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)
There’s resignation in his eyes. Pretty sure it matches mine.
“Thanks for last night,” he says.
“Same to you,” I say.
I’ve never had a goodbye like this, and it sucks. Do I aim for something important like thanks for trusting me with some of your firsts? Or something crystal clear like we can’t keep doing this?
But Beck seizes the moment. “I do know we can’t keep doing this,” he says heavily, reading my mind.
It shouldn’t surprise me that he drew the line. He’s always been bolder than I give him credit for. He’s always making first moves.
But I can make this move. I grab his chin and press a kiss to his lips. A firm, poignant kiss that says I’d do this again if I could.
I let go.
“Bye, Jason,” he whispers.
“See you, Beck.”
He heads down the steps, making his way in silhouette through my yard and toward the gate. He doesn’t look back as he goes. He’s just a guy in a hat, leaving a hookup’s home before the sun shines on what they did last night.
19
THE GUY WITH THE NEW NAME
Jason
On Wednesday afternoon, Whitney commandeers me the second I walk into the LGBTQ Alliance.
The tall, Black teen grabs my arm. “Jason!” Her face is the picture of good news.
“What’s up, Whit? Wait . . . did you finally pull the trigger and ask . . . don’t tell me . . . the cute math geek to homecoming?”
She bounces. “I did and she said yes!”
I grin and hold up both hands to high-five. She smacks back, bouncing with excitement. “I swear, if you’d told me a year ago, or even a few months ago, that I could do this, I’d have said it would never happen.”
Moments like this are almost as good as a touchdown. “And look at you. You did it.”
“Because of coming here,” she says, pointing to the floor of the Alliance. “This place. You. This gave me the guts.”
But she chose to come here. She chose to seek community. “Nah, you had the guts all along. This is on you,” I say with a smile.
“Did you go to prom or homecoming with a guy?”
I shake my head. “The guys at my high school were not my type. They were boring. Also, there were maybe two other queer dudes,” I say, still lamenting the slim high school pickings nearly a decade later.
“What’s your type?”
I immediately picture Beck. “Smart. I love a brainy guy,” I say. “Someone who has a big heart. Who’s not all wrapped up in himself. And someone who understands what football means to me. My last boyfriend did not,” I say. “But that’s why Wyatt is history.”
She growls at my ex on my behalf. “Football is your passion. You need someone who understands what it is to have a passion.”
“Exactly.”
“Is there anyone you’re into now?” she asks without agenda—in the way you ask when you’re in like, and you want everyone else to be in like.
But the guy I like is off-limits. Instead of telling her the truth, I do something I detest. “Nope,” I lie, then gesture to the hallway. “Want to play shuffleboard?”
“I do,” she says, and she’s floating the rest of the afternoon as we face off in the game room.
I’m happy for her. At least that’s not a lie.
That evening, I’m on my way to the gym to meet Nate and some of the other guys for a light workout when I catch sight of a familiar figure coming my way on Fillmore—the strong shoulders and broad chest of the man who spent the night in my bed earlier this week.
Pleasure curls traitorously in my stomach at the sight of Beck. He hasn’t noticed me yet—he’s bent over his phone, tapping away at it.
He’s smiling too, perhaps amused by the conversation. Is he texting with someone? Maybe a hookup who will give him the rest of the experiences he wants?
Desire twists into envy.
What the fuck? How did I go from zero to sixty?
Oh, right. Fucking emotions.
I pull the brakes on the jealous train. But I do pace myself, so I arrive at the same time. I’m not above stealing a little moment with Beck if I can get it.
When we reach the door at the same time, he looks up from his phone, eyes wide as he nearly collides with a cardboard cutout of a super-fit gym rat.
I want to smile, but I school myself, caution winning over as I whisper a careful hi. For a few hot seconds, his eyes roam over my frame before he adopts a cool expression.
“Hey, McKay.”
“Hey, Cafferty.” I follow suit with the last name. We’re about to see our teammates, so I better get into character. “How’s it going?”
“Great. Everything’s great.”
“Good. Good,” I say when what I want to say is come over again and let me show you all the other things I can do with my tongue.