Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“How was your Thanksgiving?” Liam inquired.
“Good. Declan has an amazing chef on staff, and Sebastian’s chef sent all these desserts. Parker let Joy feed herself mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes. It was everywhere. In her hair. Up her nose. I get why they have one of those giant plastic tarps to put under her high chair now.”
“How old is she?”
“Nine months, I think. Cute as a bug.”
“You didn’t see any family?”
“I video chatted with my parents that morning,” I replied as I sprinkled on some slices of green peppers. “They’re in Brussels. Later that night, I called Sydney, and we talked for a while. She spent the day with her husband’s family, so she was grateful she didn’t have to do both sides of the family for the holiday. What about you? Did you see your family?”
“Nah, I decided to stay here.” Liam paused and licked his lips, seeming to debate about whether to say more. “My dad passed away a few years ago. Heart attack. My younger brothers live close to my mom, so they all got together for Thanksgiving. I texted with my brothers and had a brief call with my mom.”
A grunt left me. I’d totally forgotten about Todd and Louis. They’d been annoyances when we’d hung out at Liam’s house. Louis was six years younger than Liam and had always tried to tag along. Todd was three years younger and had his own friends to play with.
“I’m sorry to hear about your dad.”
Liam lifted one shoulder. “It was sad, but we were never close.”
His words weren’t that surprising. Liam’s dad had always struck me as being cold and distant toward his family, as if he hadn’t wanted to be bothered by his kids and wife. They were just achievements on a list he’d checked off and then moved on. I had to wonder, though, if Liam’s relationship with his father had gotten worse after that stupid kiss incident.
All the same, I didn’t like the idea of him being alone on Thanksgiving. Especially since this was his first holiday in the city.
“I wish I’d known. I would have dragged you with me to Declan’s. There was way too much food. More than enough to include you.”
“Thanks, but unnecessary. It was my first Thanksgiving with no need to rush around. Kind of nice. Plus, a friend from work is having me over on Sunday for a Friendsgiving.”
“Cool. Cool.” I stepped back and inspected my half of the pizza. It was a cheese-covered, pepperoni, green pepper, mushroom, and bacon masterpiece. His half didn’t seem too different from my own. He’d gone with banana peppers instead of green peppers and steak slices instead of bacon.
“Done?” he asked as he wiped his hands on a dish towel.
“Yep. Looks delicious.”
I slid the pizza into the oven, because I was closest to the appliance, while he opened the bottle of wine to breathe. Beers would have been a smarter choice, but I suspected the wine would still be tasty with the rich red sauce.
With dinner cooking, we moved to the living room, where we ran several races on Gran Turismo and Need for Speed. The nostalgia was so thick in the room I half expected to look up to see a twelve-year-old Liam sitting next to me. This had been our weekends, our summers, our after-school exploits. Pizza, junk food, video games, riding bikes, and just being reckless terrors any way we could. He had been my best friend. The one constant in my life at a time when my parents were always busy with travel and work. And, of course, I’d had no interest in being anywhere near my extended family, which strangely consisted of way too many female cousins.
The evening flew by. The timer went off for the pizza. We loaded up plates and glasses of wine before heading in for more video games. He kicked my ass at Madden. I beat him at Gran Turismo, but he beat me at Need for Speed.
“Okay, I think this night needs an upgrade.” Liam wiped his hands and went to a bookshelf that was all video games. This man wasn’t a gamer. He was a collector. He had games and systems from the early nineties all the way to the present. With a wicked smirk, he held up a narrow, slim box, wringing a deep groan out of me.
“No! You’re trying to start a fight.”
“I’m not. We’re adults now. I feel like we can play this without throwing controllers.”
Even as he put Mario Kart into the new Nintendo Switch, I had my doubts about our ability to remain mature. Out of all the racing games, it was the least realistic but the most fun. We always argued over who got to be Wario, and we stuck by the agreement that the person who lost the race had to be Princess Peach in the next round.