Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
He tried not to dwell on the rather depressing possibility that Ryan might be the only man he could relax completely with in bed.
“What?” James said, trying to sound attentive and enthusiastic. It wasn’t Fred’s fault he wasn’t Ryan. It wasn’t Fred’s fault that James couldn’t help but compare him to his friend, and that Fred always came up short. It wasn’t Fred’s fault James was an idiot and couldn’t fucking move on.
“You didn’t say Tristan DuVal was your friend’s brother’s boyfriend,” Fred said, staring openly at Tristan. “I didn’t know he was gay. Wow.”
This time James didn’t bother to hide his grimace. “How is that relevant?” he said. “Our sexualities don’t define us.”
Fred shook his head, his eyes still on Tristan. “It’s different. He’s a celebrity.”
“He doesn’t even play football anymore,” James said. “Please stop staring at him.” The last thing he needed was Tristan’s attention on them. The guy didn’t like him for some reason and he was also one of the most observant people James knew.
“But I can’t not stare at him!” Fred said, grinning. “My sister is a journalist at the Telegraph—”
“A fine way to repay their hospitality.”
At least Fred had the grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry,” he said, leaning in to kiss James. Suppressing the urge to push him away, James kissed back. He didn’t close his eyes. That was why he had the perfect view of Ryan laughing at something and leaning down to kiss Hannah’s neck. That was why when Ryan looked up, their eyes locked over Fred’s shoulder. Something shifted in Ryan’s eyes, a flicker of an emotion James couldn’t quite place.
James closed his eyes and kissed Fred harder, hoping to feel something. Anything.
But his foolish heart remained unaffected, as if it wasn’t the same heart that beat madly every time Ryan smiled at him, every time Ryan called him Jamie, every time Ryan pulled him close.
After the dinner, the mood of the party became more relaxed and informal. Fred had excused himself and left. Ryan’s mother and aunt were already gone, too, as were Ryan’s sister Sandra and her husband. Zach’s friends left soon after that, and now it was just James, Hannah, Tristan and the five Hardaway brothers. The brothers chatted animatedly, exchanging lighthearted insults as they nursed their beers. As usual, it was very entertaining to watch. And as usual, Ryan and Zach dominated the room without even trying.
Zach, as the eldest, always stood a little apart from his younger siblings. He was the dependable and responsible one, with a very dry sense of humor, and he tended to be more than a little overbearing. John, Nick, and the eighteen-year-old Miles were much more laid back and mild-tempered.
Out of all the brothers, Ryan resembled Zach the most. Not in appearance, because they had little in common besides their height and muscular build, but in bearing. Like Zach, Ryan was steadfast and domineering, though it manifested differently: if Zach gave you a cool order and simply expected you to do as you were told, the sheer intensity of Ryan’s personality made it difficult to look away when he talked and it was hard not to do whatever he wanted. At least that was how Jamie often felt: like a helpless rock caught in Ryan’s gravity, while Ryan orbited the lovely girl snuggled up against him.
“You should try to be less obvious, you know.”
James flinched.
Slowly, he turned his head and found himself staring into an almost identical set of aquamarine eyes. Sipping his beer lazily, Tristan said, “How long?”
James glanced around. They were some distance away from the bickering brothers and were unlikely to be overheard.
He briefly considered feigning confusion, but he knew it was useless. If anyone could recognize a lie, it was Tristan. The guy was a chameleon. Tristan could be nice and charming one moment, then turn cold and rude the next. Despite knowing him for half a year, James still had no clue which of those Tristans was real. He suspected Tristan was closer to his real self with Zach. He was different with Zach: softer, warmer, more open.
“Don’t bother denying it,” Tristan said.
“I wasn’t going to,” James said.
“Then you aren’t as stupid as you look.”
James cocked his head, looking at Tristan curiously. But he couldn’t read him at all. “Why do you hate me so much?”
The confused expression on Tristan’s face was perfect, but James wasn’t buying it. Such intense instant dislike didn’t appear for no reason.
“Hate you?” Tristan repeated. “Why would I hate you? I barely know you.”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” Jamie said.
Tristan smiled, the smile turning his face almost ethereal. He really was uncommonly beautiful. “Nice change of topic, Grayson. So, how long have you been carrying a torch for your straight best-friend-slash-brother?”
James didn’t answer.
“Hmm,” Tristan said. His eyes studied James, assessing and sharp. “Why don’t you tell him? Wait, don’t answer. I know: you’re afraid it would fuck up your friendship. Pfft, you’re so predictable.”