Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
In reality, interrupting is one of the most common characteristics of ADHD. We have impulse control issues, so if we connect with something in a discussion, we insert it without much thought about anything else, like waiting until the other person is done speaking. Also, we’ve learned time after time that we’ll most likely forget what we were going to say, so we blurt things to just put them out there in the dialogue.
And the one-up thing? Same thing. People with ADHD try desperately to pay attention to what their friends are saying, and we want that person to feel heard and validated. The way a lot of us try to show that is by telling them about something that happened to us as well, so they know they’re not alone and that their situation is relatable.
But if we’re unfortunate enough to be chosen as someone’s completely silent shoulder to cry on or only all-ears for them to vent to when they’re pissed… we can easily be made to seem like a rude asshole, when really, we’re just trying to make them feel better about what they’re going through.
“So… learning that from experience—my truck being seen as a haven for a sub and not just a way to keep myself safe—I decided to… take up a new hobby. A project, more like it. And you’re actually the first person to get to see it completed.”
With this, I hear a click, my head jerking to the side as the interior of the Hummer starts to convert into something else entirely.
My eyes widen and my mouth drops open as I take in what it has to be like inside Bumblebee or some other Transformer’s vehicle disguise as they twist and turn into their alien robot counterpart. The nerd in me is delighted as I watch black screens lower from slim wooden boxes along the ceiling, staying so close to the doors, hatch, and windshield that barely an inch of space seems to close in around us. I hear another click, and I can see this time that it’s a remote in his hand. My body instinctively rocks toward him on my knees before I catch myself when he sits up straight, leaning closer to me, as the two front seats fold forward and sink until the rest of the interior is a flat surface like the back.
And as if all that wasn’t startling enough, his phone has magically appeared in his hand, and suddenly we’re no longer in a Hummer, nor a blacked-out playroom on wheels. No, instead, we’re under water, deep in the ocean, schools of fish swimming past us as the sun far above our heads makes swirls in their wake. It’s all enhanced and submerses you so deeply in the image surrounding you as the noise of lapping liquid comes from a sound system you can literally feel vibrating the tiny hairs on your body.
A shocked laugh escapes me, and I face him once again to tell him how freaking cool this is. But the words halt in my throat as, right then, the shimmering lights glint off something to the right and left of—but just a bit lower than—his sunglasses-covered eyes, drawing my attention to his ears.
Silver hoops—three in one ear, two in the other.
And while I counted the tiny pieces of jewelry in his lobes, my eyes had narrowed, but as realization fills my mind, I’m sure they go comically wide. A gasp fills my lungs so quickly, so sharply, that I start to cough, because of course I choke on my own spit in front of not only Gym Daddy…
But who I now recognize is Dumpster Daddy.
I shake my head and wave my hand between us when he starts to reach for me, most likely to pat me on the back, and he stops. I’m embarrassed and confused enough already. I don’t want to ruin this even more by having the first time he really touches me be to dislodge saliva that went down the wrong pipe.
With my eyes watering, and when I can finally take a deep breath, I use the fresh oxygen to croak out, “It’s you!”
When his expression doesn’t change, I think maybe he doesn’t recognize me, even though that night I wasn’t wearing a mask and a hat like he was, nothing that would hide any of my traits that could be easily spotted in pictures.
So I word-vomit something I had been purposely avoiding talking about because I wasn’t ready for him to know my exact level of craziness. I at least had to try to seduce him with my awkwardness first. “You’re Dumpster Daddy!”
I shake my head at myself—Idiot.
“I mean, you’re the hottie who rescued me from the dumpster a few weekends ago. How…?” I shake my head. “Did I look like such a hot mess that night that you didn’t recognize me at the gym this morning? Heck, not even in any of my pictures?” I question, my brows furrowing.