Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Fortunately, Neil said he understood—because fuck, Emerson didn’t want to hurt his feelings, especially when he wanted to go straight home instead of stopping for a beer—but he could feel Neil studying his profile one too many times. He thought Neil might’ve been on the cusp of asking him a more personal question, but thankfully he’d held back. Emerson was feeling so raw, he might’ve simply confessed everything.
The sound of the front door opening and closing made his heart vault to his throat. Rhys’s night had ended earlier than he’d thought it might, and Emerson almost got up to greet him. But just having him home—home—felt good. He was safe and close by, and that should’ve been enough. So why was he nearly crawling out of his skin? Fuck, he needed to be careful with these overwhelming feelings, or he’d be even more devastated when Rhys finally moved on.
After another few minutes, he heard footsteps on the stairs, and his pulse became erratic when he felt Rhys’s presence in the room.
“Em?” he whispered, approaching the bed.
“Is everything all right?” Emerson asked as his eyes adjusted to his form. Rhys was shirtless, wearing a pair of low-slung shorts he’d obviously changed into for bed. No matter how many times he’d been around Rhys in various stages of undress, Emerson couldn’t help admiring his solid body and creamy skin that showcased the tattoos he’d added to over the years on his arm and rib cage. Emerson wasn’t much better in only his boxer briefs, but the covers were at least pulled up to his shoulders, obscuring his reaction.
Rhys bit his lip as if unsure about disturbing him, but had they been kids, it would’ve been a no-brainer. Since their conversation about Emerson’s sexuality, that same ropey, thick tension hung in the air between them. And something else also gleamed in Rhys’s gaze, something that looked a lot like resolve.
“Everything’s fine. Sorry to wake you.”
“S’okay. Wasn’t asleep,” he replied as Rhys inched nearer.
“Can I—?” When the mattress dipped, Emerson realized he was trying to get under the covers just like they’d done a hundred times before, but now the air sparked, charged—at least on Emerson’s end—and he didn’t know if he could handle having Rhys’s warmth next to him. Still, he slid the sheet partway open, his emotions too close to the surface as Rhys’s knee nudged farther beneath the covers—and the barricade of his heart. And as Rhys sank down on his back, gaze on the ceiling, Emerson breathed a sigh of relief because facing him right then would’ve felt too intimate.
“How was your night?”
“Good. It was nice to catch up with Lance,” Rhys replied with a cursory glance, then stayed quiet for an eternity, it seemed, as his throat worked to swallow. Emerson had a feeling he had stuff to say, so he allowed him the time to gather his thoughts. “That night you mentioned coming to the club?”
“Sneaky Pete’s?” he asked, and Rhys nodded.
“We, uh…danced together?”
“We did. Lance tell you that?” His chest constricted as he tried not to sound too hopeful that maybe he’d remembered all on his own.
“Yeah. Wish I could’ve seen that.”
“Me dancing?” he quipped. “You’ve seen it plenty. We’d always goof off as kids, remember?”
“But not as adults.”
“True, but I’m pretty sure it’d only be embarrassing,” Emerson pointed out. “Mostly I just moved my feet, swayed my hips, and watched what you were doing.”
“Yeah, right.” Rhys playfully elbowed him. “More so, I would’ve wanted to be a fly on the wall.”
“What would you have seen?” he mused.
“Me, responding to you showing up, for one,” he confessed, as if it might’ve been a spectacle. He certainly seemed taken aback that night. “And then to see how others responded. Tall and hot redhead walking through the club, moving your hips on the dance floor.”
“Stop. You’re embarrassing me,” he said, his cheeks burning.
“Don’t act like you’re not attractive.”
“Look who’s talking.” Emerson motioned with his hand, his pulse beating in his throat. “Damn, Rhys. Hearing you say that is…” He felt like he was floating on his words.
“Is what?” Rhys murmured.
“I dunno. Nice?”
Silence again as Rhys stared at the ceiling and Emerson’s heart throbbed.
“Do you remember that one summer at the pool?”
Emerson swallowed thickly. He thought he knew exactly where Rhys was going with this line of questioning. “When those jackasses dared us to play gay chicken?”
“Yeah…I have no idea what we were thinking, listening to those losers,” Rhys confessed. “Looking back, I bet they suspected and wanted to out me. Or make fun of me.”
“You think?” Emerson had never even considered that idea, likely because he was so caught up in his own thoughts about it, his own confusing feelings. “I bet that one kid, whatever his name was, has probably gotten his ass kicked a time or two since then.”