Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I paused to listen to the conversation drifting from the hallway and set my hands on my warm face. The last thing I needed was to bump into Ky again and risk another round of red cheeks. He’d probably think I had a crush on him, and I didn’t. No way. I just had a peculiar reaction to his presence. Like an allergy. My throat swelled and my heart started acting funny. But I’d have a hard time explaining my strange condition to my nine-year-old brother. Oliver loved all the guys in the band, but he had a serious case of hero worship for Ky.
“Of course,” I grumbled before moving into the next room.
The wall of windows was folded away, creating a true indoor-outdoor living space. It might be late October, but Southern California hadn’t gotten the memo. We’d had blue skies, sunshine, and seventy-degree weather for weeks. And it looked like Ollie had taken advantage of an after-school dip. I noted the giant pink flamingo inflatable floating in the pool and his swim trunks draped over a lounge chair as I headed for the kitchen area.
“…never swims underwater ’cause she doesn’t want to mess up her hair. It’s so weird,” Ollie huffed.
“It’s not that weird,” Gray said, ruffling Oliver’s blond curls. “Besides, you can always swim over here. Justin and I don’t mind getting our hair wet.”
“Charlie doesn’t care either, and he’s very picky.”
“What am I picky about?” I asked.
“Everything,” they replied in unison before bursting into laughter and exchanging high fives.
I rolled my eyes, then crouched low to pet the puppy wrestling with a chew toy next to Oliver’s chair. Chester was Gray’s birthday gift to Justin. The tiny black French bulldog was just over three months old now. Normally he was a high-energy furball, but Ollie had probably worn him out.
“Help, Chester. They’re ganging up on me.” I sighed, pulling out the barstool next to Ollie and sneaking a cookie from his plate.
“Hey!”
“Hey, yourself. We have to go. Where’s your backpack?”
“It’s outside by the pool.” Oliver dove for my cookie, pouting when I lifted it out of reach.
“Did you get your homework done…outside by the pool?” I asked, casting a dubious look between him and Gray.
“Yep. Except for my science. I don’t know how to do it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you,” Gray said.
Ollie shook his head. “I needed a break. I’m overworked.”
Gray chuckled good-naturedly. “You sound just like your brother.”
“Could be worse, Ol. I’m fabulous. Not necessarily at science, but I’ll try to help you later…after your eye appointment. Are you ready?”
Oliver slumped in his barstool and slithered to the floor, collapsing in a dramatic heap beside Chester. I waved off Gray’s worried expression with an “I’ve got this” look, which was kind of true. I couldn’t explain the dynamics of my odd little tribe to an outsider without making us sound like a freak show. We were the epitome of a so-called modern family.
Here’s how it worked. Gray Robertson was our father’s best friend and former lover, and my godfather. Gray practically raised me, though. He was the responsible parent who made sure I went to school on time and had my lunch with me, while Dad was the fun one. He was fond of dessert before dinner and midnight bedtimes. They broke up when I was around Oliver’s age. Not gonna lie, it was devastating to my younger self. That might be part of the reason I made an extra effort with Oliver. I knew uncertainty was scary. I’d been lucky that Gray stuck around. I spent as much time at his house as I did at Dad’s throughout my teenage years.
I wanted to make sure Ollie felt loved and secure in his ever-changing world. Although the dynamics were different because Ollie’s mom was in the picture. Sort of. I liked Rita, but she was a movie person like Dad. She was always busy with production meetings, filming, and studio nonsense that sounded like white noise to kids. Needless to say, raising Ollie had turned into a team effort. Most days, I thought Dad, Gray, Rita, and I did a damn fine job. Oliver was a cool kid. He was sweet, good-natured, and very smart. He was a bit of a nerd in the best possible way. Ollie loved dinosaurs, Mario Kart, and playing with Chester.
Over the past year, he’d turned into my shadow. He even looked like me. We both had blond curly hair, blue eyes…and we were short. Our dad was six three, so maybe Ollie would get the growth spurt I was still hoping for at age twenty-five. In the meantime, he was the pipsqueak who struggled to fit in and regularly got picked last on a team. Again, I could totally relate.
Not now, of course. Conformity was boring as fuck. I’d learned that the best things in life happened when you colored outside of the lines. However, my little brother wasn’t quite sold on the concept that weird was good. And he was pretty sure his new glasses were going to kill his already tenuous social clout.