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)
Beck clears his throat. “And now it’s my turn to answer your question. My brother taught me to cook.”
He’s proud of his kitchen skills, but it seems bittersweet. I hope I didn’t hit a sore spot. “Does it bother you that I asked?”
He shakes his head. “I like talking about him. I mean, mostly. But yeah, Griffin taught me to cook when I was in high school. It was kind of our thing. We cooked together most nights. He always wanted to make sure I was eating healthy for practice.”
That sounds like someone I know. “Nolan’s kind of the same way. My brother,” I add.
“He’s older too?” Beck asks.
“Five years. He was a chef for a while and even went to cooking school. Now he’s the host of a food review show with his girlfriend. How to Eat a Banana,” I say.
Beck’s brown eyes spark with excitement. “I’ve seen that show. I watched some of their Los Angeles episodes.”
“No shit?”
“I love food review shows. And cooking videos too. That’s how Griffin taught me to cook. YouTube. A few years ago, we even watched some of your brother’s shows together.” He glances away from me as if looking into a memory and sighs.
“You miss him,” I say softly.
“I do,” he says.
“I wish there was something I could say.”
Beck gives a sad smile. “There’s not, but just saying that means a lot.”
I want to comfort him—squeeze his shoulder or reach for his hand—but I don’t do either. Both moves feel so boyfriend-y.
“I’m glad you and Nolan are close,” Beck adds with a touch of longing.
“We are. I saw him in New York the other week,” I say, but I stop there. I don’t want to linger on what I have that he doesn’t. I do want to know him a little better, though. He’s such a mystery in some ways, and I’m a curious fucker. After finishing a taco, I say, “Are your parents not around?” Then, I realize that’s too private. Beck came here for sex, not a deep conversation. I hold up my hands and backpedal. “I’m getting too personal. Let’s talk about something else.”
“I don’t mind. They are, but they moved to Australia when I turned sixteen.”
“You’re not Australian. At least you don’t have an accent,” I say like I’m a detective or something.
“I know. My mom had this big job opportunity with an architecture firm. It was something she’d wanted her whole life. When she got the job, I’d just become the starting quarterback at a great high school football program. Griffin was four years older. My mom wanted to take the job, I wanted to stay, and we all agreed on it. Honestly, I was happiest when it was just Griffin and me.”
“Just you and your brother for the last two years of high school?” I try to picture what that would be like. I can’t imagine being without either my dad or Nolan.
Beck’s eyes get a little misty. “Yeah. It was great. He was my guardian, I suppose. We hung out together, played video games and board games, watched YouTube cooking videos, fishing videos, and camping videos. Then did all those things. He taught me . . . everything. Football, how to shave, how to ask out a girl . . .”
I smile at the last one. “Did he ever know you liked dudes too?”
He nods proudly. “Once I figured it out, he was the first person I told.”
I hold up a hand to high-five. “My brother was the first person I told. I was fourteen.”
Beck’s eyes pop. “You knew when you were fourteen?”
“Yup. Hell, I probably knew on some level when I was even younger. I think I just always knew, in a way. I never didn’t know, if that makes sense.”
He sighs. “I kinda wish I knew what that was like.”
“Why? There’s no medal for figuring it out early.”
“I feel like a late bloomer,” he says, with a them’s the breaks shrug.
“One, you’re not. And two, people figure things out at any age,” I say as I polish off the taco.
“No wonder you’re so confident, though,” he says, waggling his beer, then taking a drink. He mumbles around the bottle, “You’ve got all these years of knowing yourself.”
When he looks up again, I make sure to meet his eyes. “Trust me, I still get nervous.”
Beck arches a doubtful brow. “Like when?”
I hardly ever pull back the curtain like this. But this man has earned it with his honesty and his fearlessness. I stand, clear my plate, and set it in the sink. Then I move behind him and run my hands through his hair. He leans his head back into my fingers with a soft hum as I say, “Like when this sexy guy shows up at my door and tells me he wants me to show him how good it feels to be touched by a man.”