Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 125135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Rule number one for dating your best friend’s sister: Don’t.
Just don’t do it.
Especially when your best friend is dead and the last thing he made you promise him was that you’d keep an eye on his little sister, but not too good of an eye.
As a musician whose longest committed relationship was six weeks, I, Holden Catalano, was the last guy on Earth who should’ve been messing around with Laney Ellison.
The super smart girl whom I affectionately dubbed Lala since childhood was always off limits.
Though that didn’t stop me from thinking about her over the years, especially those times when the two of us would sneak out onto the roof and talk for hours after my buddy fell asleep. It was innocent, but I’d always held a torch for her.
After Ryan passed away, I vowed to always protect Lala. That included protecting her—from me.
Now all grown up and a scientist, Lala needed a place to stay when she accepted a temporary research position in New York. I thought I did the right thing by offering her an apartment in the building I co-owned with my three friends.
Except having her close by reignited all of those old feelings.
And things started to get complicated.
Especially since she was engaged.
And especially since, lately, I’d noticed something more in her eyes. Desire.
Lala didn’t exactly look at me like the platonic brother figure I was trying so desperately to be, even though I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anything.
Yet, I was being good—on my very best behavior.
But you know what they say…all good things must come to an end, right?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Holden
What the heck is this?
I picked up the envelope my parents had mailed me and looked again at the smaller envelope I’d found inside. The bigger one had definitely been addressed by my mother. But the handwriting on the other one looked a hell of a lot like mine, only messier. I hadn’t mailed myself anything, though, and definitely not to my parents’ house in Philly. And why would someone send me mail at my parents’ place and then also put my name as the return address?
Then it hit me.
Holy shit!
No freaking way!
I had addressed the envelope, a long-ass time ago!
Back in tenth grade, my creative writing teacher, Mr. Wolf, had made all of his students write a letter to our thirty-year-old selves about what was important to us at the time. We’d handed them in, sealed and stamped, and he’d promised to mail them all the year we turned thirty. Of course, I’d lived at my parents’ house then, so that’s where I’d addressed my envelope.
Holy shit. I had zero recollection of what the hell I’d written, but I was definitely curious to find out. Fifteen-year-old me hadn’t been so well behaved. So I tore the letter open and unfolded a ratty piece of loose leaf.
Dude,
In case you’ve forgotten—because by the time you receive this letter, you’re going to be ancient—Mr. Wolf made us write letters to ourselves. We’re supposed to write about what’s important to us, because he thinks our priorities will be different when we’re thirty. This might be the one homework assignment I actually liked this year, mostly because it’s about me, and I’m damn awesome. So here goes…
What is important to Holden Catalano today? Well, this is a very easy question to answer. HEAD. It’s fucking amazing. Laurie Rexler introduced me to it last month, and it’s pretty much all I’ve been able to think about since. She’s in eleventh grade, and she said it was her first time giving it. But I think she’s full of shit since she didn’t gag or anything. Anyway, HEAD is glorious. It’s probably why there are so many names for it—blowjob, blowie, slurping the gherkin, fellatio, oral, deep throating, knob gobbling, hummer gummer, jingle bob, sucked off, dome polish, playing the skin flute… Notice, there is only ONE word for homework. Why? Because homework sucks and HEAD is THE SHIT.
Side note—Mr. Wolf, you said you weren’t going to open these. But in case you do, I hope you’re getting lots of HEAD. Especially from Ms. Damarco, across the hall. Because she’s smoking hot and looks like she’d give a good BJ. I bet she even swallows. Laurie Rexler doesn’t…yet. But I’m working on that. If we write ourselves another letter, I’ll let you know how that turns out.
Anyway…back to me and what’s important these days… The drums are right up there with HEAD. I couldn’t live without music. And of course, my bros—Colby, Ryan, Owen, and Brayden. They’re pretty high on the list, too. Though let’s not tell them that, because I’d get my balls busted for a month for saying they were important to me. Other things...
Freedom
My hair (which I better still have when I’m thirty)
My parents
Lastly, drums. (I know I said that already, but everything begins and ends with drums. Note to self—playing the drums while getting HEAD just went to the top of my to-do list. How has it taken me this long to think of it?)
What else is important? I’m almost afraid to write this in case I drop this letter and Ryan somehow gets ahold of it. But Mr. Wolf said if we couldn’t be honest with ourselves in a letter, we’d never be. So I have to mention Lala. AKA Laney Ellison, my best friend Ryan’s little sister. She’s the only girl I can really talk to about life. I’ve had a thing for her as long as I can remember. But she’s eighteen months younger, and Ryan would KICK MY ASS if I tried to go there. I can’t say I’d blame him, either. Because Lala Ellison can do a fuck of a lot better than me. She’s a brainiac, a real genius. She’ll probably wind up curing cancer or something someday. But even though she’s off limits, she still makes the list of things that are important to me. In fact, I like her so much, if I were putting these things in order, Lala Ellison would come before HEAD. Now that’s saying something, isn’t it?
I guess that’s about it. Not much else I give two shits about. Plus, I’m getting bored. This is more writing than I’ve done in the last two years.
Later,
Holden
P.S. If you haven’t been on the cover of Rolling Stone by now, please kick your own ass.
P.P.S. If Lala is single when you get this, and you still haven’t taken your shot, you’re a giant pussy.