Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Take a seat,” Ollie’s mom says, and it occurs to me what a bad idea this was.
Faking a relationship for a dinner didn’t seem like a daunting task, but now I realize we know nothing about each other.
Under the scrutiny of so many people, I begin to think Ollie’s family could be secret spies or something because their burning gazes make me want to break down and confess everything.
And all they’ve done is looked at me and cracked a joke.
Intimidating much?
I blow out a loud breath. No backing out now.
I. Can. Do. This.
Ollie and I take a seat next to each other after bringing an empty chair from the other end of the table.
“How did you meet Ollie?” Ollie’s mom asks.
Hmm, in a bathroom is probably not the best answer here.
“Mutual friend,” I say vaguely.
“Ollie has friends?” the smartass brother says—the one who caught us in the bathroom.
Ollie leans closer to me. “If you haven’t worked it out yet, I’m the one they pick on because I’m younger, half their size, and earn about ten times as much as all of them combined.”
Simultaneously, three middle fingers face our direction.
“I’m going to call my mother tonight and tell her she shouldn’t complain about me and my sister anymore,” I say.
The woman at the other end bounces a sleeping baby in her arms and wipes a toddler’s face. “Don’t worry. You get used to their antics pretty fast.”
One of the twins—the non-smartassed one—stands and takes the baby from her and gives the woman a kiss on the forehead. “Antics. Pfft. No antics here. We were always good boys growing up.”
Ollie’s mother lets out a loud “Ha!”
The conversation breaks into normal family ribbing, and it gives me a false sense of security, because as soon as I start to relax, everything turns back to the topic of me.
“So, what do you do for a living?” his dad asks. Let the interrogation begin!
“Uhh, you know, business.” That’s the lie we came up with in the bathroom, so I’m sticking to it.
“What type?” his dad asks.
“Uh, you know. Acquisitions. Accounts. Tax. Mutual funds. Dividends.” Great, now I’m just saying words that sound businesslike. “It’s super boring. What do all of you do?” A good boyfriend always asks questions—especially when he doesn’t want to answer their questions that have no answers.
“Leo coaches basketball,” Ollie says, and the tall, lanky brother nods. “The twins, Nic and Vic, are personal trainers for MMA fighters.”
“Nic and Vic?” I ask.
“Nicklas and Victor,” Ollie says and points to each of them. They’re obviously not identical, but it’s still hard to tell them apart. “I don’t think my parents chose rhyming names on purpose …” He looks at his parents. “Right?”
“We thought it was cute,” his mom says.
“Yeah. Super cute,” Vic grumbles.
“Didn’t cause teasing in school or nothin’,” Nic adds.
“Where do you think we got the idea to learn MMA?” Vic says to their parents.
“Anyway,” Ollie says, “Max is a tattoo artist.”
I balk. “Wait, there’s more of you?”
Everyone at the table laughs.
“There’s five of us,” Ollie says.
“All boys?” I squeak and give his parents the most sympathetic look I can pull off.
Ollie’s mom puts her napkin in her lap and smiles demurely. “God blessed us with all boys because He wouldn’t give me anything I couldn’t handle.”
Leo laughs. “If I remember correctly, you used to threaten military school on us if we acted up.”
Nic chimes in. “And when that didn’t work, you’d cry about God testing you.”
Ollie leans in and whispers, “By the way, we’re barely religious.”
I snort.
“Whatever,” Ollie’s mom says, sounding more like the age of her sons than the late fifties she’d have to be. “We all survived.”
“Just,” Vic mutters.
Waiters and waitresses come out with plates full of food, and my stomach rumbles. My first stop after the bathroom was supposed to be the bar where I could order something fast. Guess fast isn’t part of the deal now. I still have a family grilling to endure. Karma better pay me back with something awesome. Like hot, naked men fawning over me. Actually, things have been so slow lately, I’d settle for just a man. Singular. See, Karma? This is me not being greedy. Then again, doing someone a favor in hopes of good karma defeats the purpose.
When they finish dishing the appetizers out, Ollie has three plates in front of him.
“You want?” he asks, gesturing to the food.
“Were you psychic and knew I’d be here or …” Looking around the table, I realize everyone has at least two plates in front of them. “Did you guys not order mains?”
Ollie laughs, but it has a nervous edge to it. “Come on, you should be used to my appetite by now.”
Right. Athletes and their insane amount of food intake. Another thing I should know. I think Ollie makes me stupid, because I’m usually smarter than this.