Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
“At the hotel.”
His nod is tight. “Yes.”
Again, I have to take a few moments then.
To study him. To study this new expression on his face.
“You sure you’re allowed to do that?” I ask finally.
His discomfort vanishing now, he clenches his jaw in irritation. “Yes, I’m allowed to do whatever I want.”
“I don’t think so. Because I’m pretty sure that you’re still dad’s little bitch.”
And Dad would never have wanted me anywhere near his precious hotel. Or the manor that I grew up in. Or any of the Davidsons’ properties, for that matter.
Something he legally saw to before he died.
“Look, the reason I’ve been calling you is,” my brother says with a long sigh, not choosing to rise to the bait like he usually does, “I’d like to invite you to dinner.”
“What?”
“How’s next Saturday? Seven o’clock.”
Next Saturday, I’m busy so I can’t make it.
But more importantly, what the fuck?
This is even more bizarre than us exchanging pleasantries. Since when do my brother and I have dinner together?
I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you drunk right now?”
Displeasure coats his features. “No.”
“High,” I ask next, studying his features for the signs that he might be stoned. “Are you high? You smoke a little pot, big brother, huh? Is that why you’re talking crazy?”
He doesn’t dignify that with an answer.
“Because it’s okay if you have. You can tell me. Not gonna judge you. It’s not even real drugs, man.”
“I would,” he says, all serious, “smoke pot. Or do drugs or get drunk. Unfortunately, you either drank all the liquor or smoked all the pot that there was in Bardstown.”
I let out a surprised chuckle. “Guilty. I can hook you up though. Just say the word. I’ve still got my old contacts.” Then, because I can’t help myself, “Maybe it’ll loosen you up enough to do the deed.”
He stiffens at that.
And I love it.
Jesus, how could I have forgotten?
That my brother is a fucking prude and I’ve always enjoyed provoking him this way.
He shifts on his feet again, this time a different kind of discomfort flashing through his features. “You know what, I think we should talk some other time. You’re clearly not —”
I shake my head slowly, a smirk blooming on my lips. “No, let’s talk now. So? You kiss her yet?”
His jaw clenches.
Fucking epic.
“She won’t tell me,” I goad. “And I’ve asked. Like a fucking teenage girl with a hard-on for gossip.”
Another clench, then, “Do you mean to be so crass or does it come naturally?”
I spread my arms wide. “It’s all natural, big brother. And I can teach you. Give you a few pointers.” Then, winking suggestively, “About how to pour maple syrup all over your pancakes. Or wait, is it her pancakes and your maple syrup?”
Steam is coming out of his ears.
Or it would be. If we were in some cartoon.
And I wanna laugh my ass off.
God, I missed this.
The only thing I miss about my big brother: poking fun at him about his fiancée, Maple Mayflower.
Or rather, my brother’s arranged fiancée.
So one day, our father — God fuck his soul — and her father got together and decided that their kids would marry each other when the time comes. Of course my brother agreed because when has he ever said no to Dad? She agreed too because I guess she has the same affliction as my brother, of always agreeing to whatever her father says.
Which means they’ve been engaged all their lives. Probably ever since my brother was a freshman and she was in like second grade or whatever. Extremely gross and archaic but what do I know.
Not that they’ve ever acted like a regular couple though.
Despite it being understood that they’d marry each other someday, there’s no contact between the two. They don’t go out on dates. They don’t talk to each other or even look at each other.
Well, at least my brother doesn’t.
He’s always been too busy with his studies, sports, the business, to give little Maple — or pancakes as I call her, to annoy him — his time and attention. And despite my brother’s callousness, she’s pretty obsessed with him, has been all her life. I don’t see why, honestly. She could do a lot better than a guy with the emotional range of cardboard — not that I’m any better but still — and who gets offended at the slightest mention of something intimate between a man and a woman.
Sometimes I wonder if my thirty-year-old brother is a fucking virgin.
I mean, that can’t be true, right?
He must’ve done the deed; if not with Maple then with someone else.
Because if not, then I feel sorry for Pancakes.
Apart from Lucas, I guess you could call her my friend. Sure, it started out as a way to annoy my big brother. But then I guess she grew on me and became the little sister I never had.