Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“So, like, women competing to get some oiled-up hunk to choose them,” Ash says.
“Right.”
“Half-naked Gen Zers locked in a big house together trying to get laid.”
“Yes, but—”
“Hot women marrying some average dude they’ve never seen.”
“Ash, there is no bloody way I am doing that.”
He laughs. “Put your British manners away. Pretend you’re American.” When he sets his beer down again, I notice his shirt is misbuttoned. Ashkan Maleki can be counted on to be untied, unzipped, or otherwise disheveled at least fifty percent of the time. It’s endearing, but I have no idea how he survives in a room full of unfiltered six-year-olds every day. “Every job has downsides. We just have to keep at it.”
I met Ash when my daughter, Stevie, was in first grade and he took over her class halfway through the year. It also turned out we went to the same gym and kept running into each other. We immediately hit it off, but hanging out felt a little like secretly dating my kid’s teacher. Thankfully, when the school year ended, Stevie moved on to another grade and my friendship with Ash stuck.
“You love being a teacher,” I say.
“Most days. The kids are great,” he clarifies. “It’s their parents who are a mess.”
I give him a humorously dark look.
Ash grins as he pops a fry into his mouth. “Nah, you and Nat were fine. I got the usual kid gossip from Stevie but nothing too bad.” He leans in and lowers his voice. “You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff kids tell me. Some of these parents are nuts. I had one physically threaten me when their son lost the school spelling bee. They were worried about his academic career.”
“What career? He’s six.”
“The word was thwart.”
“I can barely spell that now.”
“Exactly.” His attention is drawn to the TV again when the crowd around us collectively curses at something happening in the game, and my work malaise returns.
When Natalia and I divorced eight years ago, we agreed on shared custody of our daughter. This means Stevie, now ten years old, spends the weekdays at her mum’s place and the weekends and most school holidays at mine. It’s usually not a problem, but because of this evening’s disaster meeting with Blaine, I missed my pickup window. At some point, I’d done the Southern California mental calculation of:
(time of day) x (motorway construction)It’s Friday
and told Nat to just carry on the evening without me.
She had to take Stevie to run errands and wouldn’t be home for a few hours. Now not only is my career in the toilet, I’m missing out on time with my favorite girl, too.
Restless, I glance around the bar, my eyes wandering back to the two women I saw earlier. One of them’s got her back to me, but the other, the one I made eye contact with shortly after I got here, is so gorgeous I can’t stop stealing looks at her. Petite and willowy, with inky black hair that gleams in the light above their table, she’s in a formfitting black dress, legs crossed and one thin, spiked heel resting on the leg of her barstool. Everything about her screams cool, which is an odd way for a grown man to describe another adult but it’s true. She’s animated while she speaks, making her friend laugh often. I should stop staring, but it’s nice to be distracted by a beautiful woman rather than obsessing about work.
If I were wired differently, maybe I’d walk over and see if we could distract each other somewhere else for the night. But I’m jerked from my daydreaming when Ash’s hand absently paws at my collar in reaction to something on the screen.
“What the— Ash.”
“Get it… Get it!” he shouts. His expression crashes. “Noooo.”
He slumps back into his chair.
“I just lost five bucks.” He reaches into his pocket for his phone.
“Five whole American dollars?” I ask, grinning. “You’d better watch that gambling habit.”
“I don’t know how she does it, but Ella is a shark and never loses.”
“You lost to your wife?”
He looks up from where he’s typing her a message. “I’m considering taking her to Vegas.”
“Definitely do it before the baby is born—pregnant ladies love smoky casinos.”
He ignores this and slides his phone onto the table. “Let’s get back to your job crisis so I can go home. I know this will hurt your do-gooder soul, but I think you need to bite the bullet and do the reality show Blaine wants. Spend the rest of the year making candy, or whatever he called it, and if it’s successful, you’ll have leverage to make what you want after that.”
I begin to protest, and he holds up a hand.
“I know you hate this. I know your work matters to you. Thanks to you I haven’t thrown away a gum wrapper or used a plastic water bottle in two years. I’m going to be using cloth diapers, man.”