Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“You forget something?” he asks.
He holds out his hand, my keys dangling from his fingers.
“Oh, fuck. Shit. I’m such a fucking dumbass.”
He smirks.
I take them from him and turn to enter the nook. Travis grabs my arm and turns me back around.
He moves forward and pushes me against the wall, kissing me.
A wave—like fire—rushes through me. The explosive energy I feel when he ignites that spark within me—one that spreads fast like a wildfire—leaves me shaking as my body recovers from the intensity of its power.
Overwhelming as it can be, it feels so fucking good.
I wrap an arm around him and grab the back of his head with my other, pulling him close as we kiss in a frenzy, as if we’re about to be separated for weeks rather than a few hours.
We’ve spent too much time together. We shouldn’t be doing this, but I just want a little more. That’s what I keep telling myself. Only a few more fucks and kisses. But I know it’s not this sexual chemistry that’s the problem. It’s the other shit. That I actually enjoy spending time with him. That I like being at his place or him being at my place. That I crave spending my days with him even more than I crave this hot sexual chemistry I feel when we touch.
He pulls away from our kiss and whispers, “Get your ass back quick so that I can give it what it needs.”
He leans forward a bit, and I think he’s coming in for another kiss, but he smacks me on the ass and winks.
“Later.”
He heads back to his condo, and I enjoy the show as his ass shifts about beneath the towel he wears. I’m still recovering from the desire he’s stirred…and more importantly, my fucked-up thoughts that are scrambling to make sense of what the hell we’re doing.
***
“So, what have you been up to that you couldn’t come visit your parents?” Mom asks as she picks at her baked beans with her fork.
We sit at the dining table in the same house I grew up in. In the kitchen where we used to all have dinner together.
All four of us.
Now there’s only three people at a table that seats eight. Dad sits at the head of the table, Mom in the chair adjacent to him, right beside me. That leaves three empty chairs on the opposite side of the table. One of those used to be where Caroline sat.
Since I got here an hour ago, they’ve beat around the bush. While Mom set the table with grilled cheese sandwiches, baked beans, and french fries, Dad talked about the last Braves game. But I knew we’d get around to the question I’ve been avoiding—the question I’m always avoiding.
What have I been up to? Well, I’m gay and pretending to be in a relationship with a guy who likes my ass and who’ll move on as soon as I’ve finished helping him get the money he needs to take his business to the next level.
“Nothing much,” I reply. “Work.”
Mom and Dad glance at each other. It’s clear they aren’t satisfied with my reply.
That’s always been the answer. Because they don’t know who I am. They don’t know anything about their son. Haven’t for a long time. Ever since I realized I was attracted to guys. Ever since I started seeing guys. Hell, I was in a five-year relationship that they knew nothing about.
“Haven’t you met any girls?” Dad asks, his voice filled with concern.
“What?”
“You’re all alone downtown.”
“And you’re always working,” Mom adds. “Don’t you think it’s time you started seeing someone?”
This is not the fucking time for this conversation. Although this is what they typically say, so I’m not surprised.
“I’m fine,” I say.
I can tell they’re agitated. To them, I’ve just been living downtown on my own for so long. Working, but not having anyone to share my life with. They’re concerned about me, but in some ways, I have the added pressure of their stress about Caroline’s loneliness.
“Just don’t work too hard,” Mom says. “You’ve always been such a loner, and that worries me sometimes.”
I haven’t been a loner, Mom. I’ve just never been able to talk to you guys.
Not because they’re awful or bad parents. But because they’ve had enough to deal with. Because I can’t bear to see them look at me the way they used to look at Caroline when she upset them.
This is why I’ve procrastinated making plans with them.
I don’t like being around them and living this lie.
And now I have my sexuality and a fake relationship to worry about. Lies are so goddamn frustrating…and confusing. Hell, I think part of what’s fucking with my brain with Travis is that I’ve lied for so long that I’m actually starting to believe it.
It’d be nice if I could talk to my parents about everything I’m going through, but I can’t. And that makes me sad.