Twenty-something Book Novels & Stories

When Wendy Chance's father, Josiah, was rendered speechless, I was the only one he wanted to go to speech therapy with. Every time Wendy and I wanted to go out, Josiah would clutch the corner of my shirt. Once again, Wendy would stuff an unused train ticket in my hand and pat my shoulder apologetically. "Treat my dad well, and I'll make it up to you on another trip. Evan can accompany me on this business trip instead. Don’t overthink this." Evan Striker was the secretary she claimed knew his place. I had collected 27 unused tickets over the past three years. They were from unrealized trips to the mountains, historical towns, and the beach. Every ticket turned into a post on Evan's social

I know he is looking down happy and smiling because he knows I have everything I could possibly ever want and more. “He would be proud, you know.” Austen says placing an arm around my shoulder. “I know.” “Look at us.” He states as matter-of-fact. “I know.” He is married at 23 with a little one on the way, I’m getting married tomorrow, we both have real jobs and careers. People say spend your 20’s alone and travel. See the world. Explore. Finding new things. Discover yourself. Make friends. Live it up.

“Girl, just let it go before it spirals further. Enjoy your youth girl! Do what twenty-somethings are supposed to do.” “And what's that?” I asked dryly. She grinned. “Drink, kiss strangers, and cry over boys you'll forget next month.” I rolled my eyes. “Good for you.” “The more I think about your situation, the more familiar it appears.” She smirked. “It'll make such good fiction.” I threw a glare at her and she shrugged innocently. “It's a quite popular trope these days, Age gap, forbidden love, CEO, blah blah blah. ”

The most appropriate book possible. Richard looks intrigued. Beth too. "What's it about?" "A man, born in the nineteen-thirties, who goes on to live over two thousand years. In life, he experiences every form of marriage other than life-long monogamy. The book is essentially a series of short stories taking photo snaps of his life. And it has some wonderful quotes." "Such as?" Which ones to choose? Not the ones I remember her reading to me.... Those are too sharp, too edgy for me to share...

“She was ill quite a bit, and I was never allowed to visit her as I’d wished. She died right after my twelfth birthday.” His heart twisted. Why did he have to sympathize with her? He couldn’t help but relate, and in the process, it softened his drive for revenge. “Indeed, it’s remarkable.” He reached across the table for her hand, which she willingly gave. He twined his fingers with hers. “So tell me about your aunt and uncle. From the way you have talked, they sound like such loving people.” She finished chewing what was in her mouth before dabbing the linen cloth to her lips. “They are wonderful, but Captain, I don’t want to talk about them. I want to know more about you. Tell me about you

he said, pressing his temples gently. "In my entire life, I've never felt so overwhelmed by a woman. How can she be so crazy and difficult to handle? Even her own parents have given up on her. Now they've handed over the responsibility to me. My fate is truly unfortunate." He sighed heavily, feeling that the problems in his late twenties were more suffocating. Compared to his early twenties, the late twenties felt more burdensome because problems came one after another. And it didn't stop there; his mind continued to wander through the night in his home.

I didn’t like the path the conversation was heading towards, and… I didn’t want to think about the numerous ideas it would fill my head with if I let it go any further. “Okay then… But think about it, will you?” I rolled my eyes at her. “You are not getting younger, and the earlier you settle. The better.” “I’m twenty-two.” “Almost twenty-three.” I rolled my eyes at that. Yes, I’d be turning a year older in a month. But does that make any difference to my current age? I’m still twenty-two till the day I turn twenty-three. “All the same to me.”

CHAPTER ONE The Boy in the Book Lady Brad was browsing the Mystery section in Book Lady on Liberty Street when he noticed the boy staring at him. Well, not a boy exactly. He was probably in his early twenties, more of a young man. The older Brad got, though, the younger everyone else looked to him. Jesus, you’re only thirty-six, stop casting yourself in the role of a geriatric. Although you are closer to forty than twenty. Hell, you’re closer to forty than thirty . . .

I was a grown man by then, twenty-four years old, still navigating the strange pull of faith and flesh that had defined so much of my early twenties. The universe has a wicked sense of humor, and nothing in my life..not the wild parties, the fleeting relationships, or the reckless nights..has ever topped the night the stars aligned to deliver the kind of raw, forbidden encounter that still makes my blood run hot years later.

My voice was firm but not unkind. She looked barely younger than me—maybe by a year or two. But then again, I wasn’t old either. Twenty-two hardly made me a woman grown, yet my mother had made me feel ancient the moment I turned eighteen. Like youth was something I had lost the right to claim too soon.