Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
SLOANE: How’s the stakeout going?
As I tap out a quick reply, saying it’s all good, I notice Fenn eyeing my phone. At first I think he’s trying to read my messages. Then I note his rueful expression.
“You’re using the new space phone,” he accuses.
“Oh. Right. Yeah.” A sigh of resignation slips out. “Your dad was right—this is the fastest processor I’ve ever seen in a phone.”
Fenn chuckles bitterly. “That’s how he gets you, man.”
A short silence falls between us, finally broken by Fenn’s heavy breath.
“I’m not jealous,” he informs me.
I glance over, amused. “Okay.”
“That my dad is buying you shit,” Fenn clarifies. He leans back, legs stretched out on the dirt. He looks completely unbothered. “It’s his way of securing something he wants from you. With me, he used to buy me all this obscenely expensive stuff because he wanted my permission.”
I frown. “Permission for what?”
“To let him be a bad father. He wanted me to keep my mouth shut about it, pretend we weren’t total strangers, that he hadn’t completely stopped caring about my existence after my mom died.”
His wooden tone and vacant expression reveal more than any uttered profanities or blazing eyes ever could. Fenn’s made himself dead inside, immune to being hurt by his father ever again. I get it. It’s a useful cope. I used to do it myself sometimes, before I realized the trick, the real solution to not getting hurt: stop caring.
“So what does he want from me? Approval, right?”
Fenn nods. “Wants to win you over. Make himself look good in front of his new wife. But the thing about my dad is—no stamina.”
I groan out loud. “I think my mom might disagree with that.”
“Gross.” He gives me a shove. “I mean, he gives up fast. Once he sees he can’t get what he wants from someone, he bails. No follow-through.” Fenn shrugs. “Anyway. I guess what I’m saying is—don’t get attached to the guy. I don’t want you to get burned.”
“I never get attached,” I say honestly.
“Bullshit. You’ve planted so many roots here you’re practically imbedded in the ground. You joined the swim team, for Christ’s sake. Face it, bro. You care.” He starts to laugh. “Aw man, Sandover turned you into someone who cares about shit. Usually it has the opposite effect.”
His laughter is contagious. I chuckle to myself, all the while wondering why his frank assessment of my transformation isn’t freaking me out that much. He’s right. I have changed. I showed up here a loner determined to keep everyone at arm’s length, and within a month I ended up with a stepbrother, a girlfriend, and a swim team.
Maybe getting attached isn’t all bad.
“That thing you said the other night? About us being family?” I start awkwardly.
“What about it?”
“I guess I don’t hate the idea.”
I expect him to snort out another laugh, but instead his voice becomes gruff, a bit shaky. “Yeah, I don’t hate it either.” He pauses. “Maybe I was kinda lonely before you came along.”
It takes a lot for me not to reply with a smart-ass remark. His admission is so heavy and my first instinct is to keep things light. But I force myself not to make a joke out of what is clearly a difficult topic for him.
“I miss my mom, you know? Not as much as when I was little. But enough.” He glances over, his pale blue eyes flickering with weariness. “Can’t talk to my dad about shit. Gabe’s gone.” Another pause. “So, yeah, it’s been nice having you around.”
Another text lights up my screen, and I can physically feel the relief that shudders through the both of us. This chat was getting way too real.
SLOANE: If you’re bored, just pretend I’m there doing things to your dick.
I groan out loud. This goddamn woman.
Fenn’s lips twitch with humor. “You okay there?”
“No,” I reply through clenched teeth. “Sloane’s trying to talk dirty to me when she knows damn well you’re sitting right next to me.”
He offers a not-so-helpful suggestion. “If you want to go jerk it behind that tree, I promise to look away and cover my ears.”
“Fuck off,” I say, while my fingers text Sloane back.
ME: I’m muting your notifications because you’re evil. Good day, madam.
“So what’s this all about?” he asks, gesturing to my phone. “I swear, every time I turn around you’re texting love letters to the girl. Are you official now?”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means we’re out here because you two got busted in the dorm the other night. So is this a thing now, or…?”
“We’re dating, I guess. If that’s what you want to call official.”
It’s strange to think it’s only been a few weeks since she wouldn’t even tell me her name. Back then Sloane was just a hot mystery with a killer set of legs, begging me to puzzle her out. Now, despite a few early blunders, I already feel closer to her than I have to a girl since my fifth-grade crush pulled me behind the tire swings to kiss me then punch me in the nuts.