Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Def not Sulli. How old is she and she’s already a gorilla.
Jane isn’t nearly as pretty as her mom imo. Never will be.
Luna is sooo cute! Prettiest for sure.
It goes Daisy, Rose, Lily, then literally all of their girls are ugly. The guys are going to be studs though. They’ll break so many hearts.
Luna looks awkward af. Why is she licking the snow cone like that?
Future sex addict, duh.
Dude, she’s like eleven.
I was seven.
Fanaticon doesn’t show previous comments like Reddit, so I can’t easily see StaleBread’s activity around different forums. I’d have to hunt for his name on WAC threads, and he might not even be active there.
I’m not stalking him. I’m choosing to believe he’s not a creep and just a cool fan of my families. A lot of those exist, and it’s more probable he’s one of them, anyway.
Once I set my phone aside and grab a rolling pin, I notice another mound of dough near me. It’s already flattened, and pepperoni is artfully cut and placed in the shape of a rose.
I frown. No one in the kitchen has those kinds of skills. Unless someone has a secret hidden talent—
“What’d I miss?” Donnelly’s voice suddenly bounds through the kitchen, strolling in from the small hallway that leads to the half-bath. While slipping his cellphone in his back pocket, he takes a long glimpse of me, seeing I’ve appeared out of thin air—like magic, and I swear he smiles.
I’m certain he does because he doesn’t hide it. Because I return one too.
Then he looks to my brother. “You’ve got something…” He motions to his own nose.
“Yeah, thanks,” Moffy says dryly and shoots Farrow an aggravated look.
Farrow chews casually on a stick of gum and explains to his friend, “I was entertaining our kid.”
Donnelly nods like it makes sense. “Sad I missed it.” He doesn’t sound sad, but he doesn’t sound sarcastic either. “Pencil me in next time.”
“I ran out of pencils,” Farrow quips.
Donnelly digs in his pocket and pinches a tiny, worn pencil between his finger. “You want this one? It’s overused and over-loved.” He grins. “Exactly like my cock”
I smile, my chin in my hand, and Donnelly catches a glimpse of me from the corner of his eye. Butting into their banter is sacrilege. I like hearing Farrow and Donnelly talk about literally anything under the galaxy, and if I could be a fly on the wall, I’d buzz around them.
But to even be a fly, I’d need to find wings.
Farrow chews his gum more slowly. “I’m not touching your cock-pencil.”
“You sure?” He wags the pencil.
Farrow rolls his eyes, nearing a laugh. “As sure as I’ll be ten years from now.”
“Pencil will be gone by then, man.”
“No shit.”
I laugh, and then Donnelly slides onto the barstool next to me, the seat in front of the pepperoni rose. Of course he did that. Not only is he artistically talented, but he’s a ride-or-die Cobalt stan, and my Aunt Rose is the matriarch. I can’t blame him for his love of the Cobalt Empire. If you want to come out on top, you’d place your bets on the people who are always there.
And that’s just never been the Hales.
When his blue eyes rest on mine again, he gives me a casual nod. “Hey.”
“Howdy.” I wave in a rainbow pattern, then hold out my palm. Before I ask for his pencil, he leans closer and slips the little nubby pencil behind my ear. The way his thumb brushes the softness of my cheek flushes all of me.
The corner of his lip tics up some. “It’s worn out. Trash it when you need to.”
I’ll protect it with my life. I just tell him softly, “I like worn out things.”
Donnelly is harder to read now, but I think he’s about to reply until a bombardment of cats turns our heads. Three felines race in and out of the kitchen. Walrus springs onto the kitchen counter. Thatcher snaps his fingers and the cat immediately leaps off.
So well trained. And I didn’t realize you could train cats.
I am a big gooey blob of jealousy.
Orion is licking his crotch under the bar.
Ughhhh.
If Donnelly notices, he doesn’t say anything. I tug at the string to my hoodie. Thatcher, Jane, Moffy, and Farrow start talking about some luncheon for H.M.C. Philanthropies, and I tune them out. Mostly because my plans tonight have been reinstated now that Donnelly’s here.
Without speaking, we both gather our plates of flattened dough and go to the breakfast table. Sitting amongst the toppings, we work on our pizzas. I mold the crust of mine. It feels more secluded, and I try to remember, we’re friends.
Friendly.
On the best terms.
He went down on me that one time and it’s never been awkward or uncomfortable. Not even when I daydream about him recreating the moment. I’m afraid of the memory vanishing, slipping, because I know it can’t happen again.