamy skin that’s smooth as a baby’s ass, except for a tiny happy trail cutting down his abs. I’m surprised with his loose interpretation of “pajamas” tonight considering he’s usually a pretty modest guy.
“Is this an underwear party or a PJ party?” I mumble.
“Is there a difference?” he counters. “Maybe everyone here sleeps in their undies.”
I catch eyes with someone across the crowded room, a young guy who’s probably just here for a good time. I can tell from the type of look he’s giving me—all smirk, eyes hungry and expecting, a total lack of desperation. The guy is dancing with someone else, but the moment he found my eyes, he might as well be dancing with a two-by-four. He’s lost all interest in him. His focus is all on me now.
I’d normally pick up on the cue, strut on over, and see if there’s a two-for-one deal with them. My priority isn’t ever to hook up, but it always happens at these things, and when I get a look like the one he’s giving me—willing and wanting and thirsty as all get out—how can my brain not go straight to after-party plans?
He’s cute and willing, sure, but for all I know, there could be something more meaningful that might come out of our night together. It isn’t always about sex.
Even if looks like that only ever end up with sex.
But the longer I look at him, the more my brother’s words at the pier start digging into me again. Then there’s Erick’s stupid comment about my life being easy.
Now the more the guy looks at me, the more annoyed I get. I can’t be blamed if they always come after me, can I? It doesn’t make me the shallow monster my brother and half the island make me out to be. It doesn’t mean I don’t value love, no matter what stupid nickname they call me.