Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 66865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“That’s not what she’s doing!” Teddy gasps.
I smirk knowingly. “It’s not?”
“No!”
How so very wrong sweet, young Teddy is. “How would you know? Did she tell you that?”
“No.”
“Peter Newton. Kyle Remington. Archer Eisenhower.” I tick the names off on my fingers, satisfaction curving my mouth into a smile. “She might not have told you, but they told me.”
“What are those, the names of future presidents?” Teddy jokes naïvely.
“No, Theodora. Those are the dudes your roommate has fucked the past three weekends while you were downstairs being all nicey nicey.” If I had a beer, this would be the time I’d take a sip of it for dramatic effect. I unclasp my fingers, uncross my legs, and lean back in the leather chair. Exhale, loud and pleased. Ahhh.
“What?”
“Peter Newton. Kyle—”
“I heard you just fine. I just… There is no way. Mariah isn’t like that.”
“Okay. Whatever you say.”
“Is she?” The question comes out slowly. Unsure.
One nod. “Yup.”
I don’t need to flip on the light to know Teddy is blushing.
“I just can’t imagine her having sex with a guy named Archer Eisenhower,” she grumbles.
“In his defense, he’s not bad to look at.”
She shoots me the stink eye. “Why do you even care, Kip?”
“I don’t.” Which must be a goddamn lie, because here I am, pressing the issue. This little slumber party of ours is turning into a goddamn therapy session, and it’s my own fucking fault for inviting her here in the first place.
I should have—could have—left her to sleep in the hallway of her building.
“When is the last time your buddy Mariah helped you out? Or told you about her sex life when she wasn’t bringing a guy home? Or waited around the house so you could get ready?”
Most guys wouldn’t notice Teddy wasn’t wearing any makeup the first night she appeared at the rugby house, but I did. And I bet the five thousand dollars cash I have stashed upstairs in a shoe box she had no time to get ready herself, because they weren’t willing to wait.
I’m one of those guys—freakishly observant.
“I can help you.” God, what am I saying? Shut the fuck up, Carmichael, or I’ll punch you in your own goddamn face.
Skepticism is etched all over her pretty face, but she sits up taller. “Help me how?”
“Well.” I settle deep into the chair, get good and comfortable. “For starters, I notice you hang back a lot. You shouldn’t be doing that—join the conversations, man.”
“You notice I hang back a lot…” She has an odd look on her face now as she tilts her chin to the side, her sentence trailing off.
“Yeah. So like, instead of talking to the dudes walking up to the keg, you’re way too shy. You should be making jokes and shit. Even lame ones are better than going full-on mute—and why are you even standing by the keg to begin with? What the fuck is that about, Teddy?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” she says miserably.
“Right. Step away from the freaking keg and join the damn party.”
“All right.” She looks so confused, but I’m not even close to being done. “How?”
I.
Am.
On.
A.
Roll.
“Do you need a goddamn puppeteer to help you figure out what to do with yourself? Someone to tell you what to say and do?”
“You’re being dramatic. I’m not that bad.”
“Yeah you are. You need a…” I search for the word. Snap my fingers in the silence. “Hairy godmother.”
“A what?”
I’m a fucking genius is what I am. “Hairy godmother. Like a fairy godmother, but a guy.”
Honest to God, I just made that shit up, right now, on the spot.
Clever asshole that I am.
“Are you high right now?” Teddy isn’t speechless, but she’s pretty damn close. “You sound drunk.”
“Sober as you are. Okay, that’s not true—I had three beers tonight, so maybe not completely dry, but close enough.” I am six foot four, after all; it takes a lot of fucking alcohol to get me drunk—like, a lot. Plus, I never would have driven her anywhere had I been drunk. Never. “My point is, you need help—mine, specifically.”
“I’m not sure I need your brand of help—no offense, Kip.” God that name…makes me cringe every time she says it. Can’t she call me Sasquatch like the rest of them? “No offense, but what do you know about relationships?”
Oh, now she wants to get sassy?
Fine.
“For your information, I’ve been in a few relationships.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah.” With girls named Mitsy and Tiffany and Caroline. Waspy, pure-bred socialites pushed at me by my well-meaning but interfering family.
I throw up in my mouth a little.
“When?” Teddy is impatient.
“I mean, if you want to get technical, high school. And freshman year.”
“Your freshman year of high school? Are you serious?”
“College too, smartass—and it might have only been a few relationships, but I learned a lot from them.”
“Like what?”
Like the fact that I never want to be in another relationship. And girls named Mitsy might sound fun and cutesy in theory, but they’re actually pint-sized tyrannical Nazis, drunk on the idea of spending days dating me, lounging at the country club my parents belong to.