Best Frenemies Read Online Max Monroe

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Funny Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
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Me: Meh. My boyish charm is one of my strongest attributes, and I use the hose as a party trick. Got anything else to offer?

Thatch: Name your price, Macarena. I can’t get Gunnar myself, and I’ll be spraying a hose with you if Cassie finds out I didn’t get coverage. You’ve got my dick over a barrel, and you know it. Let’s just cut to the chase.

The thing is…I would get Gunnar home without payment anytime. I’m not a parent myself, but I know well enough from my older sister that childcare isn’t the kind of shit that falls off trees. But it’s not that often that I have something to leverage against my wealthy AF cousin, so I’m not going to waste the opportunity.

Me: Okay. I need you to get the ball rolling on some potential investors for me.

Thatch: Finally ready to take that little music project seriously, huh?

The little music project he’s talking about is actually a music foundation that I’ve been trying to get started for the past two years. Music education is always the first thing that goes when schools have to cut budgets, and this foundation will help avoid that tragic situation that I’ve seen occur far too many times. Especially in the under-resourced inner-city schools that are struggling for funding in the first place.

And since Thatch has a lot of money and he has a lot of friends with a lot of money—and I’ve had no luck raising funds on my own in the last two years—getting help from him seems like the absolute best place to get it.

Me: I’ve been taking it seriously. Money just doesn’t take an elementary school teacher seriously.

Thatch: Well, woof woof, dude. I mean, have you seen yourself? You look like a badly styled Matthew McConaughey.

Me: I don’t see what my unique sense of style has to do with getting funding for innocent kids.

Thatch: Jeez, fine. Turn down the Sarah McLachlan music, would you? I’ll help.

Me: And I’ll make sure Gunnar gets home today.

Thatch: You might dress like a clown, but you deserve to be the Mother Teresa of music education. I mean, I don’t think Mother Teresa wore Chuck Taylors and used to be the drummer in a band called Armpit, but the whole “help those in need” thing really fits.

I do love wearing Chucks, and I did, in fact, drum for a band called Armpit when I was a wild and crazy college kid at NYU. But while music is still in my blood, I’ve given up the live music scene. There’s something about having groupies and teaching elementary kids that doesn’t go well together.

Me: Armpit was kick-ass. Even you can’t deny that.

Thatch: Kick-ass? You were all right, but you were never gonna get anywhere with Butthole Billy as your lead singer.

He’s not wrong. Billy Lanser sounded a lot like Celine Dion if she had laryngitis and forgot how to sing on-key. But he had all the gig connections, and in our misguided youth, the rest of us just wanted to be onstage—even if Billy got us booed.

Me: Sometimes you’ve got to put some lipstick on a pig so you get an invitation into the barn.

Thatch: If this is your idea of poetry, you’d better stick to music. I’ll work on setting up a meeting just as long as you promise not to say any more dumb shit like that when we have it. These guys are billionaires, for fuck’s sake.

I click out of our text thread just as the subway rolls to a stop at 79th Street, and I slip my phone back into my pocket.

With a slight grimace thanks to a throbbing thigh, I adjust the gym bag on my shoulder and the drink carrier in my hand and head off the train. It’s only a short walk to the entrance doors of Calhoun Elementary, and once I’m inside, I aim straight for the front office. It’s my daily routine—one of the only things I actually plan rather than doing it on the fly—to check my mailbox for anything important while schmoozing the ladies who run this place before heading downstairs to the gymnasium’s locker rooms for a quick shower and change.

Betty and Carol, the nice secretaries who work the reception desk, and Mona, the school nurse, are gossiping behind the front counter when I walk through the door, and their faces light up with smiles the moment they see me.

“Morning, ladies,” I greet and flash a wink as I hand them their regular Starbucks orders I always pick up on my way in on Friday mornings because I’m smart.

I help them get their daily caffeine fixes, and they help me with things like organizing field trips, contacting parents, and sick kids. All three of which are pretty much the bane of my existence.

“You’re a lifesaver, Mack,” Betty chirps and greedily takes her caramel macchiato from my hands.



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