Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
23
RYAN
I’d be lying if I said my mind wasn’t completely somewhere else all damned day.
What the hell happened last night?
What was all of that?
I’m a total shell of a person today. I’m sleepwalking, pretty much. I must have spoken to six different students and had three different teachers bring issues to my desk they wanted my opinion on, which I halfheartedly gave. I offered my suggestions. I gave my answers. I even had the tenth grade assistant principal hop by to get me to sign a birthday card for Ms. Jennings, whoever that is.
And I can’t wipe Stefan’s bright blue eyes out of my mind.
Or the taste of his lips.
The way he stared at me between dives I took between his legs, his eyes telling me a hundred stories I couldn’t understand.
Has he always felt this way?
Have I been stupid to ignore it all these years?
No. He’s straight. He was always straight. He’s going through an experimental phase right now where he’s super lonely and desperate for someone’s approval. And here he is, back in my life and needing my sweet-lipped validation.
Fuck. Maybe I’m lying to myself and he really is gay. This cycle of self-denial I ought to be used to is repeating itself all over again. I’m a professional liar. Must be.
A soft knock at my door stirs me from my soup of despair. No, literally; I’m eating lunch at my desk and it’s a small microwave bowl of “spicy chicken noodle soup” that barely has a pinch of pepper in it for “spice”. Even my soup’s a liar.
“Come in.”
My favorite nosy coworker, Dana, pokes her head in. “Hello, Mr. Caulfield! Oh, it smells like grandma’s in here.”
I offer her a rueful smile. “I’m very sorry about that. I should organize a team to sue this soup brand for false advertising.”
“Soup’s the perfect medicine.”
“The what?”
“For recovering.” She nods at me. “I was checking on you to see how you’re recovering.”
I almost forgot I’d called in sick yesterday. “Yeah, totally,” I blurt out, clinging to the line she just unintentionally threw me. “It was bad yesterday, so I needed to take it off. I’m much better today.”
“You were missed.” She gives me a tight smile.
I don’t know whether she’s playing along or believing my lie. “Thanks,” I murmur regardless, then go for another spoonful.
“I’m also here for a little update.”
“An update on …?”
“The … situation.” She bobs her head. “Y’know.”
I seriously have to give it a second of thought before realizing what she’s talking about. “It isn’t a situation, Dana. There is no situation. It was a one-time thing. He was in a tough spot, I took him home, and he’s okay now.”
I’m nine hundred percent not going to tell her that he’s staying with me. Or letting me suck his cock. Or letting me stick fingers up his butt.
Or letting me cuddle with him when we sleep.
We seriously sound like boyfriends.
Also, I’m licking my lips, and I can’t tell if I’m trying to taste any spice from the soup, or if I’m subconsciously thinking of Stefan’s lips.
“If he’s ‘okay’, then you should arrange a little brunch where we can all hang out. It could even be at a cool hangout I know off of Avenue C. I really don’t care. I just want to meet him!”
I see imaginary hearts spilling from her eyes, which makes my own burn green. Is that why I’m so against setting up some sort of thing with all of us? Am I afraid Stefan really isn’t gay at all and will think Dana’s hotter than a fresh-baked buttered biscuit?
Am I afraid of losing him to a woman?—a woman with four-inch purple spike heels?
And to lose him right when I’d just gotten him back.
Maybe that’s my real fear.
Just then, my cell phone rings. With one quick glance at it, I see Stefan’s name.
Dana—and her purple spike heels—are at the side of my desk faster than a spooked cat. Without thinking, I tap the screen to shut up my phone, then look up at her. “Nosy.”
She bites her lip and winces. “Sorry, I’m being annoying. I know. I have a habit of doing that.”
“It’s okay,” I mumble for an apology. “It’s just that I’m kinda stressed out with—”
“Ryan?” comes his voice from my phone.
I gape at it, wide-eyed. “Huh?”
“Hey, bro,” comes Stefan—who I apparently had answered on speaker phone instead of hung up on. “Sorry, this a bad time? I wasn’t sure if this was your lunch break or if I should call back. You’re stressed out? What about?”
“N-No,” I stammer. “I’m fine. Ignore that.”
“I heard you say you’re stressed out. Don’t go all coy on me.”
“I was talking to someone else.”
“Hi!” calls out Dana to my phone. “Is that you? Are you Stefan, Ryan’s friend? I’m Dana. I’m the smoldering hot lady who totally helped carry you across the parking lot and stuff you into Ryan’s tiny car over a week ago.”