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)
“Adrian …?”
I shake my head. “I’m just not feeling it tonight.”
“Hmm. Having trouble finding yourself a date?”
I was about to say something else, but that particular remark stops me. I look pointedly at Kent. “What?”
He peels his eyes from the crowded yard and gives me a funny look. “Oh, I just asked if you’re having trouble—”
“You think that’s all I’m here for? To find some ass?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Really? Even you? Does everyone think so little—?”
“I kinda thought it was just an accepted fact that when you go to these parties, you’re on the hunt for a—”
“Yeah, I’m bouncing,” I decide, cutting him off.
“Hey, hey, wait. Are you mad at me?” As I glare off, he turns into panic mode. “I’m so sorry. I misread all of that. I wasn’t meaning to imply something horrible about you. Please don’t be mad at me. My mind isn’t really here. It’s everywhere. I shouldn’t be out tonight at all since I’ve got this important fair-related meeting tomorrow morning, but Theo insisted we should go out because he was bored, so here I am, and I haven’t had a drink yet, and I’m super sexually frustrated because he’s been holding out on me for half a week now, and—”
“And I’m not your therapist,” I say, then leave him by the door looking stunned as I cross the yard toward the side gate—and ignore another attempt at a wave my brother Kent tries to give me as I pass by.
Chapter 5 - Quintin
The whole house smells like a foot.
A big, wide, sweaty foot.
That foot has also been housed in the sweatiest, wettest sneaker, without socks, after three hours of nonstop cardio at the gym.
It’s in my nostrils with every intake of breath I dare to allow myself. It’s in my face like a damp reminder. It’s on my tongue every time I try to talk, so I stopped trying to talk twenty minutes ago.
And here I stand in front of a table of snacks that looks more like an afterthought of whatever someone had left over in their pantry, everything stale and colorless. It’s left out in lighting so dim, you can’t even be sure what you’re eating in those mismatched bowls.
Yet there Vann goes, chowing down with one hand and sipping a beer in the other, while he keeps making remarks to Toby about everyone’s attire.
I know we just got here, but I already feel like leaving. Kelsey is lost somewhere in the crowd of dancing bodies, having caught sight of “some cute babe”. The boyfriends are chatting. And I’m still at a loss as to what I’m expected to find at this party. Inspiration? Ideas …? I’ve apparently found neither. But I have discovered that assless briefs are all the rage tonight, which seem to be a visual cue meaning: insert here.
“Toby and I are gonna head to the back, maybe jump in the hot tub,” says Vann suddenly through a mouthful of Fritos, leaning into me. “Wanna come with?”
If this snack table and the stench of this house is any indication, that hot tub out there is a cesspit cocktail of sweat, body fluid goo, and berry-flavored lube.
I need an out. “Can you give me a sec? Gotta pee.”
“Of course! We’ll save you a spot.” Vann and Toby, in their matching boxers and soccer socks, take off, leaving me by the snack table.
The hallway seems like an impossible distance away, with nothing but a crowd of shoulder-to-shoulder people dancing in their underwear from here to the bathroom door.
I remind myself I don’t actually have to pee.
That was just an excuse to buy me some time and not get peer-pressured into sitting in that hot tub.
But maybe I should pee anyway.
Because if I don’t, I’m just standing here by the snack table like a friendless goon, ghoulishly staring at nothing.
“Excuse me,” I mutter. It’s not easy to be heard over the crazy loud music as I squeeze my way through a labyrinth of sweaty people. “Sorry, I just need to, uh—yep.” I think I just touched someone’s ass. Or did someone touch mine? “Bathroom. Sorry. Oops, didn’t mean to bump into you. Yes, trying to get to the hallway. Excuse me.”
I break through the crowd at last, only to find myself face-to-face with a closed bathroom door.
Good thing I don’t actually have to go, right?
I lean against the wall opposite to the door to wait my turn patiently. I pull my phone out of the pocket of my gym shorts to check on how things are going at the loft, despite knowing my roommate Alice is probably occupied for the rest of the night plowing her girlfriend with that strap-on she doesn’t realize I know she has. It wasn’t my fault she left it out in plain sight on her nightstand when it was my week to houseclean.