Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“No.” Canaan held up his hands. “If you’re not interested, I’ll just go on my own, deal with their teasing. Now that we’ve had such a great time hanging out, I’m more than a little into this idea of bringing you. I don’t want to settle for second choice.”
Texas was stoplight after stoplight so Renzo used a red light to study Canaan’s face. He seemed for real—eyes wide, palms still up, mouth open and inviting without being fake-pouty.
“And even if you don’t want to go, I’d love to get together here again. Show you more places.” Canaan sounded as sincere as he looked, and Renzo sighed as the light changed.
“Maybe I’ll think about it.” He couldn’t believe he was promising that much. Probably showed what a sucker he was. Or how damn cute and appealing Canaan was. Maybe both.
“Yes!” Canaan’s celebratory chair dance was pretty fucking adorable, and Renzo had to laugh.
“Simmer down. I didn’t say yes. Just that I’d think on it.”
“That’s a win to me.”
The GPS told him to take a right into a neighborhood of small, older craftsman homes close together, not unlike the Philly neighborhood where he’d grown up—well-kept homes but not huge. He pulled up even with a dark-colored house with a small front porch and a large window on either side of the front door.
“This is me. I live in an apartment behind the main house. You wanna come in?”
Coming in would mean revisiting the sex question, and with all the weirdness surrounding the camping invitation, Renzo wasn’t sure he wanted to do that. “I have to be up early for my workout tomorrow. I should probably be getting back to base.”
“That’s fine.” Some of the sparkle dimmed in Canaan’s eyes.
Fuck. Renzo didn’t like disappointing him. Without overthinking it, he reached for Canaan’s leg, gave his knee a little squeeze. “I really am going to think about your invite. I liked the places you showed me tonight.”
“Good. I’d love to find you some more trouble again sometime.” Before exiting the truck, Canaan gave him a wary smile that made Renzo’s stomach wobble.
Damn. It would be too easy to say yes to those eyes and that mouth.
But he meant what he said. He needed some time to think—if he’d learned nothing else as a SEAL, it was to not go leaping into things without a plan. And as unsteady as Canaan made him feel, he definitely needed a plan.
Chapter Four
“You’ve moped long enough,” Canaan’s grandfather said as he put a tray of bacon into the oven Sunday morning. “All yesterday you were a like a caged tiger. Going to tell me what’s up?”
Tiger. That just made him think of Renzo and his quest for a better nickname. Which just made him bummed out again that it had been over twenty-four hours since they said goodnight, and he hadn’t heard from the guy. Not that Canaan had given him a deadline on the camping invite, but still he’d hoped to hear something. And yeah, he had Renzo’s number now and he could have been the one to text, but he didn’t want to seem pushy or like some teenager with a crush. Renzo probably had enough lovesick fans. He didn’t need Canaan going all stalker too.
“Canaan,” his grandfather prodded. “I think the pancake batter has suffered enough.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Canaan brought his attention back around to breakfast and dropped pancakes on the griddle. When Grandma had been alive, Sunday breakfast had been her thing. Waffles. French toast. Hash browns. Cinnamon rolls. If the cousins or friends were in town, it would be a huge spread, and even when it was just the three of them, she always did something special. Now that she was gone, Canaan made a point of cooking with Grandpa on weekends. Wasn’t the same, wasn’t ever going to be the same, but at least he could keep Grandpa from wallowing in memories.
“And...”
Canaan sighed as he flipped the pancakes that needed it because, of course, Grandpa wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “Just thinking about work. I hate working Sunday afternoon shifts. It’s always dead.”
“Liar.” Grandpa grabbed a cutting board for the fruit salad Canaan had laid out ingredients for. His bald head shone in the morning sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. In the yard, the red flowers his grandfather had planted by Canaan’s converted garage apartment danced in the breeze. “That’s not what’s got you in a funk. Is it this camping trip? You don’t want to go?”
“No, no. I want to go. I do. I’m just worried about you...” Canaan tried to deflect his grandfather’s concern.
“I’m going to be just fine. The freezer is full of food. I’ll probably go out to dinner with Yan one night anyway. You worry too much.”
“I just feel bad leaving you without a car.” With his grandfather driving less and less, there hadn’t been much reason for Canaan to use his limited funds to get a car of his own. They shared his grandfather’s sedan, and it worked for them. Mostly.