Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Wearing a zippered hoodie over a pair of scrubs, Liz glances at my surfboard in the bed of the truck. “Right, he mentioned it last night. You didn’t wake me, though. I’ve got an early shift. He should be out in a minute.” She holds up a large tray wrapped in tinfoil. “This is for you. Since we never had that dinner.”
“Sorry about that.” I slide across the bench seat to take the tray from her and lift up the foil. The homemade pie inside smells terrific. “I’ve been slammed at work.”
“Hope you’re not allergic to cherry.”
I break off a piece of pie crust to pop in my mouth. Oh fuck, that is delicious. “What if I am?”
She grins. “Eat small bites.”
“Ready!” Riley comes jogging out of the house with the screen door snapping shut behind him. He’s lugging his board under his arm, with a backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Remember, you need to get some laundry done while I’m at work.” Liz moves to let Riley jump in the truck as I slide back to the driver’s side. “And taking some bleach to that bathtub wouldn’t hurt.”
“Yep, okay.” He pokes his head out the window to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Call you later.”
Smiling, Liz points a finger at me. “Don’t drown my nephew.”
I smile back. “I’ll do my best.”
Turns out Riley isn’t half bad on a board. He’s got good balance and a feel for the rhythm of the water but is just a little rough on technique. Unfortunately, the waves today aren’t much worth the effort. We sit on our boards out beyond the breakers, bobbing on the swells. Even when the surfing isn’t great, I’d still rather be out here than almost anywhere else.
“How’d you get better?” Riley asks as we watch the occasional intrepid rider attempt to paddle after a minor wave.
The sun at our back slowly climbs the sky, casting long orange streaks across the water. About a dozen other surfers float nearby, spread out, watching the undulating tide and hoping for something to crest.
“I just watched what the other guys did and tried to mimic them. But other than being on the water and getting tossed a lot, the thing that helped me the most was learning to control the board and my body.”
“Like how?”
“Well, I swiped a piece of scrap metal pipe from a construction site and put a two-by-four over it. Sort of like a skateboard, you know? And I’d spend hours balancing on it. Learning how to shift my weight to move around. It really helped engage those muscles and train my body.”
“So step one: theft. Got it.”
I grin at him. “See, this is how you get me in trouble.”
One zealous chick turns her board to shore and drives her arms through the water, paddling into position for what amounts to a gentle shove of a wave. Some assholes mockingly whistle after her.
“No worries,” Riley says. “You won Liz over a long time ago. I think she’s maybe got a little thing for you.”
I’d been getting that vibe too. The guy at Big Brothers had even warned that sort of thing wasn’t unheard of, but under no circumstances should I entertain the idea—if I was serious about helping my Little. Which isn’t to say Liz doesn’t have attractive qualities.
“Kind of got my hands full,” I tell him.
He eyes me knowingly. “That girl from the boardwalk the other day?”
“Genevieve. We go way back.”
Even saying her name gets my heart beating faster and fills me with anticipation. I think about her even a little, and I become impatient for the next time I can see her. I’d spent a year fighting a losing battle against this, driving myself crazy. Now she’s here, never more than a few minutes away, and I still barely see her for some reason that I’ve yet to understand.
“Do you like the guys your aunt dates?” I ask Riley.
He shrugs. “Sometimes. Really, she doesn’t get out much because she works all the time.”
“What’s her type?”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head, laughing at me. “Boring dudes, I guess. When she’s off work, she just wants to order takeout and watch movies. Relax, you know? I don’t think she’d tolerate anyone with too much energy, even if she thinks it seems like a good idea at first. I just want her to have someone nice.”
If I wasn’t sure it’d set Gen off, I might try and point Liz and that Harrison guy at each other. In another life, maybe.
“I think we ought to do something nice for your aunt,” I decide, forcing my brain to a change of topic. “Take her out to dinner or something.” Regardless of the skewed Nightingale syndrome emerging here, she’s a nice lady who does her best with limited resources. She should get some thanks for that.