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I’m not sure I ended up holding hands with a hockey player.
HOW. A typo already?
“We’ve been drinking,” Nash says against my lips, kissing me softly again. “I like you, Vi, and I don’t want to fuck this up.”
Well at least there's that
Signaling, I shoulder-check and exit the parking lot,
I forgot how much she mentions shoulder-checking un her books. I'll probably start a tally with this one lol
If I’d done stuff like that growing up, my dad would have beat my ass. Literally.
The abusive parent trope has arrived.
reaching for his stainless Grizzlies water bottle.
Everything they own is Grizzlies branded?
How did we end up strangers? Sometimes I still don’t know.
Crisp autumn fall air
Autumn fall... Huh
Wait. Pink tape? No. Hell no.
Really? We're supposed to love this guy, but he's too "manly" for pink tape? *cue eye roll*
Bracing myself, I swipe to accept, clamping down on the overwhelming urge to address him by name. Antagonizing him will only make it worse, and it’s bad enough as it is. “Hi, Dad.” Doug Richards. Nationally renowned minor hockey coach, head of the prestigious minor hockey program at Copperhill Sports Academy, and world-class asshole. AKA, my father.
Just as i suspected. The overbearing, hard-ass, borderline abusive dad trope to explain emotional immaturity.
His voice is gruff, words slurring together slightly in a way that tells me he might have started to hit the bottle earlier than usual today.
Oh and also an alcoholic it seems
She signals and shoulder checks, pulling away from the curb.
2
“Of course, I did. It’s Nash. He’s my own personal brand of heroin.”
i cannot
shoulder check
3
shoulder-checking three times
4
shoulder-checking
5
