Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Meanwhile, the longer I stayed in my mother’s orbit, the more I was subjected to cruel and unusual torture, like—
“Oh my god, that was so, so fun! And you drove the boat like, so, so well, Jonny!” a high-pitched voice behind me cried as I clomped up the dock from the boat to the marina. “You were giving us, like, serious, serious Christopher Columbus vibes. Am I right, ReaBae? And, like, it doesn’t even matter that we didn’t win the race thing, because, like, we totally had the prettiest, prettiest boat! I am so here for that cerulean blue you picked for the cushions, Patty!”
“I feel physically ill,” Reagan said in a low voice as he trudged along beside me. “I think it might be too much sun. Or possibly a bug I picked up.”
“That bug has a name, ReaBae,” I reminded him in a harsh whisper. “And it’s Dysen. One would think you’d remember it because it’s the name of a fucking vacuum cleaner. And since you were the one who invited Dysen to join us today, you’d better make a miraculous recovery in the next ten seconds because if you attempt to ditch me with her, I will murder you and post the pictures from the time Mother made you golf in plaid knickers all over social media. It’s bad enough Mother’s stuck me with Brantleigh.”
Regan sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I swear, Dysen seemed normal last week at Ashley’s party.”
“Pretty sure you were too impaired to make that determination.”
“I guess,” he admitted. “But, like… her dad’s a politician, so she knows what it’s like to have to deal with that. She’s not a local—she’s only in town because her mother wanted to do a family yoga cleanse out at the Retreat—so she doesn’t give a shit about rivalries and childhood nicknames. She’s thirty-one. Has a full-time job. Mother was thrilled to hear about her advantageous connections.” Reagan ticked these attributes off on his fingers. “And I thought dating someone older would be… different. Like she’d be a bit more mature. Looking for more than sex. Capable of having intelligent conversation on a variety of topics.”
“Reagan,” I said with exaggerated patience. “She’s an underwear model, man. Which doesn’t mean she’s not brilliant but also doesn’t scream ‘I enjoy intelligent conversation on a variety of topics.’ She makes Brantleigh look like a Rhodes scholar.”
Dysen’s voice drifted forward again. “And then I was like, ‘Okay, like, noooo, there is no way Fredrika Larsson deserves that Calvin Klein contract more than I do! Because my ass is sculpted.’ And I mean, like, it’s literally sculpted, Patty. By Dr. Nasim Kasman in Beverly Hills. And it looks like a… a… shoot, what do you call that thing a sculptor guy makes?”
“A… a sculpture?” Brantleigh sounded understandably confused.
“Yes!” Dysen cried. “Oh my god! You’re so, so smart, Brantleigh.” She paused for a second. “Are you sure you’re gay?”
Reagan made a haunted, whining noise, but I hardened my heart. I loved Reagan, and maybe the silver lining of these summer shenanigans was that I got to spend more time with him—he’d hung out with me at the Tavern three afternoons this week already—but he needed to grow up a little.
“Break it off,” I advised in a low voice as I pushed open the coded gate at the end of the dock and stepped out onto the boardwalk. “Today. Mother will get over her disappointment, just like she will when I finally convince her Brantleigh and I won’t be having spoiled, disgruntled babies together.”
“Okay.” Reagan nodded firmly. “I will.”
“So, like, where’s the after-party, hotties?” Dysen threw an arm around each of our shoulders.
“Oh, uh.” Reagan glanced at me, then took a deep breath. “The thing is, Dysen—”
“I do believe most of the young people are heading over to the Honeybridge Tavern,” my mother offered brightly from behind us. “A primitive sort of eatery, owned by those Honeycutts, and not our usual fare, but I’ve heard they have an adequate drinks menu. And isn’t it fun to soak up a bit of the rough-and-tumble local flavor?”
I turned my head. Even after a day on the water, my mother’s blonde hair was still firmly in place. Clearly, so was her attitude. “The whole Tavern is renovated and gorgeous. Reagan and I both thought so. You should come and see for yourself.”
“Oh, heavens no.” She let out an exaggerated yawn. “No, the Senator and I will be heading home to get our beauty sleep before golf tomorrow. But Reagan and Jonathan would love to take you and Brantleigh over, Dysen. Wouldn’t you, boys?”
Dysen must’ve been related to a Rockefeller for my mother to be pushing this connection so hard. If anyone else in Honeybridge had attempted to call her Patty to her face, she’d have razed the town.