Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Were you writing fiction and submitting it to traditional publishers?” When I nodded, he said, “That’s not your only option. Have you looked into smaller publishers specializing in your genre, or independent publishing?”
“There’s no point. My stuff is crap.”
“Are you saying that because the big publishing houses rejected you?”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.”
Malcolm frowned and started to reply, but the click of a key card unlocking the door stopped him. Thank god, because I hated this topic.
Someone yelled, “Are you here, Mal, and if so, do you have your pants on? Because I’m not interested in seeing your twig and berries. I tried calling, by the way, but you never answer your damn phone.”
A moment later, a gorgeous, curvy Black woman breezed into the room. Her red dress perfectly matched her nails and lipstick, and there was a Louis Vuitton overnight bag slung over her arm. I smiled at her and said, “You must be Ginny.”
She looked startled. “And you must be Mal’s midlife crisis! Good lord, how old are you?”
Malcolm answered for me. “He’s twenty-eight, Gin.”
She shot him a look. “Is he, though?”
“Yes. And don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you here? I thought you had a hot date tonight.”
“Yeah, I did too. Turns out we were both wrong. Aren’t you supposed to be at Whitless’s party?”
I snort-laughed at her nickname for Whit, and Malcolm told her, “I didn’t even last an hour. You were smart to blow it off.”
“No shit. I told you it was going to suck.” While they were talking, she deposited her bag on a chair and crossed the room to stand right in front of me. After scrutinizing me for a moment, she said, “You’re cute. I’ll give you that.”
I flashed her my brightest smile. “And you’re drop-dead gorgeous. Is that dress a Christian Siriano? I fucking adore him, and it really suits you.”
She stared at me for a beat before turning to Malcolm and saying, “Okay, I like him, even if that age gap makes me think you both need counseling. But why is he dressed in your ratty old gym shorts, and not in whatever he was wearing when you found him? Wait, no. Never mind. If it’s because you ripped his clothes off in a lust-fueled frenzy, I don’t want to know.” She checked her hair with two pats of her hand as she said that. She wore it in a lot of long, thin braids, which were gathered into an attractive up-do.
I stood up and said, “He didn’t rip them off, not that I would have minded. I tore my pants when I was climbing over the fence at Whit’s house, so I could crash the party and hit on Malcolm.” I stuck my hand out and added, “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Daniel Larson.”
She shook my hand. “Virginia Sykes. You crashed the party specifically to meet Mal?” When I nodded, she turned to her friend and said, “You’ve got yourself a little baby stalker.”
He grinned at me. “I know. He’s cute, though.”
She raised her hand, in a gesture that said she’d heard enough. Then she retrieved her bag and headed for the door. “Daniel, it was interesting meeting you. Mal, you and I are obviously going to talk about your midlife crisis tomorrow.”
He called after her, “You don’t have to leave. We’re not using the second bedroom.”
“Oh, hell no. I don’t need a front row seat for whatever kind of debauchery you two are going to get up to tonight.” Just before she left, she called, “Goodbye, little baby stalker. Remember that I can pick you out of a lineup, in case this turns into one of those Kathy Bates, Misery-type situations.”
As the door clicked shut behind her, I told Malcolm, “I really like her.”
“Yeah, me too. She’s been my family for more than three decades, more so than the one I was born into.”
“You don’t get along with your family?”
“It’s more like I’ve never fit in. My sister and I are close, but that’s about it.”
“Where do you fall in the sibling order?”
“I’m the middle child of three,” he said. “You mentioned you have an older brother?”
“I’m the youngest of four, and the other three are all a lot older than me. The closest is my brother Donny, who was already a sophomore in high school by the time I was in Kindergarten. My older brother and sister had already moved out by then. As my mom puts it, I was the ‘oops baby,’ after she had some health issues and thought she couldn’t get pregnant again.”
He frowned and asked, “She actually phrased it like that?”
“Yup.”
“That couldn’t have felt very good.”
“It sucked. So did the fact that they were pretty much over raising kids by the time I came along. Not that they’re bad parents or anything. They were just really fucking tired. I would’ve been too, if I’d almost finished raising three kids and then had a surprise baby at forty.” Malcolm’s sympathetic expression told me I was being a total buzz kill, so I tacked on, “But whatever. We play the hand we’re dealt, right?”