Off the Hook by Julie Olivia EPUB & PDF

Off the Hook by Julie Olivia EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online

• Status: Available for Free Download
• Author: Julie Olivia
• Language: English
• Genre: Romantic Comedy
• Format: PDF / EPUB
• Size: 2 MB
• Price: Free

An Awfully Big Adventure

Jasper
I STOPPED BELIEVING IN A NORMAL, uneventful life around four years ago.
Parenting a six-year-old boy who always plays pretend will do that for you.
“Avast, ye!”
A thankfully very pretend cutlass smacks my thigh. And thank God for
child-safe plastic because my boy swings it with the full force of a kid midplay.
I accidentally fumble my coffee cup—my favorite one, too, with the #1
Captain scrawled on the side in Sam’s wobbly handwriting—and it shatters
in the sink.

Sam’s face falls.
Entangled in the fun as well, is Roger—my one-hundred-thirty-pound
dog—skidding around the corner with his tongue lolling out, chasing after a
now-frozen Sam. I twist at the last minute to shield Sam from Roger
barreling into us, but I bang my hip against the cabinets in the process while
Sam topples over anyway.
“God—” I grit my teeth together, catching the curse word before it
leaves my mouth.

I wish I could say that was the end of my unfortunate morning. But life
doesn’t play silly little games with me. It waits until my agenda is perfect,
until I’ve got this parenting thing down to a science, then delights in
slamming the hammer down. We play chess, not checkers, around here.
Simplicity is never enough.

“I got a job this summer.”
My eyes widen at my little sister, sitting across the kitchen island with
her thumbs twiddling together in mock innocence. She was mid-sentence
before all this mess, and I wish she hadn’t finished.
“Are you fucking kidding me—” I bite my lower lip even though the
curse word has already floated down to my boy’s ears. He blinks up at me
through blurry eyes.

You can’t win them all. Or even most.
But my sister’s news can wait.
Instead, I crouch down to the more important issue—the jumble of little
boy legs and long dog limbs on the tiled floor below. I remove Sam’s red
beanie and run a hand over his featherlight blond hair, smoothing it to the
side, peering around for anything I don’t want to see.
“Your mug—”
“No scratches on your head,” I observe out loud.

“But your favorite—”
“It’s fine,” I insist, cupping Sam’s cheeks and tilting his head up.
“Wanna know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I see no bumps or bruises on you.”
“None?”
“Not a one.”

Once I find that this is actually true, my heart rate lowers by a fraction.
At least until I spot his bottom lip wobbling, which means we’re ten
seconds away from total meltdown. Whether it’s from the sadness of
breaking the mug he gave me this past Father’s Day or thinking he might
get in trouble for running in the house like some wild animal, I don’t know.
I take that unsteady lip and tug it to the side, peering at his gums.
“Hmm … no scurvy either. And let me check for gangrene too. Pirates
always have gangrene.”

A small giggle slowly bubbles out. Adjusting his thick coke-bottle
glasses, he says, “I don’t have gang green.”
“You’re sure?” I ask with faux skepticism.

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