Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“And you’re going,” he said.
“Yeah, I just ordered a ride and—was today weird? Are we going to be okay when we meet on Tuesday?” I blurted anxiously.
“As long as you don’t buy me pumpkin spice…it’s gonna be fine. Don’t worry.”
I smiled and gave him an impulsive hug. “Thanks.”
Rory kissed my cheek and inched back as a car pulled up to the curb. “There’s your ride.”
He linked his hand in mine and moved to the vehicle. I stared at our joined hands, slightly mystified by the boyfriend treatment, but I liked it too much to pull away.
In fact, I liked everything about him a little too much. His looks, his confidence, his sense of humor. But most of all, I liked the way he made me feel. I wasn’t sure I could define it yet. It was as though he could see things I never showed when I wasn’t on a football field. I gave everything I had in each game, but in everyday life, I avoided confrontation and tiptoed around hard truths. I wouldn’t have walked into that club if I hadn’t thought Rory would come. And I sure as fuck wouldn’t have worn this top.
Maybe the club and the shirt didn’t seem like a big deal, but for a guy who’d been buried in a closet for years, it was huge. Just having him near me, offering subtle encouragement, made me feel powerful. And alive.
“I’ll see you at Starbucks,” I said.
“It’s a date.”
We shared a smile that felt like a beginning. Then I lifted his hand to my lips and kissed his fingers before turning to the waiting car.
It took forever to get to sleep that night. I couldn’t stop thinking about my day, from the parking lot make-out session to the club. If Rory hadn’t had to help his brother, I would have gone home with him or invited him over for sure. No doubt about it. Maybe it was ho-ish, but I didn’t care. I’d already jacked off to the memory of sucking his cock and the way he’d pulled me against him afterward. His fingers in my hair and the feel of his body through the mesh. Fuck. I fell asleep with my hand on my dick, wearing a shirt that didn’t belong to me, just to relive the moment. And while handling my cock was a regular occurrence, I never wore anything except boxer briefs to bed.
I finally started to drift off when I heard a light tap on my bedroom door. Max inched the door open, spilling light from the hallway into my room a second later. I sat up on my elbows and glared at him blearily.
“What are you doing?” I hissed.
“Checking on you. I didn’t know if you went home with your tutor or not, and I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he whispered.
“I’m fine. Why are you whispering?”
“It’s dark. You’re supposed to whisper in the dark.” Max moved into my room and sat on the corner of my mattress before lying beside me. “Since you’re awake, you might as well tell me all about Rory.”
“Shh. G’night, Max.”
He nudged my shoulder. “Did you know you still have Sky’s shirt on?”
My eyes flew open. Oops. “Do I? I don’t care. I’m too tired.”
“Hmm. Me too.” Max didn’t budge, though. He was quiet for a moment; then he said, “The guy I danced with tonight was cute, didn’t you think? He had a weird-ass name. Phoenix. His parents named their kids after the places they were conceived. I think my name would be Tustin. How ’bout you?”
I gave him a blank stare, then slowly closed my eyes. “You like him. Did you get his number?”
“Yeah. I can’t do anything about it, though. Unless Sky is in on it.”
“I don’t get it. Didn’t you say he was going to send you a dick pic earlier? Why can’t you do what you want too?”
“I can. Sort of. I just promised not to this weekend.”
“You guys are weird,” I grumbled for the millionth time.
“Maybe.”
I opened my eyes. “Max, why are you still with him?”
He laid his head on the pillow, but he didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know. Let’s talk about something else. The guy who drove me home played guitar in some band from the eighties. He sang a couple of their hits on the drive back. He actually had a decent voice. We…”
I groaned and rolled over while Max droned on about music that was a decade old when we were born. He did this occasionally when he was in some sort of turmoil. Talking until he couldn’t stand the sound of his own voice was Max’s way of dealing with uncomfortable thoughts. I figured he’d go back to his own bed when he was ready.
Sometime later, I awoke to the sensation of being watched. I thought it might be part of a dream. I didn’t feel any sense of danger; it was more of a creep factor. Or maybe it was Max. I turned to my side and frowned. He’d crawled under the blankets at some point and burrowed close to me. I inched away from him. I was mildly annoyed, but he could stay if he didn’t hog the covers.