Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Yes, she knows my name is Andy.”
“Dude, no one calls you Andy.”
“My parents call me Andy.”
“Not the same.”
“Literally the same. Everyone from my hometown calls me Andy, my family calls me Andy—my close friends call me Andy.”
“Screw you, dude.” He’s not insulted—I can tell from his tone.
“You call me Burke, same as everyone on the team. What are you bitching about?”
“I might want to call you Andy.”
“Fine,” I say. “Call me Andy.”
He thinks this over. “Now I don’t want to.”
“Well, do you have any advice for me?”
“What kind of advice? I’m single, what the fuck do I know?”
Not a lot, that’s for sure. Dude hasn’t had a serious relationship in the time I’ve known him, which spans at least five years. His pecker picks worse chicks than mine does, and his publicist sets him up on dates nonstop, which isn’t saying much.
“What the fuck do you know? That’s the realest statement you’ve ever made.”
“Thank you.”
“You think that was a compliment?” I grin.
“Sounded like one to me.” Another slice of pizza materializes, and he goes to town on it. “Tell me more about this Harlow person. Are you gonna see her again?”
“I don’t know how I can. She doesn’t live in Ohio or Seattle.”
“But you aren’t going to be there long. And”—chew, chew—“there’s Green Bay.”
Yeah, there is Green Bay.
It hadn’t been on my radar, mostly because of the location. It’s not like they suck—in fact, they’re a championship team, regularly making it to the playoffs, and have won the Super Bowl enough times for me to give them a look. It’s been several years, but maybe they need new blood; they’ve had the same damn quarterback and receiver for a few too many years.
“Nah. How fucking stupid to look at a team just ’cause of a woman.”
My friend inspects his pizza before taking another bite. “Eh, we make decisions based on dumber shit.”
“Who’s we?”
“Guys.”
He’s not wrong about that; guys do make dumb decisions based on stupid shit.
Dex studies me for a second before asking, “So did you bang her or what?”
“Dude. You know I don’t kiss and tell.”
“You told plenty when you were dating that snotty bitch Paisley.”
True, but I didn’t think she was snotty at the time.
“That was the old me,” says Dex. “This is the new me; the new me doesn’t repeat gossip.”
Huh? “Is it possible to gossip about yourself?”
“Sure.” Dex swallows.
“How many slices of pizza do you have?”
“I don’t know—how many slices come in a pie?”
“Eight?”
He nods. “Eight sounds about right.” He makes moaning sounds as he eats.
“Have you always been this obnoxious?”
He nods again. “Obviously.”
“So what should I do?”
“About this Harlow chick?”
Yes, about this Harlow chick. “Yes, about Harlow.”
“You’ve already lied to her—she’ll be pissed about that. I’m no expert, but once she finds out who you are—if she finds out who you are—shit is gonna hit the fan.”
“How could shit hit the fan?”
“I don’t know, man—because she doesn’t like being lied to?”
“It was a lie of omission. I didn’t actually lie lie, I just never told her what my actual job is.”
Which is true. I’m everything I said I was, minus the celebrity professional football player part.
Whoops.
“Then go for it, bro. Text her again and see what she says.”
Chapter 13
Harlow
“Dad. You have to let me know when you’re coming over. It’s called boundaries.”
He’s standing in the middle of my tiny living room when I walk in, holding the remote, pointing it at the television he himself anchored to my wall. Not that I couldn’t have done it myself, but it gave him a way to be useful when I moved in two years ago.
“Back in the day, we didn’t have boundaries.” He flips through channels without giving me even the slightest glance as I lean against the archway that separates the living room from my kitchen.
“Is that all you came over for? To watch TV?”
Dad shakes his head, eyes not leaving the television. “I’ve been talking with this woman named Shirley I met on the Facebook, and I’m waiting for her to video chat me. I didn’t want to do it alone.”
Is he serious? “I don’t want to be in your video chat with a woman you met on the internet. That’s weird, and she’ll think it’s weird.”
Say it with me: boundaries.
My phone pings, and I glance behind myself but leave it on the counter.
“What’s so weird about having someone else in the room during a phone call?”
I open the fridge and pull out a celery juice, give it a shake before twisting the cap open. I chug from it before addressing my father again.
“Dad. You cannot have your daughter in the room the first time you talk to someone. It would be uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable for who?” I can see he’s genuinely confused, which in most cases I would find endearing, but today I’m not as patient. Not when I’ve decided he’s cramping my style, specifically when he comes barging into my house unannounced.