Eight Days a Week by Amber L. Johnson Read Free Book Online

voice amplified over my speakerphone while I picked up some clothes off the floor before Ian and Xander showed up.
    “Don’t sound so patronizing. It’s not even about the kids. It’s about tomorrow. We’ll be at the Black Hole around nine. Do you have a boyfriend? You can bring him.”
    “I’ll see.” She paused and then let out a sigh. “You could have sent that in a text. But you called, so can I assume there’s something else?”
    Transparent. That was me. “Fine. I need to ask you what to do with Bree. She was up in her room packing for the weekend, and she was dancing in her mirror. Hair brush as a microphone, full-on Beyonce-ass-shaking and singing.”
    “And you’re worried?”
    “No. I want to figure out how to get her involved in something where she can use it.”
    “Get her to join choir.”
    “I meant something that would still let her have dates in high school.”
    “You’re a complete ass. Choir girls can be cute, too.”
    I chuckled.  
    “You know what?” she said. “You’re on your own with this one. Figure things out by yourself. I have faith in you.”
    “Oh, so the momma chicken is pushing her baby chick out of the coop?”
    Silence.
    “I mean . . . you’re not a chicken.”
    Nothing.
    “You are not a farm animal.”
    “Drop it before I come over and kill you with a tire iron.”  
    We disconnected just before there was a sharp knock on my door. Xander was peering through the screen and holding a bag full of beer.
    It could only have been better if it’d been Gwen in a nightie standing out there. With the beer, of course.
    Before I could close the door behind Xander, Ian was pushing his way in with three large pizzas in his hand. He looked around in confusion. “Where’s your pizza?”  
    Xander and I stared at him, and he laughed.  
    “Just kidding. I’m not a beast.”
    Twenty minutes into The Hangover III and I was on my fifth beer. Xander was pacing himself, claiming he had plans later after he left.
    “You do?” I raised my eyebrows. “Like what, a date? Why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”
    Ian looked over at him, a wide smile on his face.
    Xander shook his head and took another pull off his beer. “You never asked.”
    “What’s her name? Do I know her?” I paused the movie, a shit-eating grin plastered on my face.
    He looked away and pursed his lips. “I really don’t think you do know her.”
    I swiveled my head toward Ian. “Have you seen her at the bar?”
    He nodded. “She comes in sometimes. Cute girl.”
    “I need to meet her. How long have you been hooking up?” I ran my hand over my chest in thought. “Did you—”
    “We’ve been seeing each other off and on for about a year. Thanks for tuning in.”
    I whistled and opened another beer. “A year. That’s big.”
    The following silence was awkward, and I rolled my eyes. Everyone was always talking about how I didn’t take a vested interest in anyone, and now that I was curious about Xander’s life, he was acting like I’d called his mom a whore.
    Without another word, I pressed play and let the movie roll.
    When it was over, Xander dipped out first, still acting like he was on the rag, leaving me with Ian.
    Ian surveyed the living room, and his eyebrows shot up when he spotted my guitar case against the wall. “Do you play?”
    I nodded. “Since I was fourteen.”
    “Me, too.” He smiled.
    I waited.
    He waited.
    I caved. “Do you want to play it?”
    His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yes.”
    I walked over, picked it up off the floor, and handed it to him, then got my other one out of my room. It was old and worse for wear, but it was the one thing from my childhood I’d kept with me.
    He handled the guitar almost reverently, a wistful look on his face. “This is nicer than mine.” He began to strum and then picked up a melody, and I settled my old guitar in my lap.
    I tapped my foot in time, and we played for a while. He was better than I’d