Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Despite them saying they want to do this again, I don’t know if it’ll actually happen, but fuck, I want it to.
CHAPTER TWO
kit
I’m still awake when the door to our apartment clicks open. Prescott’s back from dropping our latest hookup home, and like always, the temptation to ask him to sleep in my room, next to me, is almost overwhelming.
But I use all my years of training to keep my ass where the fuck it is and not even dare to move an inch. Because if I open those floodgates, there is no stopping the onslaught of emotion they’re holding back.
Prescott and I don’t do sleepovers. Not with anyone and not with each other.
Because we’re on the same SEAL team, there are solid nonfraternization rules in place. Pres and I are the same rank, so that wouldn’t be the issue, but the problem comes when being deployed together.
We’ve known the rules all along, but we broke them anyway. Repeatedly. We tell ourselves it’s nothing because we only ever hook up when someone else is involved, and we’re not a couple. We’re best friends. Roommates.
And I fucking hate it.
Because Prescott is my world. He’s my rock. Hell, he’s the only family I have.
Telling him that would ruin everything. Our careers, my heart, and our friendship. So, I sit in painful silence, throw myself into the brief moments of passion we get, and try to hold myself together.
After tonight, I don’t know how much longer I can do it. There was something about that Brady kid that was both unnerving and a breath of fresh air at the same time.
We’ve taken home our fair share of tipsy college students who want to “be wild” and have a threesome to have fond memories of a crazy time.
But Brady … Brady was different.
For one, he wasn’t drinking. He couldn’t and didn’t want to blame his actions on alcohol. He was confident, sexy, liked my dominance and penchant for control, and didn’t look at Prescott like he was the real reason he wanted to come home with me.
Prescott is gorgeous. He’s part Native Hawaiian and has golden skin, stunning brown eyes, and a smile that could melt the pants off anyone on the planet.
I’m no slouch. I have the all-American light hair and pale gray eyes thing going for me, and I am a navy SEAL—that status is sometimes more important than looks—but next to Prescott? It’s like I fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.
I think it’s my hard features next to his softer ones.
Actually, a lot of people next to Prescott appear less fortunate-looking than usual. It’s like how those car mirrors say objects are closer than they appear. Prescott should have his own label: objects close to me are better-looking than they appear.
Though, I will say Brady gave him a run for his money. He was hot while dancing with his twink friend, hot while swaying his hips as he sauntered past us, and so fucking hot when he was forward enough to ask me for a threesome.
He’s well built. Smaller than us, but most people are. He’s muscular and has stylish light brown hair and brown eyes. Hmm, maybe I have a thing for brown-eyed men.
The thing I think I liked about him most, though, was his respect for Prescott’s and my relationship. Even if he had it wrong. We’re not together, we’ll never be together, but Brady asking if he would come between us in any way … I found myself focusing on him a hell of a lot more than I normally would in that situation.
Because whenever I have the chance to be with Prescott, all I want to do is make the most of it.
And as predicted, when Prescott doesn’t come back into my room and I hear his bedroom door close, I wonder if Brady might be the guy I need. It’s the first time in a long time that I enjoyed a third party for more than an excuse to get to Prescott.
I enjoyed him.
I continue to think about Brady the rest of the night, barely getting any sleep, hoping that he might be the perfect distraction to help get over my best friend. Because if I don’t start doing it soon, I worry nothing else will help.
Other than moving out.
I set my alarm because I don’t trust myself not to fall asleep and stay like that. I’m physically satisfied, but my mind’s racing, and if I don’t get in my morning workout, I’m an absolute pain in the ass for the rest of the day.
So when my phone goes off what feels like a short time later, I can be happy I at least got some sleep. I’m not so happy when I drag my ass out of my bedroom. My mouth is dry, I’m exhausted, and as much as I’d love to classify the bedroom acts as my workout, I have a physique I need to maintain. Sex isn’t gonna cut it.