Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
“Definitely.” When I took a better look at him, I saw the wariness in his gaze. “You nervous?”
“Maybe a little.” And I got it because his transcripts mattered if he wanted to get into the PT program.
“Give me a few minutes to log out, make us some sandwiches, and then I’ll quiz you while we’re stuffing our faces.” We’d texted earlier and decided to save money by eating in since we’d gone to the grocery store the day before.
“Sounds perfect,” Elliot said, glancing at my laptop. “What are you working on, anyway?”
“This thing I created for my class project. I’m hoping it becomes a reality someday.”
“What do you mean?” He opened the fridge to retrieve an apple.
“It’s an app for neurodivergence and other disabilities, where like-minded people can find each other to either date or just become friends.” When I glanced at him, he was staring at me with widened eyes. “What?”
“That’s amazing. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“The idea was just taking shape, and I didn’t know if it was gonna fly,” I explained. “I obviously have my own experiences to rely on, and no doubt others do too, so I just thought…”
“That you could help make it a bit easier for someone else. Between this and what you’re doing on social media, I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be.” I waved him off. “I’m just trying to navigate through life like everyone else. I don’t need anyone to think I’m some sort of inspiration.”
“I get that hearing that word hits some hot-button issue and that it can feel like fetishization for people with disabilities. And yes, I read that on one of your Insta posts,” he said, and I loved that he was always learning and so attuned to me. I fucking appreciated it so much. “But I’m not talking about that part of you. Even before you got your diagnosis, you were always a good person. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have stuck around.”
“Like a thorn in my side?” I quipped. He was getting my heart all achy, so using humor helped.
“You brat. You like me having my hooks in you.” He stuck out his tongue like a six-year-old. “I mean, even when I’ve messed up, you didn’t kick me to the curb.”
“Like when you dated that douche in high school who hated me?”
“Especially then.” He nodded. “And I think he was just jealous of our friendship. I should’ve dropped him way earlier, but I guess the sex was good.”
“Gross,” I replied tongue-in-cheek just to mess with him. I couldn’t fault him, though. It was hard enough coming out in a conservative-leaning town and then finding someone who might want to date you. Yeah, I got it. Only too well. That was why the idea of Dawson had been so appealing to me. Sometimes I’d catch him staring at me, and it made my stomach all fluttery. I was too young and dumb to see he was probably just leading me on, likely confused about his own sexuality, and it sure seemed like the asshat was still in the closet. It would’ve helped so much if we’d just talked it through, but instead, he pretended it never happened and that I didn’t even exist. It sucked big-time. Especially since he was my brother’s best friend and I couldn’t say a word. Well, I could, but I wasn’t going to make the situation even worse.
I closed my laptop, then stood to pull out the bread and turkey while he got himself situated at the table to study.
“American or provolone?” I asked, pulling out the mayo too.
“Either. I’m starving.”
“Okay, I’ll do both.” I piled the lunch meat on his sandwich. “So tell me what you’re being tested on.”
He gave me the highlights while I finished making our food, then slid his plate toward him as I sat across the table. “Okay, ready to quiz you.”
He set a study guide in front of me, and I looked it over as he bit into the sandwich and moaned. “This is so good. I might just have to keep you.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You already made me live with you, so—”
“I know it’s been such a hardship,” he said around another bite. “Being forced to make me sandwiches. I bring home the bacon, and you fry it up in a pan.”
I made a face. “What the hell does that mean?”
He laughed. “It’s from some old commercial my mom used to sing.”
“So you’ll hunt and I’ll gather?” I teased. “Like some caveman? I could actually live with that if I can work on my computer all day.”
“You’d totally be down for that,” he said with a smile.
We ate and studied, and I made him answer extra questions until I thought he got the concepts down. Then we retired to my room to watch one of our shows, which hadn’t happened all week.