Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Well—”
“You’re out of milk, and your Easy Mac things are trickier than I anticipated. Got them figured out, though.” He moves around the island. “I went to the store and restocked everything but the milk. It’s so hard to remember everything. I even made a list—Paige’s idea—and I still forgot the milk. Can you believe that?”
“Yeah, well—”
“I fixed your garage door. It was squeaking like a motherfucker. How do you even live like that? Moss came over and helped me hold it in place but do not let him steal my glory.”
I don’t even try to say anything this time. Besides, where would I start?
Banks hops on a stool, smug. “I saw a palmetto bug by the toaster, and Mom called the exterminator who will come next week. I was going to do it, but she said she’d handle it because something about seeing a mouse at Laguna Homes or something, I don’t know. Oh—I tried to take the fall for the chicken noodle soup being left out, but I don’t think she believed me. Which is weird. She always thinks I’m at fault for everything.”
Does he breathe?
“Brooke might be pregnant, but you didn’t hear it from me. I was thinking we could take Moss out and congratulate him or something. Isn’t that what you do when you have a baby on purpose?” He furrows his brow. “To be honest, he might be setting me up to see if I tell you. So maybe forget that I said that.”
I can’t help it. I chuckle. He’s such a mess, but he means well. “All of that happened while I was gone?”
“Yup. And I took care of it all. I wanted you to come home and know I held down the fort while you held down the girl.” He smirks. “Wanna talk about that?”
I ignore the cereal driving me crazy and sit beside my brother.
“Banksy, I think I’m in trouble.”
He grins.
“What did I do?” I ask.
“Hopefully, you did it all, and you did it well.”
My chest shakes as I laugh.
“Okay, seriously,” he says. “I know you had a great time because she’s awesome and you’re acceptable. I mean, you’re not me, but you’re not Jess either. You’re a good middle ground.”
I look at him and laugh again. He’s a nut.
“If you didn’t get on that plane and know you’d come back fucked up, you intentionally had your head in the sand,” he says, holding his hands up in a shrug.
I hate to admit it, but he’s not wrong. I knew what I was getting into, and I dove in headfirst. Did I tell myself it was manageable? Did I use Jess’s stupid rebound comment as my excuse? Yup. I did. Did I also know in my gut that this was my chance to have her to myself? Also, yes.
But I don’t want to admit that, and thankfully, this is Banks I’m talking to. I don’t have to admit anything. He already knows.
Banks takes a quarter out of my pink bowl and taps it against the counter. “Ashley has had you by the balls since we were kids.”
“Not true.”
He rolls his eyes.
“We were perfect in the Bahamas. We were cocooned in this suite away from the world. It was this sweet spot between real love and real life.”
“Real love, huh?”
“It’s a figure of speech.”
“Okay.” He tries not to laugh at me. “And that sweet spot that’s not real love, just a figure of speech, has to end, why?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I hope it doesn’t.”
“So I’ve never been in your position. But I did watch Moss lose his shit over Brooke, and I took notes. Figured I’d learn from his pain. No need for all of us to be tortured, and here’s what I got—once you’re in the headspace where you don’t want things to end, and you have that look in your eye”—he points at me—“you’re done. It’s a harbinger of things to come.”
“Learn that word from your delivery guy too?”
“From a lady at the grocery store, actually. But thank you for noticing.” He lifts his chin. “The point is that excuses are like opinions—everybody’s got one.”
I snort. “You sound like that Salt-N-Pepa song. Remember it? We had to listen to it that whole summer in high school. The words are burned in my brain.”
“That’s opinion and assholes. Anyway, don’t change the subject.” He fires me a look. “Ashley Thompson is your girl. You can do something about that or not. But if not, prepare to eternally torture yourself and watch her wind up with some other guy who won’t treat her nearly as nice as you but does have the balls to say she’s his.”
I stare at him.
He shrugs. “I don’t make the rules. I don’t even play this game. I’m a benchwarmer over here. I just know how it works.”