Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 102683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Thanks. It’s great though that you have…um. A person.”
Weird, but whatever. None of my business.
“Melody—that’s her name—is brilliant. She’s actually older, kind of like my mum away from home.” He smiles. “She and her husband have me over sometimes if I’m not home on holiday. Thanksgiving I went for dinner and watched the game with her family. It was quite the coze.”
That surprises me. I’d think a guy his age would spend a holiday like Thanksgiving at a kegger. I know he spends plenty of time at the rugby house, but maybe it’s because he’s…lonely?
Which is where I come in.
He doesn’t want to live alone any more than I do.
Ashley remembers where I live without me having to tell him, but duh, it’s the dorms, and you’d have to be an idiot if you got lost finding them.
When he pulls up to the curb, his arm goes up to rest on the back of my seat, his eyes glancing toward the building.
“You need me to come up and check everything you’ve got so I know how much manpower we’ll need to get you moved out?”
The thought of giant him in my tiny space makes me sweat.
“Nah, I think we’ll be good. There’s nothing massive—no bed, no couch. Will just be a few boxes and clothes.”
“If you’re sure…”
He knows I’m being polite but isn’t going to call me out on it.
I nod. “I’m sure, but thank you.” Pausing, I’m quiet for a second. “And thank you for…everything, Ashley. The tour, the food, the—”
“Don’t make this weird.” His laugh reaches his eyes as he teases me.
“I’m trying to be nice!”
“You are nice. It’s nice. Now get out of my truck.”
My mouth falls open.
“And close your mouth—it looks like you’re trying to catch flies.”
What nerve!
What a…
What a…a…an ass!
“Hey, Mom. Is Dad with you?”
I decided to call my parents as soon as I got out of the shower, while the excitement was fresh in my mind, at a time I knew they’d both be home.
In fact, I can predict what they’re doing right now at the precise moment I called, so predictable the Parkers are.
My parents are watching one home improvement show or another—probably a ‘design on a dime’ setup since they’re both avid do-it-yourselfers on a shoestring budget. The house I grew up in has had a major overhaul since my mother started bingeing those shows, forcing my father to watch, and every weekend, it’s a new project.
Build lockers in the mudroom.
Install shiplap in the kitchen. Tile the bathroom in the hallway after tearing out the linoleum. Swap out the lighting, add cans. Paint the kitchen cabinets instead of ripping them out and replacing them.
The list goes on and on—my parents never stop, and they’re always watching home improvement shows.
It’s exhausting going home.
The last thing I want to do on a weekend off is mulch the landscaping, or clean the screens, or build raised flower beds, or put up a floating shelf.
Sometimes a girl just wants to lie on the couch and loaf.
Like a normal person!
“Hey sweetie, yeah Dad’s here. We’re just getting ready to watch Fixer-Fix-Upper.”
I smile picturing them sitting side by side on the beige couch, jumbo size popcorn bag between them. “Well, just so he’s close by…there’s something I wanted to talk about.” Hastily I add, “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.”
My mother audibly relaxes. “What’s going on? How is school?”
We text during the day most days, but it’s not the same as getting an actual phone call.
“School is good, classes are good—it feels like an eternity and I’m excited to get done, but everything is fine. I don’t hate it.” But I don’t love it. “I just got out of the shower and I’m snuggled in my pajamas.” Which are hideous, by the way.
I make up a few more things to appease my parents as they ask about track and extracurriculars and my workout routine, hurrying through because I know they had to pause their show and will be impatient to hit play again.
“Anyway, the reason I’m calling is to tell you I’m moving out of the dorm—I found a roommate, isn’t that great?” I force myself to sound peppy as I inwardly cringe, knowing what’s about to come next.
“Oh good! You’re able to break your lease with the dorm?”
“It’s not a lease with the dorm, Mom—it’s a lease with the school. Technically. And yeah I can break it. I filled out the form online before I called. It was really easy and they’ll send me a check for the months I’m not living here within fifteen days after the RA checks me out.”
I hear the popcorn bag crunching and crinkling as one of them digs their hand into it.
“Who are you living with, dear? Some girls from the team?”
I still haven’t told either of them about the hazing incident, or the fact that I can’t stand the captain.