Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
My heart ached in my chest. In high school, when other kids had called me a weirdo, it bothered me way more than it ever should have. So Mitchell had taken it upon himself to start using it as a term of endearment—like some kind of silly immersion therapy. When we hung out alone, he’d started to call me a weirdo all the time, softening it for me.
He’d called me his weirdo. Often while running one of those big hands through my messy mop of hair.
I’d definitely always belonged to him, even if he had never belonged to me.
I pulled in a sharp breath of cold air, straightening my spine as he pulled away.
“You look different,” I said.
He looked down at the ground for a second, crunching a few old leaves. “Shit, I know I’ve gotten old, dude, you don’t need to tell me.”
“Oh, cut it out, Mitch, you know you look hot as hell,” I said quickly, without thinking, the words pulling the butterflies right back up.
He was bashful about the compliment as usual, waving me off. “I’m the same old me,” he said. “Well. Most things are the same, at least.” His expression grew a little darker, in a way I wasn’t used to seeing on him. He was always so light and optimistic, always the one comforting me—but in that moment I felt like I wanted to protect him, somehow.
I knew he must have been reeling from his divorce. Family was everything to Mitch.
“Zach is in my third-period class,” I said, changing the subject.
Mitch nodded. “He told me he got placed in Mr. Bailey’s math class. You’ll be the best damn math teacher he’s ever had. You were always so good at helping me study.”
“I can already tell Zach is motivated and sharp as a tack,” I said. “He’ll kick ass this year.”
“He’s a handful lately,” Mitch said, letting out a long breath. “I can’t keep up.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. He reminds me so much of you sometimes. I’m sure you’ll see what I mean.”
Whe Zach had walked into my classroom yesterday, I’d seen so much of Mitch in his fourteen-year-old face. He had the same kind eyes, the same sweet smile. Mitch had moved away with Jess while she was still pregnant with Zach, and when I’d visited them in Chicago, I’d only seen Zach grow up in snippets.
Mitch looked down at his watch and ran his hand through his hair. “Shit. I have to get inside. We’re still hanging out tomorrow, right?”
I nodded. “Meeting someone here tonight?” I asked. Mitch had always been good with the ladies before he’d gotten married. There was no reason to assume he didn’t already have dates lined up.
“Nah.” He gestured toward the bar. “I’m applying for a job.”
I furrowed my brow and looked behind me. “Is there… some sort of late-night gym behind Red’s Tavern that I’ve never known about?”
“No. This is the only place I could find that was hiring.”
“Red’s?”
He nodded.
“Yeah, right,” I said.
“I’m serious.”
I stared at him blankly. “You’re going to be working at Red’s Tavern?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice sunny and optimistic. “I mean, if they accept my application, I guess. Don’t have much bartending experience other than manning the bar at house parties, but they claimed experience wasn’t needed.”
The Mitch I knew had worked in gyms for his entire life. Last I’d heard, he had been a personal trainer to some Netflix actress.
“You do realize guys are going to hit on you left and right if you work here, right? Red’s isn’t an official gay bar, but there’s a pride flag on the wall. People know to come here since there isn’t anywhere else.”
I didn’t know everything about Mitchell Price anymore, but I’d always known for damn sure that he wasn’t gay. He’d made that clear to me long ago.
I couldn’t imagine his face when he saw the Big Rock Cock. Or heard anything that came out of Red’s or Sam’s mouth.
Mitch smiled that big, goofy grin. He really was like a huge golden retriever of a man. “I didn’t know that, actually, but of course I’m okay with that. Why would that bother me?”
“It would bother some straight men.”
He just rolled his eyes and waved off the concern. “Why? What were you doing here tonight?” he asked.
Trying not to obsess over you.
Failing.
“I don’t know. I was looking for a hookup, I guess,” I said.
His face fell, his big eyes searching my face. “I thought you quit doing that,” he said.
“Hm?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Last time we talked you said you were done with one-night stands. Said something like you were swearing off men until you found The One.”
I pulled in a breath. “Sounds like some shit I’d say.”
Mitch nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that, Ev. I just didn’t realize you were still doing the whole hookups thing.”
The familiar creep of shame settled in my stomach. I was thirty-two and still had never had a relationship that lasted longer than six months. I’d had a string of failures, relationships that petered out quickly, and a lot of hookups that never went anywhere.