Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 48601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Like I said, Ethan and I are twins, but we’re not identical, and you might not even spot it if we were side-by-side. Well, you might at Winchester, but mostly because there’s not exactly a lot of dudes with sleeve and neck tattoos at $100,000 a year private boarding schools.
In any case, you most likely won’t see the two of us side by side at Winchester these days, or any days, seeing as it’s pretty much established that Ethan isn’t exactly welcomed back. Consequently, neither is Emily Hayes, our former art teacher. See, that tends to happen when said student and said teacher engage in an illicit romantic relationship with each other.
But as lurid a story as it may sound like—and, well, maybe it is a little lurid—what Ethan and Emily have is way bigger than just some forbidden affair. That shit is true love, in the Hollywood sense of the word. Fireworks, music in the background, woodland creatures dancing in harmony type love shit. When their secret relationship got out and things almost went nuclear, Emily left Winchester for Chicago. Ethan lasted here without her for about four weeks before he pulled the trigger and put things in motion. The guy took his senior year tests—all of them—in one freaking weekend with basically zero prep and aced the fuck out of them. He got his art portfolio together and managed to get himself accepted in the middle of a fucking semester to the Art Institute of Chicago, and that’s where he went. To follow his dreams, and to take back the woman he loved.
Dad did have some things to say about it, of course, but it didn’t take much for Ethan to convince him that what he had with Emily wasn’t just some “thing,” and that art really was his calling. I mean the kid is a fucking genius with a paintbrush or spray can, I’ll say that. I miss the guy, but fuck am I happy for him. For them. They had every reason for what they have not to work—the age gap between them, the social norms that says it’s weird when an eighteen-year-old guy dates a woman eight years his senior. But they’ve made it work, and I respect the hell out of them for that.
There’s a grumbling sound as the phone picks up.
“It’s early, dickhead.”
Ethan’s voice is raspy and thick with sleep, and I make a face.
Shit.
“Fuck, sorry man, forgot about the time difference.”
“No shit.”
There’s some more muffled, sleeping murmuring in the background, and I grin.
“Say hello to Ms. Hayes for me.”
He chuckles.
“She says fuck off for calling at the crack of dawn.”
I grin.
“Also, it’s Emily, douche.”
I chuckle. “Just giving you a hard time.”
“I’m aware. Hang on one sec.”
There’s the faint sound of him getting out of bed, and presumably walking through their Wicker Park apartment. I hear him grinding coffee, and then fiddling with something, and I clear my throat.
“Look, dude, I can call back later. I didn’t mean to—”
“Nah, I’m up,” he sighs. “I’ve got a critique later I need to finish a painting for anyways.”
“You’re really doing it, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, man,” I can hear him grin proudly. “I am.”
“Still crazy in love with your teacher?”
“Yeah, I am.”
I grin. “I’m proud you, you know. So is dad.”
“Yeah, he’s been calling me every few days to check in. He actually might be out here next week for some work shit. Emily wants to have him over for dinner.”
I grin. “Not a bad idea. I’d say take him out someplace lavish, but you know dad and fancy restaurants.”
“Do I get to keep the plate?!” Ethan quips, both of us cracking up at our dad’s favorite stupid dad joke from when his business first took off. It’s from when we first had real money and started going out to eat at pricey spots. He’d run his finger down the prices next to these Michelin chef places and be outraged at the eighty-dollar porterhouses and forty-buck side-salads. “Do I get to keep the plate” cracked us up every time, even more so when the waiter didn’t know how to respond.
“So, what else is new, man,” Ethan growls, taking a loud sip of coffee. “How’s Celia?”
“She’s good. She and dad are away for a few nights to get a break from wedding planning.”
“And Ramona?”
“Eh, same old,” I say quickly.
“Meaning you’re still pulling her hair and calling her names like a rational, mature adult who has a crush?”
I scowl, and Ethan chuckles at my silence.
“Bro, you’re my twin. I read you better than you read yourself. So, you two finally hook up yet?”
“No.” Again, it comes out too quickly. But Ethen seems to miss it.
“Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?”
“It’s complic—look, I don’t… I mean, it’s not like that.”
“Uh huh,” Ethan says flatly. He takes another sip of coffee, hissing at the heat. “So, what can I do for you today.”