Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I walked under the red, yellow, and gold-leafed archway that led into the Fall Festival. The sugar-sweet smell of baking apples and pumpkin spice filled the evening air, and the festival itself was packed with people already. Little golden paper lanterns had been strung into many of the trees, and the leaves had started to change color just in time. The pine trees would stay green all winter, but the aspens that lined Spruce Street were in full fall glory.
I’d even tied a plaid scarf around my neck. The evenings were finally starting to get a nippy chill to them. We’d also be doing some filming later on, and I needed to look cute.
As I sauntered in, the game of Spot Charlie’s Past Crushes was already in full swing. My biggest crush from about five years ago was here, complete with his wife and two kids. Suddenly my scarf felt like it was constricting my neck. I loosened it, sauntering through the crowd just past the entrance. I immediately spotted another past crush—a closeted gay guy who used to work at the pizza place near my house who was apparently not closeted at all anymore. His hand was in the ass pocket of some other guy, giving a cheeky squeeze.
And more than anything, I knew there was a risk of seeing Jim here tonight, too. Back when we’d been together, he never used to come to the seasonal festivals. But since the text he’d sent me last week, I’d been half expecting him to come out of the woodwork all around town.
Immediately, my eyes gravitated toward the hard cider tent. The wine tent. The beer tents. I tensed up, like I was standing on the precipice of a cliff, wondering if I was going to jump.
I could probably have one beer without going too crazy with it, right?
No.
Not going to happen.
In past years, I would have been running at light-speed toward a drink right now. Hell, in reality, I’d have already been pre-gaming before arriving.
“Charlie,” I heard from behind me. I turned to see Jax emerging from the crowd.
And I only had one thought, louder than all the others, at the forefront of my mind.
Oh, I am going to fuck you so hard one day, Frat Boy.
Now, It certainly wasn’t true. It was my mind, doing what it always did, sensing a magnetic attraction when really it was all just in my head. My instincts were loud and desperate the moment I laid eyes on him, but my instincts were always wrong. And they were clearly off-base now, knowing damn well that Jax was straight.
But to say he looked good would be an understatement.
To say he looked incredible would be one, too.
I was so used to seeing Jax in his usual sporty, casual clothes. Tonight his outfit was fairly simple, but he looked more like a model than ever in a cream-colored long-sleeve Henley shirt that looked soft as hell and hugged his chest like a goddamn glove.
“That shirt was made for your abs. And your arms. And your chest, for fuck’s sake,” I said, looking him up and down as he approached me. “That is obscene. The jeans aren’t bad, either.”
He glanced down at his outfit. “I thought this would be good enough for the fall festival shots, but I don’t even own a scarf or anything.”
“Hell, no,” I said. “It’s perfect, Jax. You look like you belong in an Abercrombie catalog.”
One corner of his mouth turned up in a sheepish smile, and he gave the hem of his shirt a little tug. “You, uh, look good too. Really nice, I mean. The scarf is great.”
I brushed my hands over the soft fabric. “Kim told me a scarf would look good on camera.”
“So, Kim’s the head producer of the show, right?” Jax asked.
“Yes. Right. I have to get you up to speed. I’ll introduce you to everyone properly once they’re here in half an hour, but you’ve seen them around the bar already. They want to get shots of me walking around the festival, a couple shots of the two of us hanging out, and then some more Instagram exclusives to post this week.”
Jax nodded along like he was studying for a test. It was kind of adorable how he treated everything like he was a student, wanting to get everything just right. I remembered a time when I’d watched Rush teach him how to make a perfect Moscow mule drink—Jax’s eyes had been laser-focused on Rush the whole time, and then he’d practiced at least four more times right afterward.
He was a quick learner, it turned out.
“I’m down for anything,” he told me. “I’m happy I can help.”
As Jax looked around, he stifled a yawn even though it was barely seven o’clock. I caught a glimpse of dark circles under his eyes.