Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Having sex fantasies about the jock next door struck me as much safer than hoping to find something the grown-ups in my life didn’t seem capable of achieving. So much so, that I wouldn’t even let myself think the word. I had a hot new friend. End of story.
Chapter 2
INTRODUCTION
Charlie (“Chase”) Rhodes
THE more I got to know Scott, the more I realized he was a case of the cover perfectly matching the book. What I mean is, his kind eyes, warm smile, and wholesome overall appearance weren’t hiding someone who secretly yanked kitten tails or listened to death metal. When school started that fall, Scott joined Model UN, Key Club, and the football team. The first two were very impressive and civic-minded and blah, blah, blah. But have you seen those football uniforms? The pants are super tight in all the right places, and Scott had a body to die for.
And that right there, folks, brings me to the second picture in the album. It might be a little unorthodox, but fuck it, I love this shot: Scott in a huddle at the homecoming game, bent over, white pants, backside view. I didn’t miss a single game all season, but to this day, I have no idea how that game is played or what a down is—in a football context, anyway. I am, however, intimately familiar with going down in the way that counts. Sorry, got distracted. Back to the picture.
Charlie (“Chase”) Rhodes
“HEY, homo, are you actually wearing girls’ clothes now?” a nasty voice boomed from behind me. I tried to place it without turning around.
The words weren’t anything I hadn’t heard before. A lot, actually. But knowing which particular asshole said them generally helped me assess whether I should respond, duck, run, or a combination of all of the above. I thought about how depressing it was that there were enough candidates for this job at my school that I was struggling to identify the culprit. And that even accounted for the fact that I was now a sophomore, so one class of bully prospects had already graduated. That was, unless the new freshmen were going to make my life miserable too. I was so distracted being horrified at the idea that kids younger than me might give me a hard time that I forgot all about the guy currently giving me a hard time.
“Are you deaf, Rhodes? I asked you a question.”
Right. Asshole asking what I assumed was a rhetorical question and apparently not having anything better to do than stand behind me and look at my ass while I got my books out of my locker. Hello, irony, pleased to meet you.
My friend Selina was at her locker right next to mine, and the two of us had frozen in concert. “I’m sorry, Charlie,” she whispered to me without moving any part of her body.
Apparently, we were both going for the “if I can’t see it, then it isn’t real” approach to dealing with the situation at hand.
“It’s okay. Hang tight. They’ll leave after I’m gone.”
I sighed deeply and stuffed as many books as I could fit into my backpack without damaging my brand-new-to-me ballet shoes. I had found a class at the youth center not too far from my apartment and I’d been spending every free minute practicing, which impressed my teacher so much that she found me the shoes. If I wanted to get in some practice time that afternoon, I’d have to avoid a broken leg. Taking a deep breath and holding the books I couldn’t fit in my backpack against my chest like a protective shield, I turned around and appraised my bully du jour.
The sneering face was familiar, but I didn’t know the guy’s name. Ditto for the two guys standing behind him looking vaguely uncomfortable and yet amused. It was a hard combination to pull off, but brothers were making it happen. Go them. I darted my gaze around, trying to chart an escape path around the three big impediments that had me somewhat trapped against my locker.
“What kind of guy wears a pink sweater?” Asshole Number One asked.
Uh, one with a cool skin tone and great fashion sense. That sweater made my blue eyes pop and my pale skin look creamy and glowy. And side note, the jeans were hand-me-downs from my sister but the top was from the men’s section at Filene’s Basement, thank you very much.
Because he was new to my harassment scene, I wasn’t sure whether this guy was the violent type. I did like that sweater, though, and I wasn’t inclined to get blood on it, so rather than telling him he was way off base, I avoided eye contact and said, “Excuse me” while I tried to step around him.
“No,” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest.