Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
The only part I have left to give anyone.
It wasn’t him, I decide, certain of it. It’s astonishing what my experience with Seany is resurrecting inside me. Feelings I thought I’d never know again. Fears, joys, and anxieties I was certain I’d never feel at my age. I assumed all the doors were closed—and Seany came and kicked all of them wide open.
Maybe that’s what unsettles me the most.
After the bulb’s changed, I rush inside, cut through the crowd, and step into the inventory closet. Once the door is shut behind me, I tap a name and put the phone to my ear.
“Need my help at the bar again?” asks my pal Adrian the moment he answers. “Not sure if I can get away to help you tonight. We’ve got a birthday party and six—yeah, you heard me right—six anniversaries. I think one of them is gonna pop the question. Fuck me, you’d think Thalassa was some romantic restaurant by the beach or something.”
“The kid is staying at my place.”
He pauses. “Wait. Who?”
“The kid from last night. It’s the reason I ran off. He’s who I ran after, the kid I asked you about.”
“That underage twink you were describing last night?”
“He’s eighteen. And he’s in a bad place in his life right now. I don’t know all the details, but … I just felt the need to help him out. All the hotels were booked, couldn’t hook him up with anything, so I brought him home.”
“Like a lost puppy. Adorable. And I thought hanging at the Hopewell’s last night was fun. Finn and his boyfriend kept asking about you, by the way.”
“The kid’s here at the bar now helping out. He’s acting like I’ve hired him.”
“Ooh, a level three clinger, huh? Is that the problem? That why you called? Need to shake him loose?”
“No, no. I’m just …” I lean against the wall with such a heavy sigh, it could blow down a door. “I’m just worried whether I’m doing the right thing is all.”
“Of course you are. Everyone knows how you like to take care of those sweet boys in need. It’s kinda your thing. Isn’t that the reason everyone calls you Daddy Coop?”
“I don’t want the boy to get the wrong idea, like I’m taking advantage of his situation.”
“So … what you’re saying is, you two didn’t have sex last night?”
“No, we didn’t.” I hesitate. “But he did blow me on the beach this afternoon out in bright daylight.”
“What??”
“Shut up, Adrian.”
“Who are you?? When did you get this exciting??”
I throw my head back with a sigh. “You’ve probably had a dozen far more salacious things happen to you every weekend before you met what’s-his-name, but—”
“You forgot the love of my life’s name?”
“—this is a pretty big deal to me. I don’t hook up with cute, young guys. His staying with me is just supposed to be a quick thing until he gets back on his feet, that’s it.”
“Sorry, but … I don’t think it’s just some quick thing you’ve got on your hands, Coop.”
I shake my head. “Maybe I’m overthinking this.”
“Maybe he needs more than just a roof over his head.”
I consider that for a moment. I think about the sweet, needy look in Seany’s eyes earlier today. Our time on the beach. His insistence to clean up my house. To make lunch for us. To show how useful and loving he can be.
Is something else happening here?
Something right under my nose?
“Gotta go,” Adrian says suddenly. “Stepped away for too long. You’d better reconsider coming to the big bonfire Monday night. Bring your new friend! Maybe he’ll become one of us. Wouldn’t be the worst idea. Later, man.”
He hangs up, leaving me listening to the muffled noise of the bar on the other side of the door and pulling on the strings of my tangled ball of thoughts.
What if Adrian is right? What if Seany needs more than just a roof over his head?
The question follows me home several hours later as I drive back in my car with Seany. “I took you for more of a pickup kind of guy,” he murmurs, picking at something on his shirt, which I lent him for tonight.
“A pickup kind of guy?”
“As opposed to a car. I think I got something on your shirt.” He keeps picking at it. “Sorry.”
“Just toss it in the basket when we’re back.” After we come to a stop at an intersection, I glance at him, gnawing on my lip. “So … did you try calling your family again?”
His face changes. Then he stares ahead blankly, as if I just told him a ghost was sitting on the hood of the car.
I nod with understanding. “No worries. Just curious.”
His blank stare continues the rest of the way home. We park by the curb in front of my house, and he still seems to be in a daze. Should I not have asked anything?