Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I pull the keys from the ignition but make no move to climb out of the truck.
“Lots of driving.”
She’s looking through the front windshield, hat in her hands. “I wasn’t expecting to have such a good time. Your brothers are so much like you it’s wild.” She pauses. “Well, except for Drew. He’s more conservative than the other two.”
Drew is more conservative. Less sure of himself, less passionate.
Don’t know if it’s ’cause he doesn’t have the heart like Dallas, Drake, and me or if he’s just not as vocal about it. Guess time will tell as it does with everything.
“Thanks for runnin’ to the store this afternoon and grabbin’ dinner and fillin’ their fridge.”
“I was glad to do it alone—I wasn’t about to lug the four of you around the supermarket. That would have been a train wreck, no way. Not after you and I went—once was enough.”
She’d gone to the grocery store armed with a list a mile long and came home with bags of burgers from the local hamburger joint and another bag of just French fries.
I chew on my bottom lip, mulling over a thought. “Did you think it was weird how those girls kept comin’ around?” After stopping by twice, they’d made a point to walk back and forth in front of the property as if they were in a parade, first two girls, then three. Then four.
Then the original two.
It wasn’t the strangest behavior I’ve ever seen from young women, but it certainly gave me an uneasy feeling.
“Define weird.”
I cock my head, searching for the right words. “I dunno, just…weird.”
Posey laughs quietly. “You have to explain better than that. And yeah, I thought it was weird, but everyone wants attention these days. If I were in college, living next door to those boys, my radar would have been going off like a fire alarm.”
“Oh please, it would not have. You don’t give a shit if a man is successful or not, you’re more into”—let’s see, how do I put this—“kindness and personality and shit.”
“I take it you’re not including Brian in that definition?”
“Fuck Brian.”
We both laugh, the cab of the truck peaceful, especially with the porch light’s glow. The small kitchen window in Mrs. Galvin’s kitchen softly illuminating the part of the concrete driveway it sits in front of.
“Yeah, fuck Brian.” She turns her head to look out the window again as if lost in thought.
“It’s not your fault he was a piece of shit.”
“I know, but I should have—”
“You shouldn’t have nothin’. You did nothing wrong. End of story.”
I nod to punctuate my statement.
She nods. “The next guy won’t be such a bag of crap. I’ll do better seeing the red flags.”
The next guy.
Fuck that guy, too, whoever he is.
Fuck him.
He won’t deserve her, of course. Posey is too perfect for any of the assholes running free out there, trying to date but also wanting to screw anyone willing all the while pretending to want a long-term relationship.
That was never me, but I’d seen it plenty.
“You’re gonna make someone an incredible girlfriend, Pose.” I hesitate, hating the word vomit coming out of my mouth, needing it to stop. “Josephine.”
She smiles shyly at me, running her fingers down the length of her silky ponytail.
“Josephine. You haven’t called me that in days. Dink.”
She winks, using the fake name I was using on the dating app; an app I haven’t been on in days because I lost interest. Haven’t been on since she began having side conversations with Brian. Not since…
Shoot. Not since I started looking at her too long when she wasn’t watching and using her body wash in the shower and fuck, that sounds creepy.
“Now that you met me, do I look like a Josephine to you?”
I shake my head. “Not really. The name Posey has really grown on me.”
Posey snorts. “Gee, thanks.”
“I meant that as a compliment.”
“I know, that’s why I said thanks.” Duh.
I know we can’t sit here any longer; at some point, we’ll have to go inside the house. But I can’t make myself unlock the door and climb out of the truck because once I do, this spell will be broken. I’ll go back to my bedroom alone, and she’ll go back to her bedroom alone, and we’ll spend the rest of the night…alone.
By ourselves.
And obviously, my brain keeps going back to that hand job she gave me the other morning; no, not just that—I couldn’t give a shit about a hand job. What I care about was the little sound she was making when I had my hand down her pajama bottoms. A sound like that gets itself etched into a man’s brain; it’s a sound he ain’t likely to forget.
I reckon it could keep me warm on a cold night, that’s for damn sure. All I’d have to do is close my eyes.