Total pages in book: 436
Estimated words: 415303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 2077(@200wpm)___ 1661(@250wpm)___ 1384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 415303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 2077(@200wpm)___ 1661(@250wpm)___ 1384(@300wpm)
I nodded. “It’s true. I mean, I hated surfing the pier, but the sound of panties hitting the ground when we came in from a session made it all worthwhile.”
Jude sighed. “Ah, the good old days. It was so easy to get chicks. But I swear, when we started surfing, I thought I was gonna die. I could barely even paddle out past the breaks without having a coronary.”
“Too many donuts.” I took another bite of my cone.
“I think I lost thirty pounds in two months. And then came the girls,” Jude said, his eyes all dreamy.
“So many girls,” I added.
Phil made a face. “I hate this story.”
“If you’d gotten into USC, you could have paddled through pussy with us,” Jude said matter-of-factly.
“Please, UCLA would have been better,” I shot.
“Whatever, dicks. Berkeley is better on all counts.”
“Anyway,” Jude started, “New York is a totally different game. In LA, if you have a BMW and surf, you can bag pretty much anybody on the West side. Here, the bar is high. New York chicks don’t give a shit about any of that.”
I frowned. “Sounds like a lot of work.”
“Yeah, but it’s worth it,” Jude said with a smile. “You’ll see tonight. We’ll hit a couple of bars, see what there is to see. I’m so ready to get back into the game after wasting all that time with Julie.”
He sounded flippant, but I knew just how much she’d hurt him. They’d moved out here together years ago, and just before I’d moved from LA a week ago, she’d dumped him.
I clapped him on the shoulder, hoping he could find a distraction at whatever bar we were going to that night. “Tonight, you get in where you fit in.”
He smiled. “Hell yeah. And you’ll see what New York is really like. We need a break. We’ve been locked up in the loft coding ever since you got here.”
I shrugged. “We’ve been talking about this game since we were in middle school, and now that we have the tools and the degrees and we’re in the same place, it’s been good. We’ve been coding it for eight fucking years, and now we can really do it instead of just dicking around with it in our spare time.”
Phil nodded. “Thank God you lost your job.”
“Thank God for my severance and savings,” I added. “And that your parents are Silicon Valley yuppies and pay for the loft.”
He laughed at that. “Otherwise, us quitting to go all in on the game wouldn’t have been an option.”
“No pressure, right?” I joked, skirting the magnitude of the situation by pretending the risk we were taking wasn’t a big deal.
Jude’s face softened until he looked all sappy and sentimental. “Really, man, I’m glad you’re here. I don’t like being split up. It’s been a shitty four years without you.”
“It has,” I agreed. “But we’re back together now. And even though I hate being stuck in the city with the beach an hour away and no surf to be had—”
Jude’s sappy face turned into a frown.
“—I’m glad I’m here. Now, show me this high-class ass before I head back to the land of a thousand bikinis.”
After we finished our ice cream, we headed back to the loft, and I found myself thinking about the pinup girl, wondering if I’d ever see her again. I’d been a fool for not chasing after her, stunned stupid by her blatancy, knocked out by the boldness of her. She’d seemed like a girl who knew what she wanted, and that confidence, that forwardness of her actions, had lit a fire in me that no amount of mint chocolate could cool down.
Sideshow
Courtney Love wailed about waking up in her makeup as I sat with my roommates in front of the long mirror hanging on my bedroom wall. I’d hung it sideways a couple of years before, low enough on the wall that we could sit at it, and framed it with lights, just like I’d seen on Pinterest, and I’d even used a drill, and nearly drilling a hole in my leg was so worth it. No one put makeup on anywhere else in the apartment.
The light was perfect, the music was perfect, and the company was perfect. I sat between Veronica and Ramona, singing along with Courtney, as I uncapped my lipstick, a dark red matte called Heartbreaker. It couldn’t have been more accurate of a shade for me and not just because of my skin tone.
See, I didn’t do serious or permanent, not with my hair color and not with my boys.
I’d been lollipop pink and shamrock green. I’d been fiery orange and cotton-candy blue. In fact, I hadn’t really seen my actual hair color past a half-inch of roots since high school back in California. I hadn’t had a serious boyfriend since then either.