Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Fuck you.” I toss another pillow in his direction and he catches it, hurling it back.
“Where’s Blake?” I ask.
“Washing his hair,” Dalton scoffs, as though he considers anything over two minutes under cold water with army regulation soap something only a girl would do. All that time he’s spent on construction sites seems to have warped his brain.
“Go tell him we’re needed next door. No time like the present.”
“And what are you going to do?” Dalton asks, struggling to his feet.
“I’m going to search out a bag so we can smuggle all those filthy magazines out of that house.”
“Good thinking. I’m sure Travis won’t mind us taking a look.” Dalton wiggles his eyebrows, widening his blue eyes comically.
“The prospect of jacking off to the same shit as my best mate isn’t that appealing.” Construction sites have ruined Dalton for good.
Blake is in the shower for another fifteen minutes, much to Dalton’s amusement, and in that time, I root out a suitable bag and make us all sandwiches that better resemble doorsteps. My taste buds beg for a delicious hot meal. Anything involving meat and potatoes would hit the spot, but with four men in this house, culinary skills are in short supply.
We wolf down our makeshift meal and head next door before Dad arrives home and gets involved. It’s a journey that I could take in my sleep. Every uneven paving stone is familiar, every overhanging plant comes with a happy childhood memory.
Travis’s house has always been like a second home to us. Well, at least it was while Travis was living there. Since his company posted him to their headquarters in Berlin, things have felt different. It’s not that Darleen, his mom, isn’t friendly. It’s more that our acceptable reason for going over isn’t there anymore.
And I miss it.
The warmth of a home with a mom in it cannot be underestimated. Travis and I both lost parents, but his home is still just as inviting, whereas ours has turned into a man cave, and not a nice one.
The appeal of a home with Gabriella in it also can’t be underestimated.
Her car is out front, so I know she’s home. I glance up at the window to her room, wondering if she’s watching us make our approach. Probably not. As far as I can tell, she’s always just thought of us as her brother’s annoying friends who take up too much space in the den and monopolize the TV.
Darleen is quick to answer our knock and draws us all in for warm hugs, ending with her hands on her hips and her chin tipped up to take us in. “You guys been rubbing fertilizer into your feet again? Surely you should have stopped growing by now.”
“We’re growing this way these days,” Dalton says, flexing his bicep, and I roll my eyes. Seriously? He wants to show off to Travis’s mom like he did when he was ten. Lame.
“Travis called us. He asked us to come round and clean out his room so that you can decorate.”
“He did? That’s so thoughtful of him to ask for your help. You go on up. I’ve already started packing boxes. You can just carry on while I fix dinner. You’ll stay, won’t you?”
Before Blake and Dalton can jump in and say yes, I interject. “I’m afraid we can’t,” I say. “We just ate.”
“Oh,” Darleen says, touching her short blonde hair. “Maybe another time?”
“That would be awesome.” It really would be. A chance to sit across from Gabriella and eat some of Darleen’s delicious cooking. Awesome is frankly an understatement.
“Gabriella’s up there,” she says. “Say hi. She’ll be happy to see you. The house has seemed so quiet since Travis left.”
“We will,” Blake says breezily, but I feel anything but. It’s been weeks since I saw Gabriella for more than a fleeting moment, and I’m craving the sight of her like an addict.
We remove our shoes at the bottom of the stairs, following Darleen’s rule, and make our way up to the top floor where Travis and Gabriella have rooms. Travis’s door is open, but Gabby’s is disappointingly shut. There’s a bathroom between their rooms that we used to pretend was a portal to another universe, Planet Angel. We’d slide across the floor and crawl into Gabriella’s room, and she’d scream at the unwelcome invasion. The memory makes me smile.
“Keep your voices down,” I whisper. “She might be sleeping.”
Dalton snorts as we enter the room we practically lived in when we were kids. “What do you want to do? Tiptoe into her room and kiss her awake like the prince from Sleeping Beauty.”
“I’m trying to avoid being a douchebag,” I say, scowling.
“Do you guys ever stop bitchin’?” Blake asks, rubbing his latest tattoo. It’s a pirate ship, leaning on a rough sea. Incredible art, but not for me.