Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
And when I got home, I ghosted the therapist. Fuck that guy.
“Yeah, that was a bad one, sorry,” she said. “Hope they got the stains out of the tablecloth. But this doesn’t involve blood, I promise. It doesn’t even involve talking on the phone!”
I switched the call to Bluetooth and backed out of the garage. “What does it involve?”
“Doing me a favor.”
“I’m listening.”
“Okay, but before I tell you what it is, you have to promise to at least consider what I have to say.”
“You’re not really nailing this sales pitch, MacAllister.” I headed down the driveway, which wound its way through birch and evergreens and sloped down the hillside toward the highway.
“Sorry, let me try again.” She cleared her throat. “Hey, Hutton! How are you?”
I smiled. “Okay, considering I’m on the phone.”
“Did you run in the park this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Were the Prancin’ Grannies out and about?”
“In full force. They just got matching T-shirts, which they were very excited to show me.”
Felicity laughed. “Oh yeah? What color?”
“I’d call it Pepto Bismol Pink. And they’re bedazzled—which is a new word I learned today.”
“I’m sure that addition to your vocabulary will come in handy in your line of work. So what are you up to?”
“I’m going over to my sister’s house to watch the kids so she can get a haircut. Neil is working today.” Allie’s husband was a cop who worked twelve-hour shifts. I’d offered him a job working security for HFX, but neither he nor my sister had wanted to move—their oldest was in elementary school, my sister was a child therapist with a growing practice, and my parents lived right around the block.
“That sounds like fun.” Felicity paused. “What about tonight? Do you have plans?”
“Why?” I asked, even though I had a hunch about what was coming.
“Because I’m going somewhere really fun, and I was thinking maybe you’d like to go with me!” she said with exaggerated excitement.
“You’re not talking about the reunion, are you?”
“There will be food and drinks and music,” she went on, like I hadn’t spoken, “lots of people we haven’t seen in ten years—”
“I’d gladly go another ten without seeing ninety-nine-point-nine percent of them.”
“—and I’m making zucchini fritters!”
“Felicity, you already asked me if I’d go to this thing, and I said sorry, but no.”
“Don’t you like zucchini?”
“I like zucchini just fine. But I didn’t like high school that much, I don’t like social events at all, and the thought of having to make small talk with any of those people makes me want to eat rat poison.”
She sighed. “Yeah. I know.”
“Also, I have other plans tonight.”
“What are you doing?”
“I promised my dad I’d come to his barbershop quartet poker night.”
“That’s social,” she objected.
“It’s slightly social, and I don’t really want to do it,” I said, easing onto the highway toward town. “But there will only be four old guys there, and we’ll be occupied with the card game. There will be snacks and beer, but no small talk. Minimal eye contact. No one asking for selfies. No prancing grannies. Possibly I’ll have to endure some old-timey four-part harmonies, and I’ll definitely be subjected to a lot of dad jokes, but I’ll live.”
“I love that your dad is actually a barber in a barbershop quartet.”
“The Clipper Cuts are available for wakes, weddings, and everything in between. They will meet all your entertainment needs.”
Felicity laughed. “Well, while you’re enjoying the snacks and harmonies, spare a thought for me trying to survive high school again, this time alone.”
“Just skip it, Felicity.” Avoidance was my specialty.
“I can’t,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m catering some appetizers and it will be a good business opportunity. Plus, I might have to do some damage control.” She got all worked up telling me about a bad review she’d gotten this morning on some app. “And it’s all lies! That bride raved about everything all night.”
“Want me to buy the app and shut it down?”
She gasped. “Oh my God, can you? No, wait. Don’t do that—it’s a really helpful thing for a lot of people and businesses. Just not for me at the moment.”
“Your business is going to be fine,” I told her. “But I know how it feels to have people talking shit about you, and I’m sorry.” There were endless rumors about me out there—I was a cold-hearted robot (not really), I was an arrogant prick (occasionally), I was an undercover Robinhood who stole from the rich and gave to the poor (half-true), I was a commitment-phobic player (I guess also half-true . . . I avoided commitment, but I wasn’t a dick), I was shy and reserved in public but dominant and controlling in the bedroom.
Actually, that one I liked.
“Does that mean you’ll come with me tonight?” she asked hopefully.
“No. But if there are any leftover zucchini fritters, bring them over tomorrow. You can tell me how it went.”