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)
My cheeks heat as Jason’s expression turns stony.
Carter chuckles. “Dude, you never hear things. Where would you hear that?”
Like he’s giving me his beer to hold, Jason chimes in, “At the gym. I mentioned it when a bunch of us were working out,” he adds, covering up my gaffe. “Zena, the founder, is my neighbor, and I said no when she asked me to endorse her app, but I can hook you up with her, Carter.”
I seethe. He saved me again like he cares or something, and he’s still going to someone else at the auction?
Fuck him.
“That’d be dope,” Carter says.
Jillian turns my way. “And what about you, Beck? Are you open to men and women bidding on you?”
“Yes. Both are fine. And I’m interested in someone soft-spoken,” I begin, painting a picture that’s the opposite of the guy across from me. “Maybe even a little shy. Shyness is adorable in my book.”
Jason looks like he just drank a glass of bitter juice.
“Ideally a girl- or guy-next-door type. Someone not in the limelight,” I say, underlining my point for the other quarterback.
“That’s so sweet,” Jillian says, then turns to Jason and asks him what he wants.
He’s quiet for longer than usual. But then he answers in a cool, distant voice. “I like a smart, confident guy who knows what he wants. But, like I said when I signed up for this auction, I’m only going on a platonic date, so I’m good with a man, woman, or couple bidding on me,” he says, and I feel like a complete and utter jackass.
Jason looks at the clock on the wall. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a dinner with my agent. I need to take off.”
As he leaves, a lead weight drops in my gut, sinking me to the bottom of the ocean.
I fucked up.
I send him a text as soon as I leave. I’m sorry. I can explain. I want to explain.
But my phone is quiet.
It’s fine. It’s no biggie. He’s just having dinner with his agent. He’ll respond later.
An hour ticks by, and I’m about to lose my mind. I pace around my home, trying to find a new word game that’ll excite my mind. I click over to my texts, sending a quick note to Drew in LA asking what he’s up to. He writes back quickly with Trying to be the best QB LA’s ever seen. But I can’t even trash talk so all I manage is a Good luck with that, before I pick up another Axel Huxley book. But the first page is gibberish. I can’t read, I can’t play games, I can’t do anything but wait. I go for a walk, but pounding the pavement does nothing to lessen the twisting in my stomach, so I return home and check my phone for the billionth time.
Still no reply. I write to him once more, desperation kicking higher with every second that ticks on the clock. Are you around?
No answer.
I have to fix this. I get in my car and drive to Jackson Street, but once I turn onto his block, I feel utterly ridiculous.
I can’t stalk him. I can’t show up when I’m not welcome either. I hang a U-ey, drive home, and pull into my garage. When I cut the engine, I drop my head against the wheel, groaning. I drag myself out of my car, my gut twisting with misery as I walk from the detached garage to my door.
As I turn the key in the lock, I hear footfalls on the sidewalk behind me and wheel around, my heart sprinting. Jason’s walking toward me.
But his eyes are slits. He’s livid.
22
DIRTY MAGIC
Jason
At the speed of light, Beck unlocks the door, pushes it open, and lets me into his home.
I don’t look around. Don’t care. I’m still pissed, hours later. “What the fuck?”
Beck’s face is ashen. “I’m sorry about the Zena thing. I shouldn’t have said that.”
I snort. “Fuck the Zena thing. I’m talking about what you said. Is that your dream guy or girl? The one next door? Soft-spoken? Shy? Did you deliberately paint my opposite?”
He shakes his head, whiplash fast. “No,” he says, then winces. “Yes.” He looks eaten alive as he confesses, but his eyes say forgive me.
“Why did you say that?” It was so calculated, so deliberate, and I don’t get it.
Beck cracks his knuckles over and over. “You’d told me you didn’t want to date. But then it seemed like you did. And fuck, I don’t know, Jason. I don’t fucking know.”
I cross my arms. “I do this event every year. It’s for charity. I do it because it sends a good message to the whole damn world that there are gay football players up there parading around on stage, having people bid on them, just like the straight guys.”