Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Beck smiles, then tips his forehead toward the fairgrounds. “Enjoy the dunk tank.”
“You’re not joining us?” The question is automatic. The dunk tank wouldn’t be Beck’s thing. Beck and Jason are together, but they don’t do everything together. Jason’s outgoing. Beck’s more shy. Makes sense that he wouldn’t volunteer for an in-the-spotlight activity like that.
“No. But I can meet you guys later for a drink,” Beck says. “I’m going to the bookstore. There’s a new Rhys Locke I want to check out.”
“Oh, let me know if it’s worth picking up. That ending in his last book killed me. I’m still dead from it,” I say.
Beck salutes me. “I’ll give you a book report.”
Jason kisses his guy on the cheek, then Beck takes off.
“You two,” I mutter affectionately.
“I know.” Jason tries to hide an infatuated smile and fails miserably.
Over at the carnival grounds, the Ferris wheel rotates ominously against the clear blue sky. As I survey the scene, that unsettled feeling hits my gut again. People are everywhere. Or, more specifically, half-naked men are everywhere. “This place is teeming with dudes,” I say, both hopeful and apprehensive.
“As advertised,” my buddy says, then claps my shoulder. “Man, this is like a debutante ball, isn’t it? I feel like I should announce you.” Jason makes a megaphone with his hands but thank fuck he doesn’t actually shout. “And now, presenting the Hawks receiver. Nate Chandler is twenty-nine, enjoys superhero flicks, coffee stronger than a locomotive, and losing at golf, but he will school anyone in karaoke and catching touchdowns.”
I scowl, then smile. The last one matters the most. I fucking love my job. I glance around, like I’m looking for all the takers. “It’s a miracle they’re not lining up right now.”
“They will be, my friend. They will be,” Jason says, then he studies my face, concern in his eyes. He stops. “You good?”
I stop, too, sighing. “It’s just been…a while. I feel more than rusty.”
He smiles sympathetically. “Hey, no pressure from me. You know that, right?’’
I do. Jason asked me to volunteer since he’s involved with the charity. Sure, he mentioned the scenery, but he never suggested I should get back on the hookup merry-go-round right this minute. He hasn’t pushed at all. But I’m ready to get in the game after a long timeout post-divorce, and with all the queer dudes around, my dick wants to take a whirl.
“I do know that, and I appreciate it,” I say.
“It’s all good if nothing happens. If you meet someone, it’s cool. This is a good place to meet a guy. And if you don’t, no big deal either,” he adds as we resume walking through the fairgrounds.
That takes some of the pressure off, but only a bit. I’d like to have sex again, any kind. I seriously miss it. “I’ve got to get back out there at some point. I’m not going to monk it up forever,” I say.
“Good. Then I’ve got a question for you. Do you like pie?” he asks as we walk by the ring toss.
I know where he’s going, and I don’t like it. Not. One. Bit.
“The ring toss is fun,” I say helpfully, then I point to the nearby strongman game. “I’m totally happy to run one of those too.”
“And if the strongman dude called in sick, I’d ask you first. But the pie-toss guy did. Any chance you can do double duty? We need a dunk-tank target and a pie-toss one.”
I groan in misery. “For my first official day on the market you’re gonna let half the queer dudes in San Francisco throw my least favorite dessert at me?”
“How is pie worse than getting hit in the dunk tank?”
“I like water. I don’t like pie.”
“I don’t get that. But taste aside, we really need someone who can handle getting hit. And, well, that’s you, my man.”
My marriage was a bit like getting smacked in the face with surprise after surprise. “Because of my ex?”
He rolls his eyes. “No. Because you’re a badass baller. And maybe some super-hot dude will pummel you with pies.”
“Great. That’s how I want to meet my rebound hottie. While getting whacked in the face with a cream pie.”
He smiles. Evilly. “I mean…”
I flip him the bird.
But fuck nerves.
It’s now or never.
Since I’m already in board shorts and slides, I stride over to the dunk tank, yank off my San Francisco Hawks T-shirt, and toss it on a nearby bench.
Watch out, men of San Francisco, I’m back on the market, and I don’t have a damn clue how the world works anymore.
I climb up, park my ass on the bench above the water, and wait for someone to hit the target.
2
MY BIG APPETITE
Hunter
My brain pings with plans as my co-producer Sarah and I leave the coffee shop. The meeting with the production company lit a creative fire under me as they pitched us on a new adventure-sports show.