Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 12381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 62(@200wpm)___ 50(@250wpm)___ 41(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 12381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 62(@200wpm)___ 50(@250wpm)___ 41(@300wpm)
“What do you do, skip to the end?”
“No, I’m re-reading it. It’s one of my favorites—books I’ve already read are easiest during the semester when I should be studying.”
“Procrastinate much?”
“No, it’s more like a distraction.” I take school way too seriously sometimes, and reading something that’s not for a class keeps me grounded. “I need to think about things other than neurons and microorganisms.”
“I put together model cars to take my mind off of school and shit.”
“Excuse me?” Is he talking about the little plastic ones you buy in a box at the craft store and put together with glue?
Ryder clears this throat. “Um, you know those, uh…model cars? You can get them at Hobby Lobby if you want the shitty kind, but I get the good ones at a specialty store and they take hours—sometimes weeks—to put together. So…yeah.”
Wow. Why is he telling me this? He sounds embarrassed to have admitted all that out loud.
I throw him a bone so he doesn’t feel like an idiot for sharing such intimate information. “I’m teaching myself how to play the guitar.” And I suck pretty hard at it.
I’ll never be T-Swift.
“No shit? Are you any good?”
“Um, no, not even close.” A laugh slips out—more of a giggle, actually. “I’ll never be in a band. Not even as backup.”
“We’re our own worst critics,” Ryder says good-naturedly. “I’m sure you’re—”
“Nope,” I interrupt. “I’m pretty terrible. Trust me, I’m not being modest.”
It was real sweet of him to suggest I might have some skill, though.
Too bad I don’t.
“Three things I’m atrocious at: singing, dancing, and baking—and don’t get me started on the time I tried out for the musical in high school. For the audition, you had to sing and dance at the same time. You can imagine how that ended.”
“How did it end?”
“Not well. I didn’t get the part, any part—not even a nonspeaking role.”
The line goes quiet. “I can’t throw a football in a spiral, and the last time a guy took a shot at me in a bar with his fist, I wasn’t quick enough and ended up flat on my ass.”
On the ground in a dirty bar? Gross.
“The last time I tried doing the limbo at my kid cousin’s birthday party, I clotheslined myself.”
Ryder snorts. “Yeah? Well I have to look at my laptop keys while I’m typing.”
He does? Yikes.
“I…” I think hard for a second. “Don’t know how to play video games.”
What the hell is happening right now?
What are we doing, having a contest to see who sucks the most at being a functioning human in today’s society?
I wrack my brain for more things I’m awful at doing.
“Oh! I have another one!” I pause for effect. “I took a knitting class once and got kicked out because I couldn’t knit a hot pad.”
“Wait—what?”
“I mean, technically I got kicked out because I tried to plan a revolt.” Mallory is a dreadful influence on me. “But that’s just hearsay. All I’ve ever wanted to do was knit myself a poncho—is that so wrong?”
I sound disgusted. And I was! Was it so much to ask for the instructor to show me a design other than a pot holder? Who the hell wants to make one of those? And I mean, how hard could a poncho be? Pfft.
“Once I tried making an omelet in the microwave and blew the whole thing up,” he grumbles. “Eggs fucking everywhere.”
“I’m right there with you. Once I tried warming up some wax in the microwave and the container started crackling—I thought for sure that was going to blow up, too.”
“Wax for what?”
“My…” Upper lip. Chin. Hairy face. “Uh. Eyebrows?”
“Ah.” I picture him nodding in understanding.
Laser hair removal is on my bucket List. No man wants to—or should—feel the Fu Manchu growing from my bottom lip when he kisses me. Not that anyone is kissing me any time soon, but still—someday, someone will, and when they do, I want my face to be smooth as silk.
To date, I haven’t been brave enough to wax anything below the belt. A friend told me it’s not painful, but I know she’s a damn liar because I went with my cousin once, and Clarissa dropped so many F-bombs I thought we were going to get kicked out of the spa.
Then to have to get it done again a few weeks later? No thank you. I’ll shave and take my chances with a razor.
Jeez, why am I thinking about this right now?
“So…what were some of the things guys from the auction have had to do?”
Good change of subject, particularly since it’s the reason he called in the first place.
Ryder takes a moment to think. “Lots of housework. Tons of floors and bathrooms—from what I’m hearing, girls are way dirtier than we thought.”
Yeah, we are—hair and styling products everywhere.
“Kyle Davenport had to make a few runs to a donation center with some bags of old clothes, which wasn’t a big deal. Aaron Potter—do you know him? Some chick busted her doorjamb kicking in the deadbolt and he repaired it so her landlord wouldn’t keep her security deposit.”