Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 114368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
That was right. Whitney and I stumbled back home, giggling like schoolgirls over anything and everything. I mainly stumbled because of the bedroom activities, and she walked sideways due to the magic punch. We didn’t even begin to dive deep into my adventures with Dick.
I felt my cheeks heat from the thought of the previous night. I was not super comfortable talking about my sex life, mainly because sex with John was pretty mundane and boring. But last night?
About last night...
I sat down at my desk and pulled out a hairbrush. “Last night was…different.”
“Did he have a big peter piper? Did he pick a peck of pickled peppers?”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “Why are you like this?”
“I don’t know. My parents are weird. I think the gene transferred to me, too. Really, though, how was it?”
“It was…” I shut my eyes for a moment and swooned to myself.
“Oh my gosh.” Whitney gasped, making me open my eyes. She pointed a stern finger my way. “He rocked your vagina!”
“He rocked my vagina,” I echoed, shaking my head in disbelief from the previous night.
“Heck yeah! I’m so proud of you, roomie. So does it stand true now? Did John have a small dick?”
“I don’t think we can even classify it as a dick anymore. It was more so a peanut.”
“And Mr. Hot-Hot was a…”
“Elephant trunk.”
Whitney tossed her arms up in victory. “Happy freaking birthday, Starlet Evans!”
Happy birthday indeed.
“I hope you can’t walk straight all weekend long,” she told me. “Speaking of… on a scale of one to ten, how basic are we feeling right now? Avocado toast level?” Whitney asked as I tried to style my hair.
My curly brown hair was a comedy of errors each morning. The number of times I’d thought about shaving said hair was at least fifty times per day.
Saturdays to Whitney meant one thing and one thing only—brunch. It was her favorite way to sober up after her wild Friday nights. For the most part, my roommate was a book nerd who took her education too seriously, but when Fridays rolled around? She was off the clock as an educated girl and punched in her party wild child timesheet.
She called it the perfect life balance. After last night, I understood why and was somewhat disappointed I’d missed out on two years of college parties because I was too focused on my studies.
“That sounds amazing. With a scrambled egg,” I offered.
“Hard-boiled, grated with a cheese grater,” she corrected. “And goat cheese with Mike’s Hot Honey.” She moaned in desire. “Can we go to Eve’s Place for brunch? My treat for your birthday.”
Eve’s Place was our favorite brunch spot for two reasons; we could walk there from campus, and it included a menu the size of my forearm. If you wanted to eat like a health nut or drown in maple syrup and whipped cream, Eve had a food item for you.
After giving up on brushing out my hair, I tossed it into a messy bun that flopped on top of my head. “I can’t do brunch, remember? I promised my dad he could have me all weekend for my birthday.”
She cried out in despair as if I’d told her that London had fallen. “But what about our weekend brunch traditions?”
“The tradition will have to take a hiatus for one weekend. Unless you want to join us.”
She narrowed her eyes in thought. “Eric is quite the looker.”
I shivered. “Never mind, you can’t come.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a new stepmom?”
“You disturb me daily.” I chuckled as I picked up my sneakers and slid them on before grabbing my pink puffy winter coat, scarf, and mittens.
After I was bundled up and packed my backpack, I walked over to Whitney and kissed her forehead. “Have some avocado toast for me.”
She grumbled and waved me off. “Tell my future husband I said hi.”
I snickered at my friend before grabbing my laundry basket of clothes to wash at Dad’s house. I headed to my car and hopped in to drive down to Chicago for the weekend. Going to school at UW-Milwaukee worked out nicely for me, seeing how it was only a two-hour drive to my dad’s house. We’d spent every Sunday together for father-daughter time. It was the one day he didn’t work at the tattoo parlor and the one day I’d spend doing all my laundry. Having Saturday and Sunday with him that weekend would be nice. Day in and day out, I was a daddy’s girl.
I drove straight to Inked, knowing Dad would be there Saturday morning. He lived and breathed that shop, and I was almost certain he and his employees would be working on some fantastic pieces. When I was a kid, I’d spend so much time sitting there watching Dad and his guys and gals ink up individuals. It was amazing how many people cried joyfully when they saw their masterpieces come to life.