Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
He was totally wired.
Since I knew he didn’t do drugs, it had to be because of nervousness. I was nervous my first time, too. It was awkward, messy and almost a complete failure, but I wasn’t the only one in that experience who had no idea what they were doing.
It also didn’t stop me from trying again and again and finding others with more experience than me to teach me tricks and methods to make it better and more satisfying. I also did a lot of “research” on my own.
I stared at Tate as he took the two misshapen cups over to the desk, cracked open the bottle and filled them to almost the brim with the amber liquor.
When he turned with them in his hand, my gaze dropped to the whiskey before rising once again to his face. When I didn’t take the one he offered me, he downed the other one in a single swallow. Then he drank the one that was supposed to be for me next.
He turned, filled the cups again and once again offered me one.
This time I took it reluctantly. “I’m surprised you’re not drinking directly from the bottle.”
“It’s early yet.”
“Tate… If you need alcohol to—”
“I just need it to relax a bit. That’s all. I feel like I’m about to come out of my skin.”
“You look like it, too.”
He swept a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. Of course, like normal, it didn’t stay put. “It’s not you, it’s me.”
“No shit,” I murmured, taking a sip of the Jim Beam. I wrinkled my nose, swallowed the remainder and crushed the cup in my hand before throwing it in my trash.
One of us needed to remain sober if this was going to happen. Actually, both of us needed to remain sober. I’d allow him one more shot before cutting him off. If he needed more than that, tonight was not going to happen.
I understood he needed to calm his nerves, but he also had to remain aware of what exactly was going on.
If I was straight, I certainly wouldn’t fuck a drunk chick. Since I was gay, I applied that same principle to guys. Unless we were in a relationship and we were just having agreed upon fun together. But someone trashed? No. No matter who it was.
“Tate, if you get drunk, I’m not touching you,” I warned him. “I’m not letting you touch me, either. Not like that.”
He glanced down at the full Dixie cup in his hand, then back up at me.
I raised my eyebrows at him. “After that, no more.” Tonight, I felt older than him rather than the other way around.
With a nod, he put the cup to his mouth and threw it back, then put the cap back on the bottle and set the empty cup down next to it.
I sighed softly in relief. “Are you sure about this?”
He nodded.
I shook my head and went toe to toe with him, staring at him directly in the eyes. He was only an inch taller than me, so we were pretty even in height. If he glanced away, I would know he wasn’t ready.
He didn’t. He stared me straight in the eyes with his full of more confidence than a few minutes prior. “If this isn’t for me or I have to stop, Roe, please don’t hold it against me. I trust you. If I’m gay or bi, or… I don’t know what… I trust you enough to let me take my time to figure it out.”
At whose expense, though? Mine?
He wanted to use me to figure out if he was sexually attracted to men, but one thing about that worried me. He didn’t know I was already in love with him. However, that was my problem, not his.
In that same light, confusion about his sexual identity was his problem, not mine.
But here was the rub, I kissed him first. I felt responsible for causing that confusion. Did I owe it to him to help him figure it all out?
The answer would be much easier if I didn’t love him. Didn’t want him in my bed or my life.
The truth was, I did. I wanted him completely, but only if he wanted that, too.
For that reason, I was willing to sacrifice a piece of myself to see if I ended up the winner in the end.
I was also fully aware that if it didn’t go the way I hoped, I’d be the loser.
It was a gamble. For both of us.
Ronan (Now)
I paced back and forth across my living room like a restless caged tiger with my jaw working, squeezing the lowball glass of Johnnie Walker Blue between my fingers so tightly, I was surprised it hadn’t shattered.
The whole Grindr thing had already ticked me off, but what aggravated me even more was I had spent years beating back the memories, of reliving that time when I was too young, too stupid to see what was right in front of me.