Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Kieran’s nostrils flared and it was clear he didn’t like being yelled at. Didn’t like being told no. Still, he didn’t move, didn’t do anything.
I thought about the things he’d said to me when he explained what would happen. When he explained what I had to say to make everything stop.
“Seattle.” The word nearly stuck in my mouth like glue.
Kieran paused. Nodded, and said, “I’ll get my stuff.”
Just that quickly, it was the end.
My head spun. My gut cramped.
And I hated myself for it.
I walked to the car to wait.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It felt as though I’d spent the last couple weeks in a fog. It began as anger. Anger at Kieran for trying to mold me into what he wanted. Anger at myself for letting it happen so easily and for letting myself believe I needed someone…for letting myself want someone because those things never lasted.
Within a few days, the anger began to fade and then I just felt…lost. Confused. I missed Kieran. How could I miss someone I hardly knew? I missed having someone there…someone to take care of me. The security of rules and responsibility. It was funny how I could hate myself for something and want it at the same time, but that’s how I felt.
I hated wanting someone…but I desired it simultaneously.
Every day when I left or came home, my gaze slid toward his door, waiting for him to come out. I hoped for a chance encounter in the elevator and then scolded myself for it.
I tossed and turned most nights. Left my laptop at work so I wouldn’t be tempted to look up the same kind of porn that landed me here in the first place.
I worried and stressed and overthought every decision I had to make. I was always so afraid of doing the wrong thing, of choosing wrong that I often just ignored it and didn’t make decisions at all. Obviously, that wasn’t smart. The truth was, I didn’t seem to care. It felt like too much effort to care.
“Hey, buddy. You alright? You’ve been a little off your game the past couple weeks.”
I looked up to see Phil standing in the doorway of my office. Apparently, I was letting whatever funk I was in bleed through to my work as well. I never did that. The control I had at work was my armor to hide from my reality. “Yeah, I’ve just had a lot going on. It’ll pass.” It always passed. I didn’t have a choice. I just had to keep going the way I always did.
“You should come over to my place. I can order some dinner and we can have a couple drinks. Might do you some good to relax.”
I opened my mouth to say no because I always said no, but then stopped. Maybe this was exactly what I needed. Maybe I should have been saying yes to Phil all along. Yes, we worked together, but we were adults. We could figure that part of it out…and really, maybe all he wanted was to fuck me and then the novelty would wear off.
That’s what I needed—to enjoy another man who didn’t try to make me need him. To have sex and drinks, and then let it end there.
It’s what I should have been doing all along, ever since I admitted to myself that I was gay.
Why not? I knew I was an attractive man. I was young…financially stable. People would want me for who I was, not try to make me want them.
But then…what if I was wrong? What if it turned into a disaster? Caused problems at work? “I…”
“Please?” Phil asked. “I’ll ask real nicely.” He winked at me.
“Yes,” I found myself saying, and then I hoped and prayed I’d made the right decision.
*
“What would you like for dinner?” Phil asked. I’d followed him to his condo when we left the office. He didn’t live too far away from Kieran and me.
I shook my head. Me. He didn’t live too far from me in Lincoln Park.
“I’m not sure. What do you want?” I replied.
“You’re the guest. You choose. There’s a Chinese place up the road that delivers. We can be easy and go with pizza. Oh, there’s also a sub place right around the corner we can walk to. I’ll have whatever you want.”
I frowned, even though I shouldn’t. This was normal—Phil’s behavior. He was being kind. And it was also normal for a grown man to decide what he wanted for dinner on his own, but I found myself disappointed he was leaving the decision up to me. “Which is your favorite?” I asked.
“I like them all. Don’t tell me you’re one of those. My ex-wife—I’m bi if you didn’t know—she would always try to make me pick the restaurant. Then, when I’d pick something, she’d decide she didn’t want it.”