Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Ian
I volunteered at the LGBTQ center a lot over the next month. I was done with the restaurant job, and not having set hours freed up more time, so I alternated between the center and working on David’s rental house. Sometimes I would be at David’s rental until ten or eleven at night when he or Jordan would call me—David demanding I come home, while Jordan would beg, usually with the offer of sexual favors. I liked both approaches and always left, most of the time not having even realized how late it was. Working with my hands was so damn fulfilling. It made me feel accomplished and like I was doing something important. It was easy to lose track of time.
The center was the same. I loved it, even when I was doing something as simple as I was now, which was cleaning out a storage room. Sometimes I helped with meals or put together toiletry packages for people on the streets. We also organized a massive clothing drive, and they were teaching me how to help at the STI testing clinics.
Peyton was here a lot. I really liked them. They were quiet around me the second time I came to the center to volunteer, but each time afterward, they talked to me more and more. Alfred, one of the guys who ran the volunteer program, told me Peyton seemed to really connect with me, and they didn’t do that often. I didn’t know what it was about me that made Peyton feel comfortable, but just like working on the house, it made me feel…fulfilled. Like for the first time in my life, something I was doing really mattered.
When I wasn’t at the center or at the rental, I was almost always with David or Jordan. Or David and Jordan. We played a lot together. It still felt weird to call it that, but whatever it was, I loved it. David had used the flogger on me three more times, and we’d also tried a crop. They were both fucking awesome. We did other things too—Jordan baked treats, and we watched movies together. Sometimes Jordan knelt for us, and other times David made Jordan and me both kneel for him. It still surprised me, the way something like that could really help clear my head. In those moments, I didn’t have to think about my past, or my mom who left me, or money, or taking care of myself. I got to turn my brain off and just be, trusting that David and Jordan would take care of me, each in his own way.
I wasn’t perfect, but I was doing better. It was still scary as fuck.
“Hey.”
I jumped at the soft sound of Peyton’s voice behind me. “Jesus. You scared the shit out of me.”
“I can tell. You were really spacing off, deep into whatever you were thinking.” They stepped into the room. They were wearing a large, baggy T-shirt like they often did and jeans that were too big for them.
“Just working, is all.” I went out to the hallway, picked up another box, and took it back into the room. “How are you?” I was learning things about Peyton. When they weren’t being sarcastic, they usually had something on their mind.
They crossed their arms defensively. “Fine.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
They cocked a brow. “You sound like Jordan.”
“He’s rubbing off on me.” I chuckled.
“Ew, I don’t want to hear what you guys do in the bedroom,” they teased, and we both laughed.
I went back for another box, and Peyton followed. “Has he still not moved in?”
I sighed. That was one thing that was stressing me out. It had been a month since David asked Jordan to move in, since he’d said yes, yet he hadn’t done it. David said we couldn’t push him, that Jordan had to do what was best for him. And I got it. Jordan had a grandma to worry about, and she’d made no secret of the fact that she didn’t approve of David. I didn’t know what that was like—to have family to take care of, or to have to consider how things I did affected them—not outside of Finley, at least, and he didn’t need me in that way anymore. Still, it played on all my insecurities. I couldn’t help telling myself that Jordan didn’t move in because he didn’t want to, or he didn’t want us, or he didn’t want me and I was taking up his space with David. I hated when my brain fucked with me.
“No,” I finally answered, moving the next box. “Why is it we always end up talking about me when I can tell there’s something going on with you?”
“Because I’m good like that, and you’re too nice and too much of a caretaker to do otherwise,” they replied.