Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 41016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
He paused to give me a fist bump before wrapping his arms around Curt’s shoulders and kissing his cheek. I clandestinely eyed them over my glass of water. Jack was hot as fuck for a guy pushing fifty. He was tall, muscular, and liberally covered in ink. In so many ways, he was Curt’s exact opposite.
Curt was a lawyer who wore ancient jeans and whatever tee landed on top of his drawer when he wasn’t wearing a suit. And Jack looked like a quintessential biker bad boy who happened to be a well-respected businessman. He owned a gay bar on R Street as well as a motorcycle shop. I would never have thought he’d be Curt’s type, but they’d been together for years and they just…seemed to get each other.
“The ‘I’m not cut out for parenthood’ feeling,” Curt replied.
Jack chuckled. “Oh, Peter just told me about your afternoon from hell.”
Side note…Peter was Jack’s ex. But that was ages ago. They’d been friends for a long time.
“It was brutal. And I guess Henry got a lighter version of whatever bug Holly had. But so far, we feel fine,” I said.
“Good to know since you’ve spread your cooties all over my kitchen,” Curt huffed.
“Be nice, Curtis,” Jack chided, skirting the island. “Did you tell Matt our news?”
“You’re getting married?”
Jack lifted one brow and shot a mischievous grin at Curt before answering. “That’s not it.”
“Jack’s opening another bar in Atlanta called…” He wiggled his fingers meaningfully. “Can you guess?”
“Um…Jack’s or Curt’s?”
“J and C,” Jack supplied. “In fact, all the bars and the motorcycle shop will be officially renamed J and C. In lawyer land, forming a new corporation together is supposedly the equivalent of a five-karat engagement ring.”
I barked a laugh. “That’s very…romantic. Congratulations.”
Curt beamed. “I thought so too. Even better than changing my car battery or putting gas in my tank unasked.”
Jack snorted, ruffling his boyfriend’s hair affectionately. “I could buy Curt a dozen roses and he’d say, ‘Thanks, hon,’ then stick them in a vase without water and forget about ’em until they were wilted and gross. Legal stuff, on the other hand, gets him every time.”
“That’s not true,” Curt protested weakly and yeah, I was pretty sure he was blushing. “It was just symbolic and sweet and—okay, what do you know? It’s time to play some basketball.”
He hopped off his barstool and moved to the sink. Jack stared after him, fixing him with an adoring gaze. It lasted no more than a split-second, but it was potent—the kind of look reserved for one person only. I glanced away as if to give them privacy and for the hundredth time wondered if they were secretly already married. Like Jack said, Curt loved legal stuff, and there was certainly a contract involved in matrimony.
There were other clues too. Like the matching rings they wore on their right hands. Okay, you didn’t have to get married to wear a ring, so maybe that wasn’t a hint. But they shared sneaky looks every once in a while that made me think they were keeping something for themselves.
Well, Aaron was the one who’d noticed that, and I thought he might be right.
If and when they wanted to share, they would.
Twenty minutes later we were on the court, shooting hoops and trading jabs and smack-talk just for fun. And it was fun. We were joined by Jason and two lawyers we’d met through Curt and Jack’s rec league baseball team, Connor and Rhys.
They were in their early thirties like Curt, Jason, and me, which fueled Jack’s ongoing brag that he was over a decade our senior and could still keep up with us. Whatever. It was true. He was better than the newbies for sure. Not that it mattered. We were grateful to have the bodies.
Everyone’s schedules were erratic these days. Curt and Jack traveled a lot, and I’d been hit-and-miss for a while. Jason was the only one who rarely missed a pickup game. That was about to change, though, I mused, glancing at his very pregnant wife cheering him on from a nearby park bench.
“Chelsea looks great. When is she gonna pop?” I waved in her general direction before slugging half my water bottle.
“Ten weeks,” Jason replied. “Can you believe it?”
“Nope,” I admitted with a laugh. “But it’s awesome. We’re happy for you guys.”
He gave me a light bro-punch on my biceps and smiled. “Thanks. Aaron sent some designer baby baseball blanket to our house last week. Chels was over the moon. Love that guy.”
“Me too.” A monster grin took over my face, making me feel extra hot in the brutal DC summer sun. “You know…I picked that present out.”
Jason snorted. “Liar.”
“Well, fine. But I did tell him you love baseball.”
Connor and Rhys joined us a moment later, heard the tail end of the conversation, and suddenly we were in a lighthearted debate about a rumored trade that morphed into a key play from a recent Braves game against the Dodgers.