Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 82(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 82(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Then the twins show up, the only ones I've been avoiding ever since I heard one of them yell how he would gain a hundred thousand followers if people found out who he was partying on the weekend with.
Jake and James barrel out of the house. They spot me and freeze.
"Holy shit," one of them breathes. "That's him."
"Language," three different adults say at once.
"Sorry. Holy crap. You're Heath Donovan."
"Guilty."
They're identical, these two, but Jake's wearing a jersey—not mine, but my teammate's—and James has a phone already halfway to my face.
"Dude, can we ask you some stuff? Like, that catch against Denver last season? The one where you basically climbed that safety's back?"
"That wasn't as hard as it looked on TV."
"Bullshit," Jake says, then glances around at the adults. "I mean, bull. That thing was impossible. You were like thirty feet in the air."
"More like eight. Felt like thirty though."
James is holding his phone up, thumb hovering over the screen. "Guys, you are not going to believe who's here. This is insane—"
"No." Harriet's voice cuts across the table. "Put it away and stop embarrassing us."
"Come on, Harriet, this is—"
"He's here as family, not content. Phone down or I'll lock those up until Sunday."
Gram backs her up without looking up from her lasagna. "You heard her. Put it away before I throw it in the lake. You ever film Heath secretly and you answer to me. And by answer, I mean I'll toss that ugly-looking game thing you attached to my TV. Or I'll probably just set it on fire. Will depend on my mood."
The boys deflate, but they rally quick. "Okay, but can we get some photos? Just regular ones? We won't post it this week. Just once we're back home."
I nod, and they're off their chairs in a heartbeat, crowding around me with the phone. They take about fifteen shots from different angles, and spend the next ten minutes hunched over the screen, arguing.
"This one makes my face look weird."
"Your face always looks weird. We're twins."
"You look weird too then."
"Yeah, but less weird than you in this one."
"That's not even logically possible."
They drift away eventually, still debating, disappearing toward the house, all while munching on nachos.
The adults settle back into comfortable conversation, voices mixing with the sound of water lapping at the dock.
The light starts to fade, purple creeping in around the edges of the sky. Gram and Juliet migrate to the porch, still bickering about something—whose fault it is that the mosquitoes are so bad this year. Alvin and Janine start clearing plates, along with the twins' parents, waving off offers of help.
And then it's just Harriet and me and the dying fire.
She's kicked off her flip-flops, that shirt still sliding off her shoulder every time she moves. The firelight catches in her hair, throws shadows across her face that make her look like something from a dream.
"Remember the summer of the great cookie heist?" she says suddenly.
I laugh, the memory hitting me full force. "The tin of sewing supplies."
"We were so careful. Waited until Gram went into town, picked the lock on the pantry—"
"You picked the lock. I just provided moral support and bad advice."
"And we finally got that stupid tin open and it was just spools of thread and needles. Not even good thread."
"The disappointment was crushing. I think I laid on the kitchen floor for ten minutes."
"You were so dramatic." She's grinning now, unselfconscious, the guarded thing from earlier completely gone. "I was the one who had to explain to Gram why her sewing supplies were scattered all over the counter."
"And she made us organize the whole pantry as punishment."
"Worth it, though. We found that stash of chocolate bars behind the flour."
"Which she definitely knew about and was saving for us to find."
The conversation slides into other memories, easy as breathing. The summer I found her the job at the bookstore in town when she wanted to save up for a new computer.
"You've always looked out for me every summer," Harriet says softly.
"Looking out for you was never a chore."
The whole world slides to a stop around us, and my self-control cracks, a rush of deep, intense longing rushing through the gap.
"What about the rain swim?" I ask, and her eyes go wide. "Remember that?
"Oh God, don't."
"Come on. That was legendary."
"That was stupid. We could have been struck by lightning."
"But we weren't. We were eighteen and invincible and it wouldn't stop raining." The memory sits heavy between us—cold water and wet clothes and fabric clinging to every curve. "Gram nearly killed us when we came back soaked."
"'Nearly' is generous. I thought she was going to make us sleep in the garage."
"Would have been worth it."
Her gaze drops to my mouth. Just for a second, a flick of her eyes, but I catch it and everything in me goes taut. My cock strains against my pants. I'm so fucking hard to the point of pain.