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)
Chapter 12 - Adrian
I let myself into the house. The door shuts at my back with a soft thud. “Mom? Skip? … Kent?”
Kent appears at the narrow archway leading into the kitchen. He crosses his arms and smirks. “You always ask for me last. Least excited to see me?”
It’s already Sunday evening. After coming home from the fair last night, I got absolutely no sleep, my mind stuck on restless thoughts of what else I would’ve done with Quin had we not been interrupted. He didn’t end up texting me, either, so I had to assume he was in the middle of some heavy discussion with his friend about how awful of a person I am. Today flew by like a daydream, still with no communication from Quin. Is it over? Did he finally give in to his friend’s warnings and decide I’m not worth it?
I can still taste him on my lips.
I can still feel him in my arms.
So much for us claiming how not into each other we are. We’re clearly a pair of liars.
I step over a small mound of dirty laundry as I make my way to the kitchen, then snort. “Who the hell cleans this house?” I peel a dirty sock off of a lampshade and toss it into a pile. “Seriously, what the hell exploded in here?”
Kent lowers his voice. “Mom pulled up this thing on YouTube and is trying to bake Skip a birthday cake. She hasn’t had time to clean up.”
I sigh. “So do we call the fire department now, or …?”
“Give it some time. It doesn’t smell like smoke and lost hopes just yet. What’s that?” he asks, pointing at the present tucked under my arm. “I thought I told you not to get anything, Mr. Has-To-Show-Everyone-Up.”
“It’s not much,” I insist, stopping in front of the dining room table where I start to clear a spot for gifts, while trying not to continue obsessing over Quin. Why can’t he send a simple text? “Not kidding, you guys need to hire a cleaning service. You let your boyfriend live in this filth?”
“First off, it’s not that bad, it’s just some old laundry I haven’t had the chance to run yet ‘cause I’m being run ragged at the Blue Coral. Second, Jonah’s not living here. Well, not exactly.”
“I thought he was staying here?” I ask as I gather up a stack of plates, then spot my mom (and her frizzy head of hair) through the archway. “Hey, Mom!”
“Not now,” she barks. “I’m trying to convince myself I didn’t just put salt in the cake instead of sugar. Piss, shit, fuck, why do they gotta look the damned same?”
“Our living situation is on and off,” says Kent, steering me away from the cluttered-ass table (where I set down my gift) as well as Hurricane Mom. “Jonah and I are trying to figure it all out. I’ve actually got my eye on a cheap place right off the island …”
I stop and turn to him. “You’re moving away?”
“Not away-away. It’s just off the causeway. Close by.”
“That’s still off the island,” I point out.
“Aww, bro.” He throws an arm over my back. “You trying to say you’ll miss me?”
I give him a look. “You already forgot?”
Confusion twists his face. Then it hits him. “Oh, right, that thing.”
“‘That thing’ …? We made a pact we would never be like big bro Brett. We’d never just up and leave the island. You and me, ride or die, children of the—”
“Jesus, fuck, you remember everything, huh?” Kent gives the side of my head a teasing tap, which I swat away, making him chuckle. “Guess you can say love does crazy things. The prices out here are too high for our income. We can’t live in this house because … well, obvious reasons. It’s too small. I think Skip’s been itching to take over my bigger, nicer room ever since he started wanking off.”
I wince. “TMI.”
“C’mon, bro, you remember living here. The walls are only so thick. Besides, Skip walked in on me and Jonah going at it once, and if that isn’t enough reason to go …”
“Alright, I get it.” I lean against the back of the couch and cross my arms. “You know, I would have chipped in on your rent for a few months if you found a decent place here in Dreamwood. I can be mad as hell at you and still do nice things.”
He stops what he’s doing and squints at me, silent.
I lift an eyebrow. “What?”
“Where’s your special guy? The one you won’t tell me anything about.”
“He’s, uh …” I pull out my phone. No new messages. I pocket it right back. “I told him about the party last night, but I think he might be heading back to school. Not sure.”
“Not sure? Didn’t you guys talk at all today?”