Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 50770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
She quickly grabbed the cake from my right hand and jerked her head toward the open concept kitchen and living room. Everything was so white and new, it didn’t look lived in at all. She almost skipped into the main kitchen area and set down the cake, then turned around. I was suddenly thankful I wore sweats since she was in a pair of black joggers and white Converse. Even her tank top just looked normal, matching her joggers. She had zero to no makeup on and her hair loosely pulled back into a braid.
“So…” I could not sound louder in that empty kitchen or more awkward, or maybe I just looked it. “Is Quinn here or—“
“—Just put the rest of the groceries on the counter.” She winks. “And I’ll take you out back, the boys had some drama earlier, so I made them go play corn hole.”
“You made them?” I almost laugh. I can’t see anyone making Quinn do anything.
“Well…” She shrugs. “They weren’t on their best behavior, I may have tried to strangle Quinn after shoving a pillow or I guess he claims I threw it but it barely hurt him!”
I smirk. “What a child.”
“Thank you!” She laughs. “Finally, some good female energy up in here, oh and by the way, I put the fear of God into him that if he breaks your heart, I’ll break his face. I think there were other details in there about dismemberment, but meh, he’ll survive.”
“You are extremely violent.” I nodded. “But I can’t seem to be upset about it, plus if he does break my heart, I’ll probably throw more than a pillow.”
“That’s my girl.” She moves to the sliding glass doors, they open up to a really cool balcony that has a fire pit tons of large blue comfortable looking chairs, a bar to the right, and an outdoor kitchen. The wood doesn’t even look worn from the salt water, maybe it’s teak? Or maybe it was just redone?
I hear yelling.
Then cursing.
She winces. “They’re very competitive.”
“Well, that means only one thing.” I grin and start to walk down the stairs in the direction of the cursing. “We need to beat their asses.”
“Wait, you play cornhole?”
“Won second place in the local championship we had last year, smoked my sister’s ass, ah, that was a good memory, I thought she was going to set my car on fire.”
“…you’re such a dumbass!” I hear Quinn’s voice. “That’s not a point and you know it! It slid off at the last minute! Do you even know how to do math?”
“No, idiot, because you always did my homework for me!” Another male voice chimes in. “And I’m still pissed about getting a B!”
“You would have failed without me!” Quinn yells.
I turn the corner, and the sight is hilarious.
Quinn is wearing nothing but low-slung ripped jeans, flip-flops and no shirt, and the other guy has on matching black joggers with his girlfriend, his messy golden brown hair blew in the wind and he only had a black tank top on. He was a bit more built than Quinn, as in bulkier but not better looking, in fact, it was hard to tell which would win in that department, but I assumed because of that guy’s money, he won every time.
I know how that feels.
Felt.
How that existence is.
You’re the star of the show until someone else comes in and literally steals your crown, then makes you feel like the guilty party as if you purposefully dropped it or gave it to them.
That was my sister to a T.
“Hey!” Quinn drops the bean bags and jogs over, it’s kind of adorable. “Happy Birthday!”
He seems so happy to be saying it that I almost burst into tears, it’s like when people ask you if you’re okay but you’re not and then you just cry through it or can’t talk out loud.
That was him saying Happy Birthday to me.
He doesn’t give me a chance to reply because he’s suddenly pulling me into his arms and holding me tight. He’s warm, a bit sweaty, and I love it.
“Awww.” The girl sighs next to us. “Ambrose, how come you never—“
“—Do not,” Ambrose jabs a bean bag at her. “Finish that sentence if you don’t want me to beat your ass at cornhole.”
“You’ve won once!” she yells.
“MB!” Ambrose marches over to an actual honest to God white board that has all the wins and losses written in red.
Ambrose 1.5 wins.
MB Seventeen.
Quinn Seven.
Huh.
When Quinn releases me, I just have to ask, “How do you win halfway? Like did you get a point, and she felt sorry for you so threw half the game? Or did you just make up new rules, furthermore, I’m genuinely curious why you would write down your shame for the world to see.”
Ambrose slowly turns. “Where did you find her again?”