Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Accurate,” Foxx says.
“You guys are mean,” Banks says.
Foxx crosses his arms over his chest and peers down at our brother. “If you need to be coddled, go see Mom. I’m not the one.”
“I expect this from you,” Banks tells him. “I just thought maybe Jess would be in a more amicable mood tonight since we ran into Pippa Plum.”
The relief the alcohol has afforded me is gone. In its place is a tension that makes it hard to sit still.
Knowing she’s back in town—less than ten minutes away regardless of where she lives in Kismet Beach—fucks with me. It’s like there’s a magnet hidden in town, and I can’t rest until I find it.
I’m thrown back into the cycle I find myself in every time I encounter Pippa; it’s been this way since I was a teenager. I see her, talk to her, spend a few minutes with her, and suddenly, she’s all I can think about for days. If I’m seeing someone else casually, I lose interest—which I know is wholly unfair to them. But I can’t help being the asshole secretly wishing I was with Pippa instead.
At least I’m not enough of an asshole to stay with someone else while thinking about another.
The memory of Pippa has ruined more than a few good hookups.
“I remember her,” Foxx says. “Short. Brunette. Highly intelligent.”
Banks snickers. “You are the only person in the world who gets three adjectives to describe Pippa, and you choose intelligent.”
“I’m with Sparkles on this one,” I say.
Short, brunette, intelligent.
Funny, sexy—exceptional.
“You two are heathens,” Foxx says. “There’s more to women besides their cup size and hip measurements.”
“True. But none of us know if she can suck a dick,” Banks says.
My jaw clenches.
“You’re a disgrace to our family,” Foxx says.
Banks laughs. “No, I’m not. I was just seeing how pissed that would make Jess.”
“Regardless of whether it would piss off Jess,” Foxx says, “it’s inherently rude. Please, grow up.” He turns to me. “I’m stopping at Shade House for takeout, then I’m leaving town for a few days. Can you get my mail?”
“Sure.”
Banks peers around me. “You’re not eating in your truck, are you?”
Foxx just stares at him.
“You won’t let me eat in your truck,” Banks says.
“Banks, I won’t let you in my truck if I can help it.”
“Why? What harm would I do?”
Foxx settles his sights on our brother. “Let’s take your last appearance in my vehicle, shall we?”
Banks sees where he’s going with this and cringes.
“It was three in the morning, and I was picking you up from jail,” Foxx says. “Dried blood was on your shirt from crushing a man’s face. Trust me when I say you’ll never be in my truck again.”
“Sounds like a challenge to me,” Banks says.
A part of me would like to kick back and watch this play out. No one can put someone in their place like Foxx, and he gets entirely too much enjoyment out of dressing down our youngest brother. But another part of me, one I’m kinda pissed about acknowledging, that almost feels sorry for Banks.
“Where are you headed?” I ask Foxx to keep him from tearing into Banks.
“I just have a few things to do. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” I say. But even though I’m sure I know how it is more than anyone else in our family, I don’t have a fucking clue how it is. While I’d say I’m the closest to Foxx, we might as well operate on different continents.
I spend my days working for Dad’s company, Laguna Homes. Foxx spends his days working, for sure. He has plenty of money and travels often. But what does he do for employment? I have no idea.
And I’ve realized over the years that I don’t want to know. It feels safer somehow.
“Guess we’ll see ya when we see ya,” I say.
“I’ll be back the first of the week,” Foxx says.
“Be safe,” Banks tells him.
Foxx turns to the door. “Goodbye.”
“Later,” I call after him.
The door closes with a soft thud.
I turn to tell Banks it’s time for him to go home when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and look at the screen.
Unknown: An underwater city built by octopuses called Octopolis was found in 2009.
“What the hell?”
“What’s wrong?” Banks asks.
“I just got a text from an unknown number about an octopus city.”
Banks smirks. “Is that code for something?”
“What? No. I mean it. It says, ‘An underwater city built by octopuses called Octopolis was discovered in 2009.’ What the fuck is that?”
“Wait. Moss and Maddox both said that they get random texts too. I can’t remember what about, but it’s not octopuses.”
Me: Who is this?
I wait for a response, but nothing comes. Weird.
“I feel left out,” Banks says. “I want random texts too.”
“Want me to send them your phone number?”
He sighs. “No, because I don’t want octopus facts. I want car facts or something.”