Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
It was legitimately heartwarming. The last time a guy had told me a story about the first time he’d noticed me, the emphasis had been on my dick print.
“Please tell me more. I love a good story about how charming and alluring I am.”
Adrián dropped his hands with a laugh. “You’re such a jackass. I’m tormented here.”
“I understand your torment, but I’m pretty hype about hearing the tales of you lusting for me.”
His mouth twitched up, and he grabbed my sweater, tugging me forward playfully. I had no idea if he was going to mush my head or shake me, but I swooped in for another kiss against those sweet lips. There was another moment of that automatic tensing before he parted his lips for mine and swiped my tongue with his own.
Groaning, I leaned back. “I hope this conversation isn’t going to end up with you telling me we can’t fuck anymore. I kind of like being able to mess with someone I can trust not to expose my filth.”
“How you think I feel? I just figured out I’m probably not straight.” He stumbled over the words, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Another athlete finding his queer wings. “I probably should have figured it out before . . . back when I found an excuse to talk to you at training camp and then hounded you until you’d come out with me.”
“And when you acted like a scorned lover after I signed with the Barons?”
“That too.”
Silence blanketed us as the wind picked up outside. It wasn’t exactly a howl, but the whipping against the windows was foreboding. The room grew dimmer as daylight became less capable of breaking through the thickening storm clouds. For outer bands of the storm, it was a lot. For the first time, I wondered if we should have gone somewhere more secure than this building.
I grabbed Adrián’s hand without thinking and squeezed.
“Keep talking,” I said.
He looked down at our entangled fingers and half smiled. It didn’t seem boyish as much as tense. We were both on edge, but the sense of impending doom was hitting us for vastly different reasons. I’d wanted him to know how it felt to be alone in the harsh world of professional sports, but the acceptance of his queerness was blighting the customary Bravo shine. I couldn’t help wondering: is not being straight really this much of a death sentence in his mind?
“Fine, I’ll talk,” I said. “Marcus and Gavin were betting on whether or not we were sleeping together.”
“Are you for real?”
“Yeah. They know me. And they know I have no self-control when it comes to pretty boys who are bad for me.”
“Ha. Pretty boys? Speak for yourself, with your red hair and freckles. Looking like an extra on Eve’s Bayou and shit.”
My laugh was so loud it filled the silent house. “You dumbass. Is that the only movie you could think of with Creole folks?”
“Yeah. Basically.”
“Yeah, well, I fucking love that movie, so good job.” I shook my head, smiling. His sense of humor needed to stay intact so I didn’t start tripping about him becoming a self-loathing bisexual. I could already hear the rant formulating at the back of my skull, before I even knew it was true. “FYI, Gavin didn’t think I’d touch you with a ten-foot pole. He’s pissed.”
Adrián’s spine snapped straight. “You told that fucker?”
“Yeah,” I said, unapologetically. “He’s my friend. I tell him and Marcus everything.”
Adrián’s brows drew together and annoyance darkened his eyes, but he just sucked his teeth and flopped back on the bed. “Must be nice to have someone you can tell that shit to.”
“Yeah. It is. You should invest in some non-phobic friends.”
“I’ll get right on that.” Another sarcastic smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “You know, there were times in the past few months I swore you and Gavin were fucking.”
“Because we’re both queer?”
“I guess? But also because . . . that dude who sold the video was big and blond. Brawley is big and blond. Guess I started assuming your type was blond-headed white boys.”
“Why were you even pressed over my type?”
The answer was so obvious that it didn’t need to be spoken aloud, but he said, “Because I was resentful about it, even though I didn’t realize why at the time. The first thing that popped into my head when you came out was . . . how come you’d never tried to kick it to me if you were gonna get on your knees for some fucking frat boy at a club. I got so pissed.” Adrián rolled his eyes at himself. “Even at the time, I knew it was a weird thing to think, so I blocked it out. But it came back today. Earlier.”
“Because of Judd,” I said. “Because he’s another blond-headed dude trying to get in my ass.”