Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
As entertaining as it is to watch Banks act like a child, it’s also fun to watch Mom ruffle Dad’s hair like they’re teenagers as he riles up their youngest son.
Their relationship has always been goals for me. They’ve been married almost forty years and act like they started dating six months ago. Together, they raised six kids, ran a business, and bought all the houses on the road for their children. Sure, they’d fight every now and then, but they’d make sure we saw them fix their problems too.
That’s probably why I’ve never been engaged. I’ve never met someone who I could see myself going to all that trouble with for forty damn years. The only girl I’ve ever even considered going the distance with doesn’t see herself going the distance with me.
Because that’s how life works.
You never get what you want.
“You don’t understand art,” Banks shouts over his shoulder as he starts back to his house.
“Get it out of here by dawn,” I shout back.
He flips me off.
“Good luck with this,” Dad says, chuckling as he pulls away from the curb.
I storm back into my house, Moss following closely.
“Our parents have one fatal flaw,” I say.
“What’s that?” Moss asks, shutting the door behind him.
“They didn’t know when to stop having kids.” I stop at my shoe rack and grab my sneakers. “Think about it. What if the boys stopped with Maddox, and then they got Paige?”
“We’d be bored.”
I consider that and shrug. “Why are you still here, anyway? Where’s Brooke?”
“She took her grandma dinner. Honey was supposed to come over tonight but had an upset stomach, so Brooke took a plate over to her.”
I head into the kitchen. “Did you already eat then? I’m going to La Pachanga to give Banks time to get that fucking thing out of here.”
“Yeah. I got off early tonight, so I came home and made dinner for Brooke.”
I roll my eyes.
“What? Why should she have to come home and make dinner every night?” he asks.
I shrug. “She shouldn’t. It’s just funny seeing you so owned by her.”
“Trust me, it’s worth it. It’s so damn worth it.” He hops onto the counter. “So what’s this you getting shut down stuff Banks was talking about?”
I look at my phone and scroll through my text messages so Moss doesn’t see my smile.
“Nothing,” I say. “We ran into Pippa Plum yesterday at Shade House.”
He whistles through his teeth.
You have no idea. I slide my phone in my pocket. “Go with me to grab dinner. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“And tell me about Pippa?”
I turn toward the door. “Sure. Why not?”
I might as well talk about her. I sure as hell can’t stop thinking about her.
7
PIPPA
“This is perfect,” I tell the hostess. “Thank you.”
Beachfront Boulevard is below us in its full Friday night glory as Kerissa and I take our seats. La Pachanga’s rooftop patio is the place to be in Kismet Beach on the weekends. It’s tucked in an older building with poor outside lighting. That might seem sketchy. But tourists never seem to find the hidden gem, which makes the locals flock to it in droves.
“What can I get you two?” Jenny asks. “We’re slammed tonight, obviously. If I’m a little slow, forgive me. Please.”
I laugh. “Coming from a person who used to wait tables and flirted with entirely too many nervous breakdowns in the storage room, I already forgive you.”
“Yeah, we have nowhere to be,” Kerissa says. “If you need to pass us to take care of someone else, we’re good.”
Jenny’s shoulders fall. “You’re a godsend. What can I get you guys to drink?”
“I’ll have a coconut lime margarita,” I say immediately, having already made this decision on the way home from work.
Kerissa’s eyes go wide. “Well, on that note, I’m having water.”
“Water? Come on. We’re drinking. I’ve had a hell of a day, and I need you to drink with me. Solidarity tequila. You know how it works.”
“The last time we had solidarity tequila, I woke up with a tattoo, your belly button was pierced, and the only way we know who did it was because there was a receipt in your pocket,” Kerissa says.
Jenny giggles.
“Oh, okay,” I say. “We’re just going to forget about you accidentally going live on Social while having a conversation with the bartender about which alcohol makes you the horniest?”
She gasps. “Hey, he went home with me that night and tested my theory that whiskey makes me frisky. I regret nothing. Not a damn thing.”
I snort.
“So a marg and a water?” Jenny asks.
“No, two margs,” I say.
Kerissa lifts a brow. “I’m just having iced water.”
“Can I add an extra shot of tequila in my margarita?” I ask, laughing. “That sounds like a country song. Could be a Kenny Chesney hit, I think.”
“Will you stop it?” Kerissa says, laughing too. “I don’t think you need an extra shot tonight. Good grief.”