Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Gunnar scoffs. “Think what you want, but you’re living in a tiny little box created by the nuances of societal expectation. I live without boundaries.”
“I am not conventional,” I protest. Ace Kelly is a fucking wonder. A visionary. A man with his own drum. Just ask anyone other than this fucker. I don’t know what the hell he thinks he’s talking about.
“Please. What have you done since the moment you realized you’re in love with Julia? What are you doing right now? You’re not throwing the party. I am.”
I shake my head, aggravated. “Never mind. Just…invite whoever you want and get fucking chaotic, for the love of God. Julia’s on her way over here now expecting you to be flashing the neighbors with a porn star’s twig and berries or some shit.”
Gunnar laughs, shrugging. “Suit yourself.”
Shoving past me, he heads for the living room and starts pushing furniture out of the way piece by piece. I stand and watch, my hands on my hips and my heart in my throat. He opens the glass expanse back doors to the patio and turns on the string lights my mom hung as soon as they moved back into the city last summer.
For years, we lived in Jersey while my parents worked in New York, just so we could be in the same neighborhood as the Brookses. But with me going off to college at Dickson and Gunnar fucking disappearing to the city all the time anyway, they decided to stop phoning it in as commuters and take the plunge back into city life.
They changed our Short Hills estate into some kind of investment property that does luxury vacation rentals and Hollywood film sets and relocated to our penthouse in Manhattan. I won’t deny it’s a pretty bougie version of “city life” in this mega-penthouse, but it’s still the city. And with all the New York debauchery at his fingertips, who the hell knows what Gunnar is going to have showing up here in the next few minutes.
Gunnar passes by me on his way to the front door, and I pivot like a flag in the wind. “You ever seen a peg-legged stripper before?” he asks.
“What?”
“A peg-legged stripper. She’s got a leg that’s a peg.”
“Jesus, Gunnar. You’re fourteen. How have you seen a peg-legged stripper?”
He rolls his eyes. “Little tiny box, bro. Little tiny box.”
“I’m starting to think I’m okay with my box,” I say, my voice escalating as he disappears into the hallway. “If the outside looks like whatever fresh hell you’re living in,” I finish on a mumble.
Moments later, he’s back, with a cooler and two strong guys wheeling a hand truck full of liquor. My eyes bulge. “What the hell?”
“Don’t worry,” my underage brother says. “The kegs will be here in five minutes max.”
“The kegs?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Ace. The kegs. How else do you think we’re going to have enough supply for a thousand people?”
I gulp. “A thousand people?”
“What’s with the shock-and-awe act?” he asks, getting frustrated with me. “You told me to throw a party. A rager. To create chaos, did you not? What did you expect? A group of old ladies knitting?”
“No. Fuck. I just didn’t think you’d invite our fucking dentist.”
He laughs. “Dr. Bunnfield can get down.”
“God help the profession of dentistry. God help us all.”
Our elevator dings open, and an onslaught of girls in tiny dresses disembarks, right into the apartment like it’s their own. They give Gunnar air kisses on the cheek, promptly steal cans of wine spritzers from the coolers the two hulky guys are loading and retreat to the patio. Within three minutes, two more cartfuls arrive, and the noise level in our previously quiet penthouse ticks up ten decibels.
When a fifth cart of people shows up and makes themselves at home, I finally find Gunnar again and ask another question. “How are all these people just getting up here without you escorting them?”
“I gave out the elevator code in the text.”
“You… Did you set a new one?”
He laughs. “No. I just gave the code.”
“Fuck me, Gunnar.” A deep sigh escapes my lungs. “Mom and Dad are going to kill us.”
“You. They’re going to kill you. Because one, I don’t care enough to be killed. And two, you’re the catalyst for this little soiree. I was happy watching my doc about the space station.” He shrugs. “Just think, if you’d just had the balls to tell Julia you didn’t want her on some date with some other dude, you could have avoided all this trouble.”
“Screw you.”
Gunnar laughs and wiggles his fingers. “Toodle-oo! Have a good night!”
“Toodle-oo? Toodle-oo? Where the hell are you going? Gunnar? Gunnar!” I yell as he officially disappears.
I am so, so fucked.
Within ten minutes, the entire 12,000 square feet of living space of my parents’ Central-Park-adjacent penthouse is teeming with people. People I know, people I don’t, and people I’m fairly certain found their way in off the street.