Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Me: No.
Bougie: You’re mistaken if you’re under the impression you have a say in who I fuck or not.
He was right. Of course, he was. We weren’t anything to each other—not really. Hell, it hadn’t been long since I realized I didn’t hate him. This wasn’t some in-the-moment sex thing where I told him he was mine…it was more. It was uncalled for. Still, I couldn’t stop myself.
Me: I told you before, I want you. I don’t want anyone else to touch you until I’ve had my fill.
Bougie: Because you’re not fucking other people, either?
Me: No. I haven’t. Not since before the night at the Montrose party.
And then…nothing. An hour went by where I didn’t hear from him. I told myself it didn’t matter, that it was better this way. That I could still fuck Patrick if he had sex with someone else because I did that shit all the time. That was the name of the game, but then why did my chest feel so tight? Why did it feel like the weight of the whole fucking world sat right on my sternum, making it hard to breathe?
I showered and got into bed, telling myself I wasn’t going to check my phone again, but then it buzzed, my fingers too twitchy not to reach for it.
Bougie: You were watching my game.
That’s what he had to say to me after I admitted I hadn’t been with anyone else but him? Had he gone home with someone? Did he spend the last hour between the legs of a beautiful woman and then go back to his hotel to message me?
Me: Where are you?
Translation: Who are you with?
Bougie: Christ, Tucker. I didn’t fuck anyone tonight. I came back to the hotel.
I grinned, and before I could send a message, another came through from Patrick.
Bougie: I don’t believe you…that you haven’t been with anyone else.
Jesus, this guy. He was so fucking cocky in a million ways. It was what he showed to the world, and part of that was real, but it also wasn’t…not completely. Again, these were the parts of Patrick that were real, all the secrets he shared with me that made him who he was.
Me: I haven’t. I don’t want anyone other than you. It’s annoying as shit.
And then, because I thought he needed to hear it, I added:
Me: I always watch you play. It’s sexy—how fluidly you move, how light on your feet you are. It gets my dick hard, but fuck, Patrick, even more than that, you’re just good.
The admission wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Maybe before I knew him, before I realized that as badass as he was, and no matter how many people told him, I didn’t think he heard it from anyone who mattered. His parents weren’t proud of him. They didn’t see how hard he worked or what he had accomplished because all they cared about was their business and him not being a part of it.
I let myself breathe while I watched, waiting for a response. It didn’t surprise me that it didn’t come right away, but this time, I knew it was because he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to let himself feel things.
It was less than five minutes later, though, when my cell lit up.
Bougie: Why are you saying shit like this to me?
Me: Because it’s true.
I pressed his name on the screen to call him. Patrick answered right away. “What do you want, man?”
“Aww, come on. Don’t you like it when I tell you how pretty you are on the field?”
He puffed out an annoyed breath that didn’t have any bite behind it.
“My bye week is coming up. I’ll fly out to you, show you just how sexy I think you are. Jesus, Patrick. I’m dying to get inside that ass.”
He inhaled sharply, and damn, I wish I had video called him instead. I wanted to see the look on his face, how his Adam’s apple bobbed, and see those secrets in his eyes that he couldn’t keep from me.
“One time. And then this is done.”
I grinned. “Baby…one time isn’t gonna be enough for us, and you know it.”
The next few weeks went by at a snail’s pace. Patrick and I texted, but other than when we’d sorted out what day worked for both of us, we didn’t talk about whatever it was that was going on between us. We spoke about football and other teams. We talked shit to each other because that was just what we did. We pretended everything was the same, ignoring the big-ass elephant in every conversation that I was going to fuck Patrick Whitt…that neither of us had been with anyone except each other in months, and we had some kind of confusing relationship that we didn’t want to dissect.