Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“You don’t have to,” he says generously.
But I’m not ready for this night to end. “I don’t mind,” I say, and it’s a borderline plea. “You helped me, so it’s the least I can do.”
Jason takes a moment to weigh my offer, then with a friendly smile, he says, “If you insist.”
He opens the dishwasher, and we fall into a rhythm. After rinsing the plates in the sink, I hand them to him, and he lines them up in the rack. We’re a couple feet away—close but not too close.
I want to be closer.
As I near the end of the stack of plates, time starts to tick faster. The night is going to end soon. I’ll need to leave. The pressure to learn if he’s attracted to me mounts. As I hand him the final plate, I let my fingers graze the tips of his.
He flinches in surprise. But the slight hitch in his breath tells me the surprise isn’t a bad one.
Do I keep going?
When Jason closes the dishwasher, another minute has slipped by. I try to figure out how to move this evening into something else.
Something daring.
I can’t stop thinking about his mouth. Or his chest, and the way I might feel if I could touch him.
Jason grabs a Tupperware container from the counter, puts it in the fridge. I reach for another one, slide past him to set it on a shelf. My arm nudges his.
A flash of desire rushes through me from the contact. I close my eyes for a hot second, then open them.
When he shuts the fridge, he’s looking past me—around me, anywhere but at me. Fuck. I’m making this worse with my unsophisticated touches. I’m making him uncomfortable now.
I should let this night end. “I should . . .” But my head’s so hazy with desire I can’t finish the sentence the way I ought to.
I try again. “I should wash my hands,” I say to buy some time before I can ask him one more thing.
Jason just nods, then gestures to the sink. “Go for it,” he says.
Those words reverberate. They wrap around me. They drive me on as I walk to his sink, wash my hands, then turn off the tap.
I hunt around for a towel. Jason holds one out to me.
His face is unreadable, and it’s clear I need to ask for what I want. He probably doesn’t know I’m bi. I have to be the one to take the chance.
I reach for the towel he’s offering, wipe my hands on it, then set it down on the hook.
I weigh my options. I could chalk this up to one weird night with some flirty tension. Or I could go for it.
But really, I’ve known my choice since I walked in that door, telling myself I was only here to ask for media help. “Jason, remember when you asked if I liked to gamble?” I ask.
“I do,” he says evenly, his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his shorts. His whole demeanor says the ball is in my court.
I toss the ball in the air, and I serve. “I’d like to roll the dice right now. And I have another question for you,” I say.
This time, he doesn’t speak. He just nods, letting me make the next move.
One more glance at the clock. I have twenty minutes. I don’t want to waste them. “Can I kiss you?”
6
DIRTY EVERYTHINGS
Jason
When I first met Beck, I had no idea he was into dudes. I didn’t get a vibe whatsoever. Until he said he wanted to watch the romantic comedy too, but even then, I didn’t want to entertain those ideas. And once he started inching closer on the couch and checking me out, I still didn’t want to presume he was into me.
Now that he’s shown his hand, I’ve got a ton of questions for him.
Like, is this what you meant when you said, ‘most of that’? And did you come over for this reason? And did you really want media tips? Because, damn, I believed you. And the biggest question too—are you out?
But as I rake my gaze over the man in my kitchen, I keep those questions locked up. This moment is so surreal I don’t want to break the spell by talking.
Or by thinking about what a bad idea kissing another quarterback might be.
Beck struck the match with his question, and now I’m burning with lust. I want to fan the flames. I step closer, press my hand against his firm pecs, and whisper a smoky answer, “Yes.”
“Good. That’s good,” he says with a staggered breath.
For a few hot, horny seconds, we stay poised inches apart, caught in the anticipation.
How the hell did I get here?
I had no plans to make out with him. All I wanted this afternoon was to help a dude who was floundering. But dammit, Beck’s sexy and smart and weirdly, sort of charming. The way he’s been looking at me is scrambling my brain.