Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
We were great friends, and I loved my friend. But I wasn’t in love with her. I’d told her she deserved someone who’d put her first. Someone who wasn’t broken and fucked up.
But this was me. I couldn’t say all that again.
So I held her hand instead and hoped she’d let it go.
Let me go.
Honestly, it stressed me out. And when my agent called, my anxiety ratcheted up a few notches.
New York wants you. Big money, Hotshot. BIG money. Time to talk.
Panic hit me like a fucking brick dropping out of the sky. I sank onto my bed, hands between my knees, and worked on my breathing exercises. Inhale good vibes, exhale the bad. Over and over.
When I had my pulse under control, I picked up my keys and headed for the door, passing all my old haunts and safe spaces. I needed something new. Someone new.
If Hank was surprised I came by unannounced, he didn’t say. He made me an omelet and told me about some new contract he’d scored for the mill. He seemed pretty excited about it, so I just listened.
And when we fell into bed, I thought this would be where I’d fuck him into the mattress and finally lose this tension. That didn’t happen either. He held me and called me sweetheart while he moved inside me.
Sweetheart. What the fuck was that? Why did I like it? What was happening to me?
14
HANK
Denny came by for lessons every day. Each time was the same. I’d open the door and we’d come together, sparking into an inferno strong enough to burn a house down. We’d shed clothing as we stumbled into the living room, collapsing on the sofa or the rug in front of the fireplace.
We couldn’t get close enough, fast enough. There was a manic edge to us, a craving that consumed us. We couldn’t form coherent sentences until we were sated, panting in a mess of cum and sweat.
I was pretty sure I’d licked every square inch of his gorgeous body. He’d finger-fucked me, rimmed my ass, and sucked my cock till I’d seen stars. And I’d paid him back in kind. It was…glorious. I’d had plenty of sex, but this felt different and I couldn’t figure it out.
I also didn’t try too hard. Denny was the perfect distraction from difficult days at the mill, where every other suggestion or new procedure I implemented was questioned. It was exhausting. I craved the company of someone who just seemed to like me.
And my horse.
Denny loved Bess.
He saw Bess and Fred each time he came by. If it was later in the evening, he’d bring them apples or carrots and help Bella, my stable hand from Fallbrook, and me brush them and feed them. If he arrived earlier, he’d ride Bess, and I was happy to report that he’d improved. He was confident in the saddle, rolling his hips with the horse’s cadence. As we moved, he talked.
Denny was naturally reserved, but he was never quiet with me.
There were things he didn’t discuss that were obvious signposts leading to dark places. I knew his father died when he was thirteen, and that it was definitely a profoundly life-changing event. But he’d persevered and conquered some frightening demons to become an elite professional hockey player.
Denny had real friends and a community that loved him. He was young and talented, with the world at his feet, but something was unsettled inside him. Something muted him, haunted him.
But I wasn’t his therapist; I was his lover and I respected his boundaries. We had an arrangement based on sex and a perceived friendship I hoped would boost profit margins at the mill.
Sometimes I wished I had the right to ask for more.
Let’s be real—I had the easier part of this arrangement. A young, hot jock wanted my bod. Amen. Sign me up all day long. Denny, on the other hand, was the one who had to advocate for the outsider running the mill. That had to suck.
But he did it.
Denny suggested meeting for coffee one morning on my way to the mill. He didn’t introduce me to anyone, but he didn’t need to. Being seen together was enough. We were buddies and pals, and if Denny Mellon didn’t hate the idea of spending thirty minutes in my company, maybe I wasn’t so bad.
He was a mini celebrity up and down Main Street. Just walking through the doors at Rise and Grind stopped the presses. Everyone greeted him warmly, shook his hand, clapped him on the shoulder, or kissed his cheek. He turned five shades of pink, but he took the attention in stride as I chatted amicably with Ivan, the dark-haired, rainbow-pin-wearing owner.
“It can’t be helped.” Ivan snickered in amusement. “We love our hockey boys!”
Ivan didn’t think twice about Denny’s monosyllabic grunted agreement. Neither did anyone at the bakery, where he was treated to a similar enthusiastic greeting. I was given a few cursory curious glances, but as I’d hoped, being with Denny offered an automatic hall pass amongst most of Elmwood.