Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
She makes a gagging sound. “I never had a sugar daddy in college! As if I wanted to sleep with guys with saggy balls before I had the saggy boobs to match! But I had friends who did it.”
“Friends, huh?” Dad arches a brow and glances at her in the rearview mirror.
“Focus, Alex! We’re talking about our son and what happened in that parking lot.” She points at me.
“I’m not an escort, Mom. I don’t have time to fake-date people.”
“She’s a professor! How old is she?”
“She’s not even thirty. It’s not a big deal.”
“What does that mean? She’s twenty-nine? Professors aren’t that young.”
“She is.”
She slaps the center console. “You are twenty-one years old, Maverick Alexander Waters. You are supposed to be dating nineteen-year-old girls!” My mom’s voice is shrill. Her head is right beside mine, and she’s basically shouting in my ear.
“According to what freaking handbook?” I shift in my seat so I’m looking right at her. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’ve never dated a girl my own age, or younger. In high school, I dated girls who were at least the year above me, until I became a senior, and then I didn’t have a lot of options. Having a dick that’s like a third freaking arm scares the fuck out of high school girls, FYI.”
“He has a point, Vi,” Dad mutters.
“Why are you showing your dick to high school girls? That’s illegal!”
The shrillness isn’t abating.
I hold up a hand. “Calm down. I’m not showing my dick to high school girls. I’m just saying, when I was in high school, there was no way I was going to lose my virginity with someone who had zero dick experience. Like I wanted to scar some poor sophomore for life with this thing.” I point to my crotch.
I wish I could shut the fuck up about this, because it isn’t a conversation I want to have with my parents, but my mouth keeps moving, spouting nonsense. Thanks, Mom.
“You were having sex at fifteen?” My mother looks horrified.
“I was almost sixteen. And I’m a dude. I was basically a walking hormone from the time I got my first boner until . . . well, I still am. The point is, college girls are not my jam. They’re work and drama, and I don’t have time for that shit.”
“Your sister is a college girl, and she’s not drama,” Mom says pointedly.
“Really? Because if I’m remembering correctly, there was a viral picture of Lav on social media last semester wearing a white thong bikini in our backyard, and right before it was taken, she was flirting with the biggest dirtbag on the school hockey team. It’s a wonder she didn’t get an STI from standing next to him, he’s so dirty.”
My mom looks scandalized. “Why was Lavender talking to him? And why didn’t you or your brother or your cousins, who I know for a fact are always at your place, do something about it?”
“Since when does Lavender have thong bikinis?” Dad interjects. “And why are you inviting dirtbags to your house when your sister is around? You’re the one who insisted she live with you in the first place!”
I close my eyes a moment. I probably should have left the dirtbag part out. “A few guys from the team were over, and the dirtbag invited himself. We were all keeping an eye on Lavender.” I turn back to Mom. “And we didn’t do anything because she was trying to piss Kody off, and it worked since he was the one who turned into a caveman and carried her inside. Now everything is fucking sunshine and rainbows with those two, so you’re welcome for that.”
Mom purses her lips.
I cross my arms. “I’m not apologizing for swearing. I’m a grown-ass man.”
“Grown-ass men don’t sleep with other men’s wives!” she shouts.
“Yes, they do! All the damn time.”
“Just because someone else is doing it doesn’t mean you should too,” she fires back.
I suppress an eye roll. “She handed him divorce papers in August, and they’d already been separated for a year. He’s refusing to sign. They’re only still married because he’s a delusional jackass.”
Mom pinches the bridge of her nose. “Do you have mommy issues? Did I screw you up that badly?”
“No, Mom, I don’t have mommy issues. And you didn’t screw me up.”
“I just can’t believe you’re sleeping with your professor.”
So far, my dad hasn’t said much. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. “Was. Past tense. We hooked up in the summer—”
“You hooked up with her in the summer? How in the world did that even happen? You were twenty years old!”
I wish my mom would stop yelling. It’s giving me a headache. I’m also worried she’s going to stress herself out to the point where she either has a panic attack or breaks out in hives.