Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“I don’t watch Law and Order anymore.”
The three of us slam the doors, making the car rock on its tires.
Jacob raises his hands. “Oh, sorry, man. My bad. What have you moved onto? Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Chicago Fire, New Amsterdam?”
“It’s fucking escapism.” I shove my hands into my pockets so I’m less tempted to punch his sarcastic ass. I love my older brother, but his know-it-all ways get tired fast.
“You shouldn’t need to escape your life,” he says, dropping his hand and sighing. “You’re in the prime of your life. You’re a fucking hockey player. Chicks are fucking falling all over you. The world is your oyster. You should be gulping it down.”
“I heard oysters taste like two-day-old spunk,” I say, desperate to move away from the chick talk.
“Who told you that?” Shawn, who generally stays out of these kinds of conversations, screws up his face like he deep throated a lemon.
“I can’t remember.”
He rubs his chin, frowning. “So, it was someone who’d tasted oysters and also happened to taste two-day-old spunk. I mean, how does someone even manage that? What were they doing? Licking their old jerk-off sock? Wringing out used condoms for the protein? Sucking unwashed dick two days after a cream pie?”
I gag at all those images. “I don’t fucking know, Shawn. Can we just get inside so we can get this over with?”
“Yay.” He throws up his arms. “Hayes is in the party mood.”
I grimace. “Just… let’s go.”
I follow Shawn and Jacob up the path and into the house. It smells like old cheese, stale beer, and morning breath inside. Just glancing at the carpet makes me wish I had some of those blue plastic shoes people wear when investigating a crime scene. Why do some frat houses have to be so disgusting?
There’s a keg in the corner, and Shawn heads straight there, gathering three red plastic cups almost overflowing with warm beer that I already know is going to taste like piss. I sip it anyway because I need something to take the edge off the pounding music and the sweating crowd.
I don’t know how it’s possible, but it smells worse than a locker room.
“There they are,” Malik says, throwing his arm around mine and Shawn’s shoulders and squeezing us hard enough to spill beer all over the floor. “The Drayton brothers are here to show us how it’s done.”
“You know how it’s done. Spit on it and stick it in.”
“Jesus, Shawn. You’re fucking disgusting,” I scowl.
Malik folds himself like a pretzel, he’s laughing so hard. “Maybe just stick to the lube, Hayes. You’re a big boy. The ladies will thank you for it.”
I pretend to laugh, but all I can think about is returning to the peace and quiet of my room and watching the next episode of my favorite show. Or working out some tension on the ice at our next game.
Shawn’s laughing, too, but I don’t miss how his gaze lingers on me for too long. We share a lot. We’re brothers. He and Jacob always talk about girls, but I never join in. They used to ask, and I used to tell them I’m not a kiss-and-tell kind of guy. They don’t ask anymore, but I think Shawn’s worked out that I’m not fucking around like they are. Even though I sometimes disappear after parties to throw them off the scent, I don’t think he’s convinced.
I love my brothers but telling them I’m still a virgin isn’t an option unless I want them to tease me to an early death. Seriously. If Jacob won’t let me live down my love of TV, imagine what he’d be like about my lack of experience with girls.
I sigh as my secret weighs on my shoulders enough to make me stoop. I scan the party, finding all the usual faces. There are girls in here who’ve attempted to talk to me, but I just can’t keep the conversation going with people whose only interest is finding out if I’m going to be entering the draft—code for are you going to be a rich fucker that I can latch onto—or, whether I like their dress slash hair slash nails. When God handed out the flirting manuals, he dropped mine into the ocean. Or he gave it to Jacob and Shawn. They’ve got enough game for all of us.
I watch Malik grab a girl around the waist and pull her close. In two seconds flat, she’s grinding on his thigh like a horny dog. I turn away, finding Shawn with his tongue down someone’s throat. Jacob’s already in the corner with his hand up a skirt. They don’t even bother finding rooms these days.
In less than ten minutes, I’m left standing on my own.
Fuck. I should have just stayed home tonight, but the one time I did that, Jacob got into a fight. He handled himself—the guy can throw down—but if anything serious had happened and I wasn’t there, I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself. So, now I’m stuck traipsing around after my brothers to shitty parties.