Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
“Oh, hush,” she laughs, rolling her eyes as she settles back in front of the cookie batter. “You have homework to do. There will be plenty of time to dream about silly boys when you’re older, but for now, you need to focus on geography.”
I groan and roll my eyes before settling back at the kitchen island, but the knowledge of having the most gorgeous dark-haired boy currently moving old furniture around in my garage makes it almost impossible to concentrate.
For every word I manage to scrawl on my homework sheet, there are two loud thumps coming from the garage, and after thirty minutes of forcing myself to focus, the loud thumps morph into guitar riffs.
“Oh,” Mom says, arching her brows as she slides the cookies into the oven. “They’re not bad.”
I won’t lie, she’s right. The boys sound good together. I can immediately tell the difference between Axel’s and Ezra’s playing. I’ve been forced to listen to enough hours of Axel practicing to recognize his style on the guitar. He plays sharp and to the point like he’s reading sheet music and refuses to mess it up. He’s incredible, but Ezra’s style seems more relaxed. Wild and reckless somehow. It’s as though the sheet music just flew out the window, and he’s putting his own spin on it. It’s hypnotic, and while they each sound amazing on their own, together it’s mesmerizing.
God, what I wouldn’t give to go peek into the garage and get just a little glimpse of Ezra working that guitar.
My homework is quickly replaced by endless minutes of daydreaming about dark-haired boys wearing muscle tanks and hypnotizing smirks, wondering just what it’d feel like to be the object of their attention.
The front door opens, and the sound of Dad’s clattering keys pulls me from my daydream. “Why does my garage look like a scene out of a teen movie?” Dad asks, striding into the kitchen and placing a hand on Mom’s lower back, making her stiffen. He leans in and drops a swift kiss to her lips before hastily pulling away.
Mom laughs, but there’s an odd strain to her tone. “Axel’s serious about this whole wanting to be a rockstar thing,” she explains. “He met a new friend at school, and the two of them wanted to turn the garage into a practice space.”
“And I suppose I should just start parking on the curb? How about across the lawn? Hell, maybe I could just drive straight through the front window and park in the dining room instead.”
Mom smirks as she drops her gaze to the table, keeping her hands busy. “Oh, relax. I’ll tell the boys to pack it up just before dinner and then you can reclaim the garage. Besides, we’ve been talking about cleaning out the garage for months, and now the boys have done it for us. It’s a win, Michael. You’ve gotta take them as they come.”
Dad groans and leans back against the kitchen counter, crossing his foot over the other before swiftly glancing toward the oven. “Your cookies are burning.”
“What?” Mom’s eyes widen in horror. Her pottery is her career, but baking is her passion. She darts around Dad, scooping the oven mitts off the bench and flying toward the oven. She pulls them out, and as always, her cookies are absolutely mouthwatering perfection.
She glares at my father, and all he can do is laugh as he traipses past me, all but ignoring me here before taking off to do whatever it is that fathers like to do with their evenings.
Mom leaves the cookies to cool, and I can’t help but steal one as I finish off what’s left of my homework. Just as I start packing my books back into my school bag, Mom comes to me with a plate piled high with chocolate chip cookies. “Here,” she says. “You should take these in for the boys. They’ve been practicing non-stop. They need a moment of silence for their brains to stop shaking inside their skulls.”
A wave of nervousness comes over me, but I can’t help but jump at the opportunity. After grabbing the plate of cookies, I hurry to the garage door and find myself hovering, my hands shaking at just the thought of walking in there and seeing Ezra again.
That’s ridiculous, right? I only just met the guy, not to mention, our interaction lasted less than two minutes. I shouldn’t be so infatuated with him like this, but I can’t help it. I suppose I really can’t be blamed. It’s human nature.
Gathering what little courage I have, I open the door and stride into the garage with my head held high. The boys are in the middle of a set, and as they play, Ezra looks up and smiles at me, knocking the breath right out of my lungs.