Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Ezra on his knees for West.
Ezra bent over the banister.
Ezra moaning with West’s hand down his pants.
And then when another guy I don’t recognize joins them on the balcony, suddenly he’s in on the action going on in my mind too, even though he’s probably only going out there for a cigarette. My insecurities don’t make sense, and logically I know that, but that doesn’t stop my jaw clenching so hard I swear I crack a molar.
I remind myself Ezra’s aware of our arrangement and I trust him. Despite everything, that thought catches me off guard every time, but if Ezra wanted to fuck around, I know he’d tell me first.
Still, even the thought of him out there flirting with West, reliving old memories, makes my gut turn. I like him harmlessly flirting in front of me, behind my back? No. Nope. Don’t like it.
I don’t like any of this.
Okay, this is bad.
Ezra shouldn’t have this kind of power over me.
I haven’t slept with anyone else since our first time together, and I don’t even want to. I’m sure he got laid plenty over the summer, and even that makes me uncomfortable. We weren’t together, we didn’t even like each other, yet the thought sends a simmering rage under my skin that I can’t shake.
Maybe if we weren’t some kind of filthy secret, this wouldn’t be such an issue.
Whose fault is that though, moron?
I look around the room, determined not to go after him.
The alcohol is flowing freely, everyone seems to be laughing or joking, and fat checks are swapping hands. There are more than a few people on the dance floor now. I spot Diedrich and his wife and, surprisingly, a handful of same-sex couples.
My gaze catches on them. Discomfort creeps over me as I watch them in their own happy bubbles, proud to be who they are.
Goddamn it.
I want that.
I don’t want to want that. I’m happy. I know who I am. What does it matter that the rest of the world doesn’t? Why should it be a thing?
The reality is, though, that people still care. And they’ll continue to care until it’s normalized, and the only way for that to happen is for people to live their truth.
But the thing that’s making me keep my mouth closed is that if I come out, I won’t want to hide this thing with Ezra anymore.
Whatever it is.
Being out to me means dinner dates and holding hands and starting a life with someone.
Ezra might never feel that way. It has never been part of our deal. And if I come out and don’t hide being with him, that will be where the attention comes from and when this whole thing blows up in our faces, I doubt I’ll ever live it down.
I don’t want to be remembered as that NHL player who dated Ezra Palaszczuk and walked away brokenhearted.
I look back over at where Ezra disappeared, my anxiousness ramping up again.
They’ve been gone a long time.
To distract myself, I go and buy my own damn drink, but they’re still not back.
I’m not going to go after him.
I refuse.
I have no idea if Ezra has told West about us, and that bothers me so much I’m not sure I want the answer. I’m beginning to suspect this is how Ezra felt when I couldn’t even be friendly toward him. It sucks.
I finish my drink and weigh my options. I could go out there and be friendly to Dalton, having to look into his eyes and know he’s fucked the man I can’t stop thinking about. It’s no secret to me that Ezra’s slept around, but so far I’ve managed to avoid coming face-to-face with anyone he’s slept with.
My other option is to leave. But I already know that’s not going to happen. I’ll end up tormenting myself all night.
The third option is to walk out there and make it very clear where I stand with him.
Damn, that’s tempting.
So, so tempting.
It would only be West. I wouldn’t have to make a big deal out of it. I could walk out there, and so long as there was no one else around, all I’d need to do is slide my hand over his ass and my message would be clear.
Ezra is mine.
I groan at the thought.
At doing what no one else has ever done.
The thing is, I don’t want to rein him in. I don’t want to change him. He’s light. He’s attention. People are drawn to him and his larger-than-life personality. I want to wind him up and watch him fly, then be the safe place where he can land. The one he always comes back to. I’m okay with the flirting and the teasing, the only thing I’d expect from him is commitment.
Fuck.
Commitment.
With Ezra.
What is wrong with me?
Ezra is all of those things and more, but I’m … not. I’m hockey. I’m ego, and not in a fun way like him. How long until my possessiveness stops being hot and feels like a noose around his neck?