Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Even my siblings were overachievers. Luke was about to juggle his last year of prelaw at Glasgow Uni while maintaining a super successful social media platform. He was obsessed with fashion and had been forever. He was also six foot three, extremely handsome, and wore clothes like they were made for him. Creative and talented, he started putting together these arty fashion videos that scored him a million followers. My wee brother didn’t seem to realize how difficult that was to do and what an accomplishment it was. He had more followers than Mum! Way more! Like, a shit ton more.
Designers had started sending him free stuff. During the summer, he’d bagged his first modeling job in London. And he was handling all of that, plus a long-term relationship with his boyfriend, Afonso, who was Portuguese and also prelaw at Glasgow. They’d met in first year and were madly in love.
My wee brother was not only more successful than me, he’d found his apparent forever love at eighteen.
And I was happy for him. Of course I was. Luke was the best brother anyone could ask for.
But it did make me feel like I should be able to do better.
Sometimes I wished I were more like our wee sister Elle. She was named after our aunt Ellie, which had gotten really confusing, so we called our Ellie Elle instead. Not going to lie, it still got confusing.
Elle, however, much like her namesake, was a dreamer. She was only fifteen, but she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to be a painter, a pianist, a singer, a writer, an influencer (of what she couldn’t tell us), a chef, or a teacher. Mum and Dad gave her free rein to be whatever she damn well pleased. And Elle was happy to go through her high school career never hyperventilating when she got a B instead of an A, and absolutely not concerned about extracurricular activities, even though I told her that was what would make her stand out to universities.
Oh, to be that laid-back about life.
Lucky wee brat.
God, I loved her.
And I missed her. Other than popping by the house for a quick catch-up, I hadn’t spent much time with my family lately.
So, even though I was stressed to the max and had a million things to do, and even though I had a promising casual Sunday date lined up from a dating app, I rescheduled it to go spend quality time with my family.
Unfortunately, that meant working my arse off on Saturday to make up for dinner tomorrow.
Hurrying out of the flat at the back of four in the afternoon for a client meeting, I rushed downstairs and almost collided with Callan as he climbed upward.
The hair he kept long on top was freshly washed, and he had a weariness in his eyes. That, and the bag hooked over his shoulder, told me he’d just come from training. Strangely, I was more aware of the football season this year and knew that Caledonia United played against Edinburgh rivals, Leith United, tomorrow.
As we’d agreed, we’d ignored each other all week. Fate seemed to be messing with us, too, because we’d bumped into each other more on the stairwell in the past week than we had since he’d moved in. Like it was trying to force us together. But as we’d promised, we ignored each other. It was agitating. I think, strangely, I missed needling him.
Callan barely looked at me as he passed. Disregarding the stupid ache in my chest, I couldn’t stop myself. I threw over my shoulder, “You haven’t had mail going missing, have you?”
A company credit card I’d sent for hadn’t arrived and the letter I’d been waiting on from my trademark lawyer had never shown. I wanted to trademark Social Queens after hearing horror stories about companies losing their social media accounts because of rival companies’ nasty tactics.
“What?” he asked tiredly without looking back.
I’d noted there had been no more women this past week. Or at least, I thought so. Maybe the brunette with the temper problem had put him off for a bit.
“My post. I’m missing mail. I wondered if anyone else was having issues.”
Callan suddenly froze mid step.
Then he blew out a beleaguered breath and glanced down at me. “I have your mail. I kept meaning to bring it to you. C’mon.” He gestured with his chin and started climbing again. “I’ll give it to you.”
Indignation flooded me. “You have my mail?”
“Aye. It was an accident.”
“You could have posted it through my letter box.”
“I forgot.”
“Of course you did. It didn’t involve anything to do with you, so why would you remember?”
“Jesus.” He cut me a dark look over his shoulder. “I’m sorry you didn’t get your junk mail in time.”
That was so typical of him to assume my post didn’t mean anything. “It’s actually really important mail.”