Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.” She sighed.
I knelt down. “’Sup, Milo. What’s happening? You don’t want to come hang with us at our place?”
He immediately gripped my head and pulled me into his nose as he sucked in a long whiff of my hair.
His attention then returned to his iPad. A few seconds later, I noticed he had put on a clip of Archer. He must have pulled it up quickly in his YouTube history.
“Does he ever play Archer when I’m not around?”
“Never.” She grinned.
Putting my hand on his shoulder, I said, “You’re one complex dude, you know that?”
Of course, he said nothing in response.
I reached for his hand. “Come on, Milo.”
Amber was laughing at my attempt to get him up in that way. “If it was that easy, I wouldn’t have had to call you.”
I scratched my head. “Alright.” Moving behind him, I looped my arms under his and forced him up. Lifting him was a Herculean task. Dude was heavy. And I was a big guy. But he was all dead weight, because he wasn’t helping me at all.
Once on his feet, he wrapped his arm around me as we walked. I was certain people thought we were a couple. Amber walked alongside us with a huge smile on her face.
“You enjoying this, Amber?”
“I am.” She laughed. “Immensely.”
Well, if there was one consolation to this, it was that Amber was now talking to me.
Thank you, buddy, for breaking the ice between Amber and me. I owe you one.
When we arrived home, I took Milo into my room and opened the closet.
“Which shirt do you like?”
He began taking some of my shirts off the hangers and throwing them on the closet floor before finally selecting a polo—the most expensive one.
“That’s Armani. You have really good taste. Let’s see how it looks on you.”
After pulling the soiled shirt over his head, I helped him put on the clean one. It fit him like a glove.
“Nice. How about a little cologne?”
I made the mistake of handing him the bottle. He proceeded to spray a shitload onto the shirt and his hair.
“Okay, that’s enough.” I coughed.
When we entered the living room, Amber was beaming. “Look at you! Such a handsome guy.”
“Thank you,” I joked. When she turned to me, I winked and she smiled back.
This was good. She didn’t fucking hate me for lying and then propositioning her for sex.
Then, she smelled him. “Oh, boy. Someone got a hold of the cologne. I should’ve warned you. He doesn’t know when to stop with certain things.”
“I can kind of relate to that lately,” I said, hoping she understood that I was referring to my Gentleman Nine fuck-up.
After we got Milo settled with a TV show, I turned to her. “How about I make dinner? What’s his favorite food?”
“Everything.” She laughed.
“Alright, then.”
“Maybe skip the urge to cook something really weird tonight, though. He likes normal food.”
“You got it.”
“He actually really loves pasta and red sauce.”
“Perfect. That’s easy enough. I can definitely whip up a good marinara.”
Amber leaned against the counter and watched as I boiled the pasta and cooked up a simple sauce with canned tomatoes, basil, and a mixture of spices she had laying around in the cabinet. Milo stayed in the living room watching television.
When we sat down for dinner, I watched in awe as Milo slurped up a massive plate of spaghetti in record time. He seemed so happy to be eating, taking joy in every bite. It only took him about five mouthfuls to completely demolish it. After he was finished, he abruptly got up.
Amber grinned. “He likes to eat and run.”
My eyes followed him as he returned to his spot in front of the television. “Where are his parents? How did he end up in that home?”
She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “It’s just his mother. He’s too big, and she can’t handle him. So, she has him in the group home. It’s staffed twenty-four hours, so he always has someone there, and being in that environment helps to teach him independence, because you know, his mom’s not gonna be around forever.”
Still watching him, I asked, “Do you think he’s happy?”
“I do. He gets frustrated sometimes because of his inability to communicate his feelings, but overall he lives a different kind of life than we do. He doesn’t have an ego, nor is he concerned with what people think about him, so in many ways, that’s a blessing. It’s like all he needs are food and his favorite shows or YouTube videos, and he’s content with basic pleasures.”
“Interesting. If only we could all learn to live that way, put our needs first, and not worry about the rest or what other people think.”
Her face turned red. She definitely knew where I was coming from. I wasn’t even sure if I meant it to relate to our situation, but somehow it did.