Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 117408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”
* * *
Jonah could eat. I thought I was one to demolish a three-course meal, but Jonah was eating everything in sight and more.
It was kind of cute.
Straiiiight, you fucking oaf.
“This place has crazy-good calamari, doesn’t it?” He wiped his lips with the soft white napkin. “And crazy-good people watching, too.”
We were sitting at a small table on the restaurant’s covered patio, a small white fence dividing the restaurant from the sidewalk. To our side was the brightly lit Miami street beginning to fill with clubgoers and partiers, swapping out with the families and friends who had been out for a perfect beach day. People changed their bikinis and swim trunks to skintight dresses and heels, their dates in button-up shirts, with most of them unbuttoned, and equally skintight white pants.
It was Miami, and I fucking loved it.
“If I had a superpower I think it’d be invisibility so I could people watch all fucking day.” I put my wineglass down. “Sorry, that sounds creepy as fuck, doesn’t it?”
“If it’s creepy, then call me Tim Burton, because I’d do the same exact shit.” He cracked that effortless smile of his. “Seriously, people watching is probably my favorite hobby. Besides cars, if I had to list them.”
“List them,” I said, smirking as I leaned back in the comfortable wicker chair. “Go ahead, what do you like to do on your spare time? We’ve got people watching and cars.”
Jonah took a drink of his mojito and leaned back in the chair. The table next to us burst into laughter from an apparently funny joke, but my attention was fully on Jonah, who somehow got more and more handsome the longer you looked at him.
“All right,” he said. “Besides those two things, I really like going to the theatre. Plays, Broadway shows, off-off-offfff-Broadway shows. Whatever the size or the venue, I love a good play. I love the immediacy of it. The fact that you’re sitting there in a crowd of other souls, taking in this piece of live art. Something that’ll never be exactly the same again because of the intense human element to it.” He bit his lip, something I noticed he did frequently. “It started with my little brother. He was obsessed with Wicked and dragged the entire family to go watch it. We came out of that show as full theatre believers. Patrons of the art, if you will.” He cocked his head, lifted his glass.
And I laughed. Something I was doing a shit ton of with Jonah around.
“I’m impressed,” I replied, my forehead creasing and my head nodding.
“Why’s that? Didn’t take me for a theatre guy?”
“Well, no, I just thought you were going to say your other hobbies were playing with building blocks and learning how to color inside the lines.”
Jonah released a surprised scoff, which morphed into a long bout of laughter. “You’re a dick, Fox. You’re a fucking dick, you know that?”
I shrugged and smiled and drank.
And I fell hard for the straight guy sitting across from me.
“So what’s your favorite show?” I asked when the laughing died down.
“My favorite show?” Jonah put a hand on his chin, other hand on the table. I couldn’t help but notice how big his hands were. How big those fingers were.
For a second, I imagined those big hands roaming over my body, slipping under my briefs, grabbing and fondling and stroking.
“I’d have to say…” he answered, completely unaware of the explicit fantasy I was painting in my head. It was so vivid, too, the image of Jonah’s hands down my pants. I could feel myself getting hard under the table. “Hmm, Sesame Street?”
It was my turn to be caught off guard. Thankfully I wasn’t drinking anything because a spit-take would have definitely occurred. “You’re ridiculous.”
“At least I’m not a dick,” he said triumphantly, smiling.
“You’re a ridiculous dick, that’s what you are.”
“No, no. You’re confused. See, I have a ridiculous dick, but I’m not a ridiculous dick… Seriously, it’s fucking huge.” Jonah put his hands up in the air, plenty of space between them, and nodded before he started to laugh. “Kidding, kidding.”
“Oh?”
“Well, not about my size. I’m… well, you know…. It’s just… I’m just… uh… you’re a dick.”
We were smiling. I found myself having to pull back. I was loving this time with Jonah a little too much. “I’m sure you’re packing some Miami heat.” I winked and took a big sip of the white wine, the glass glistening with drops of moisture.
So much for pulling back.
“Anyways,” Jonah said, still smiling. “Back to my favorite show… um… I’d say Wicked has a special place in my heart. I can also see Dear Evan Hansen about a thousand times and never get tired of it.”
“I’ve never seen either of those,” I admitted. As I suspected would happen, Jonah’s jaw dropped.