Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Yeah, she is,” I admit. Since the night of the party, when Cora was distressed, everything changed. It became impossible for me to see her as the enemy anymore. My brothers seem to have found it easy to transition from thinking of her as a problem to thinking of her as a friend. Now Damien’s asking if I think of her in a sexual way. Admitting to that feels just as hard, but I’d have to be dead not to notice all the attributes that make Cora one of the cutest girls I’ve ever met. She’d hate to be called cute. Girls want to be attractive, pretty, sexy, not cute. She’s all those things, but her cuteness is what makes me want to take care of her. It’s a strange transition from desiring revenge to wanting to protect her. A transition I haven’t gotten used to yet.
“I’m not busy today. If you send me your location, I’ll drive over and pick up the car.”
“Are you sure? We’re not exactly local.”
“No problem. Anything for a friend,” Damien says.
“Great. Okay. I’m sending it now. And when it comes to it, can you forward me the repair bill? She’s low on cash, and I don’t want her getting stressed if it’s expensive.”
“Sure…” I can hear a smile in his voice.
“What the fuck are you smiling about?” I snap.
“Paying for your stepsister’s car repairs,” he says. “This definitely sounds like a porn movie.”
“Hanging up,” I say before the conversation becomes more ridiculous.
I tell Cora that we’re going to wait a while, and then I invite her to sit in my car, where the radio still works. I have healthy snacks in a cool bag, which I offer to share.
“You seriously carry this around with you?” she asks, staring at the pot of nuts, dried fruit, the bag of carrot batons, sugar-snap peas, and the protein bars.
“Sure. If I don’t have good food on hand, I’ll be tempted to snack on junk. It’s way too easy to slip, and then all my hard work is down the toilet. I get paid to look good. I have to take that seriously, or I’ll get dropped by my agency.”
“It must be hard to stay that disciplined.”
“Sometimes,” I say. “But the way I see it, I’ve been given this gift, and it’ll last a certain number of years, and then I’ll have to find something else to do. If I have to sacrifice right now, I will. It’s worth it.”
“That’s a very disciplined way of looking at it,” she says, taking a bite of a protein bar.
“Well, you’re disciplined about your job. You’ve been plugging away at it without knowing what will come of all that work. That takes discipline.”
“Discipline or stupidity,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“Discipline,” I say. “And passion.”
“I do love what I do,” she says. “I know it’s not your thing, but I can’t imagine a time when I won’t be making things with my hands.”
“I can’t imagine a time when I won’t be doing what I’m doing,” I say. “I have no idea what I’ll do when the bookings dry up, and no one wants me.”
Cora stops chewing, her eyes exploring my face as though she’s seeking some truth that has remained unspoken. “That must be tough,” she says. “Knowing your passion has a time limit…knowing something as natural as aging has the capacity to change everything.”
“It is what it is,” I say, waving my hand as though none of it matters to me, but it does. It always has. When I think about the day my agent begins to hint that I need to find something else to do, my throat tightens.
“Some models work into their silver-fox years,” she says. I can tell she’s trying to find a way to make me feel better, which is more than I deserve from her. We haven’t spoken about the pranks. After the party, when Tobias provided his broad shoulder for her to cry on, an unofficial truce was formed. My brothers don’t seem bothered that nothing’s been discussed, but it’s niggling me. Maybe that’s why they all seem to be forming friendships with Cora, and I’ve been feeling left behind.
“You know, things between us at the beginning were…” I trail off, not really knowing how to put it.
“…difficult,” she finishes for me.
“We started off on the wrong foot.”
“We did,” she says. “I hold my hands up for my part in it.”
“I do too. I guess I want to say sorry for not being the kind of person who can just let things go. I have never been. It’s a flaw.”
“A flaw we share,” she says softly. “It hasn’t been easy for me, accepting that Mom is with someone I grew up…” she pauses, but I know what she will say.
“Hating?”
“I know he’s your dad, so I’m trying to moderate what I say.”