Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I was still getting used to my brother dating my lifelong best friend. They’d recently fallen head over heels, and I was practicing not rolling my eyes every time they were all lovey-dovey.
“No kidding,” I replied, glancing at Kace again. “He told me he has no off button, and I’m starting to realize how true that is.”
Kace was currently leaning against the long wood bartop, facing a small crowd of people that had amassed around him. The lights were low in the brewery, but Kace was beneath a pendant lamp, his face illuminated like he had found a natural spotlight. He was telling a story about a visit to the DMV and somehow not one word of it was boring. Half of the people in the brewery had known who Kace was from football, and the other half who didn’t watch sports were just as enthralled.
Rush had even let him put his own playlist on over the bar speakers, and I’d never seen Rush let anyone control the music before. A Beatles song came on after a while, and I clutched my hand to my heart.
“He’s 22 and he likes The Beatles,” I told my brother. “There is still hope for the younger generation.”
“Shit, if he has The Beatles on his playlist, you’re going to be his friend for life,” Shawn said, kicking back on the opposite side of the booth.
“If someone hates them, we just couldn’t be friends,” I agreed. “Or they’d have to wear earplugs anytime I played music.”
The crowd of people around Kace roared with laughter from across the room, and I glanced over, watching Kace animatedly telling some story.
“How does he do it?” Shawn said wistfully.
“Well, he clearly likes attention,” I said.
Understatement of the century. When I’d given him just a little attention while he was jerking off, it had made him come in about sixty seconds flat.
I massaged my temples, trying to will myself to stop thinking about what had happened the other night. Why was it burned into my brain like a movie on repeat?
Charlie came back to the booth, sliding in next to Shawn after Kace finished another story. I’d never seen Charlie so dumbstruck before. Ever since he’d finally ditched his awful, toxic ex-boyfriend, he’d been nothing but glum and depressed. But tonight he was relaxed.
“Haven’t seen you smile this much since you got that killer deal on slate stones,” I told Charlie.
“It’s so cool that he’s here. I can’t believe we’re going to be on TV, too. Bets on how long before Jim sees me on TV and he wants me back again?”
“Hey,” Shawn said, pointing at Charlie. “First rule is?”
“First rule is we don’t talk about Jim,” Charlie said, waving a hand through the air. “I don’t care about him anymore anyway, guys. He’s in the past. I deserve better. It’s just like Kace said on his Instagram post yesterday—nobody determines your value but you.”
“That was a good one,” I admitted, taking a sip of my beer.
“You are on Instagram now?” Shawn asked me, raising his eyebrows. “Since when? I thought you hated all social media. You went on old man rants about how it’s rotting our brains and you’d rather put rotten lemon juice in your eyes than ever look at it—”
“Fuck, ew,” Charlie protested, grimacing.
“I do hate social media,” I said, shifting on my seat, “but I figured since we’re working with Kace it would be good to, uh, know him a little better.”
Or get to watch him make protein smoothies shirtless on his back deck in the sun every day.
“Damn,” Shawn said, grinning. “The power of Kace Tomlin. I seem to recall you also saying that if you ever downloaded those apps, we should force you to swim naked down Jade River with I’m a fucking sheep written on your body in Sharpie—”
“I’ve said a lot of dumb shit, okay, Shawn?” I protested, tossing back the rest of my beer to hide my smile.
“How things change,” Charlie said, giggling at Shawn.
Things sure as shit changed, alright. Like going from being my normal self, marching through life knowing that I was a good father, a good worker, and certainly, definitely straight—then having a 22-year-old with dimples bring that all to a screeching halt.
I pulled out my phone, navigating to my texts with Maddy. She was coming over later tonight to stay at my place for the weekend. She’d been at her mom’s house today, but I still tried to check in as often as I could.
>>Nathan: How’d the history exam go, Mads?
My daughter texted back in about two seconds flat, as was her usual speed.
>>Maddy: It sucked. But I got a 90.
>>Nathan: That’s awesome. Who says you’re not a history buff?
She sent me back a shrugging emoji.
>>Nathan: Anyway. See you in a couple of hours, kiddo.
>>Maddy: Later, Dad.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, looking back at our texts.