Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“Nope,” he murmured, pressing his nose against Zach’s arm. “Why should I? All we have in common is the guy who put his dick in our mothers and didn’t use condoms.”
Fingers started stroking his hair. Tristan leaned into the touch, a part of him still a bit surprised by how little he cared about being seen by other people. He used to break out in a cold sweat every time he imagined someone seeing him with another man. Now he didn’t give a shit—one of the perks of being out of the spotlight. He was no longer a football star. Maybe he never would be again. Although Zach kept saying that his full recovery was likely, Tristan didn’t really think he’d ever return to football. His leg did feel better with every day, and most of the time his injury didn’t trouble him much, but he didn’t have the same confidence in his leg anymore. He doubted he ever would—at least not enough to play football professionally. And the thing was…he wasn’t even sure he wanted to. Even thinking about pretending again to be something he wasn’t and constantly hiding his relationship with Zach stressed Tristan out. It would be nearly impossible, anyway. Hiding a gay relationship was easier for Jared and Gabe, because they actually worked for the same football club and had work-related reasons to be seen together.
It didn’t help that he pretty much lived with Zach nowadays. Tristan still wasn’t sure how that had happened. He had never officially moved in, but rather migrated slowly: his toothbrush, his favorite pajamas, his tablet, one at a time. One day he just realized he had a lot of shit in Zach’s bedroom and hadn’t returned to his own house in a week.
“Am I living with you?” Tristan had asked, staring at his favorite brand of coffee beans in Zach’s kitchen.
Zach had just chuckled, brushed his lips against Tristan’s neck and said, his voice still rough from sleep, “Morning.”
It was nauseatingly domestic—and embarrassing. Tristan was glad he didn’t have any friends to mock him. Gabriel was bad enough. The prick laughed every time he saw Tristan in Zach’s house—which was far too often, since, unlike him, Zach did have friends and Jared and Gabe were among them.
“Maybe James would love to have a brother,” Zach said, returning him to the present.
Tristan snorted. “He doesn’t even like me.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Zach said. “You’re so nice to him.”
Tristan opened his eyes and gave Zach an innocent look. “Hey, now that I don’t have a personal assistant, I have to get my fun where I can.”
Zach shook his head disapprovingly, but his eyes were amused and warm. Tristan suppressed a giddy smile. Ugh. He hated this thing.
“Anyway,” Tristan said, trailing his fingers down Zach’s chest lightly, until they rested just below the waistband of his trunks. “I wish he wasn’t around so much. His stupid face annoys me.”
“He’s a good kid,” Zach said. “And he and Ryan are pretty much a 2-in-1 package, so you’ll have to suck it up.”
Tristan made a face. “What’s up with that, by the way? Are they fucking?”
“Get your mind out of the gutter. They’re just friends. Ryan’s straight.”
Tristan raised his eyebrows. “You’re supposedly straight, too, but it doesn’t stop you from putting your dick in my body every day.”
Zach pinched Tristan’s buttock. “It’s not your body. It’s mine.”
Tristan wasn’t impressed in the least. He scowled, but before he could say anything, Zach tipped his face up and kissed him shortly. “This is my mouth, too,” Zach said with an infuriating smirk.
“Fuck you,” Tristan said before grabbing Zach’s hair and pulling him into a deeper kiss. Zach moaned, his hand slipping into Tristan’s trunks to cup his buttock, overconfident and proprietary as usual.
Someone catcalled. “My virgin eyes!”
Tristan tore his lips away and glared at Ryan, who was smirking at them from the pool. “Piss off, Ryan. And take your bleached shadow with you.”
“I told you: I’m a natural blond,” James said with a long-suffering look.
“He is,” Ryan told Tristan, throwing an arm around his friend. “Come on, Jamie, prove it to Zach’s boy.” He hooked a finger on the waistband of James’s trunks. “Take it off, show him.”
“You’re so gay,” Tristan said. “And I’m not Zach’s boy.”
“Says the guy who moans my brother’s name every night.” Ryan grinned and said in a terrible imitation of Tristan’s voice, “Oh yeah, Zach, harder—”
Tristan grabbed a Red Bull and threw it at his head, narrowly missing as Ryan ducked. “I don’t sound like that!”
Zach—the traitor—was laughing. “You kinda do.”
“I hate you,” Tristan grumbled before glowering at Ryan. “Even if I am, you two are still gayer.”
Ryan sighed, looking serious for once. “All right, it’s getting kinda old. There’s such a thing as friendship, you know. I mean, I love this git for some reason,”—he smirked when James elbowed him—“but even thinking of him that way grosses me out.” He grimaced. “It would be like a shagging a brother.”