Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
I love my job. I love watching guys connect with other guys. Sometimes, hell, most of the time the dudes just hook up and that’s great, since sex is, well, great. But plenty of men have returned here, all coupled up and getting hitched, to tell me they met at The Lazy Hammock.
Warms my jaded heart.
I return to my friends, asking Grant and Declan if they want iced tea and Diet Coke, and then I grab glasses when they give me their orders. “Now listen, it’s high time the two of you jocks admit the truth. I’m your Cupid. Am I right?”
Declan laughs, his brown eyes twinkling with delight. “At this point, feel free to claim us.”
“You’re taking credit for their union, River?” Owen challenges with a lift of his brow.
“I’m the patron saint of hot pro-baseball players in love,” I say.
“But are you Cupid the Greek god, or cupid the cherub?” Owen counters, since he loves to rib me.
“Do I look like a cute Valentine’s baby who shoots arrows at couples?” I square my shoulders and deepen my tone, as I pour an iced tea. “Or a Mediterranean heartthrob?”
Owen knits his brow. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“There is only one answer,” I say, sliding the glass to Declan.
“C’mon, O. River’s gotta be Eros, aka Cupid,” Grant chimes in since he loves mythology. “Doesn’t he seem like the Greek God of Love, who struck the hearts of his targets till they swooned with passion?”
I tap my chest, nodding big and long. “Like a hot Greek god, I shot my arrows at Grant Blackwood and Declan Steele, once upon a time. Call me Eros from now on.”
“Fine, Eros,” Owen says, dragging out the name like it has ten syllables. “What role exactly did you play in the happy couple getting together?”
I mime zipping my lips. Owen’s the PR guy on Declan’s baseball team, and it’s up to these two athletes what they share. But these guys did indulge in a few secret dates back at my bar in Phoenix at Grant’s first spring training years ago.
“You’re the worst at sharing anything,” Owen says, huffing as I pour a Diet Coke for Grant.
“I know. I’m terrible, and you hate spending time with me,” I say, then flash a smile at the pair of fiancés. “Seriously, I am so happy for you two, but let’s talk about me for a second, please.”
“By all means,” Declan says, sweeping out his arm to indicate the floor is mine.
“Here’s the thing. How does this keep happening?”
“And what is this?” Declan queries.
“This gross injustice when it comes to love and hot men. You two met and fell like that. As for me, I meet all the sexy, charming gay men in San Francisco, and I’m wretchedly single. What gives? I’m like the mayor of gay San Francisco.” I wave a hand at this establishment teeming with queer guys. “Literally every guy I meet in any given night bats for my team, and still, here I am, single at twenty-nine. When you, Grant,” I say, gesturing to the catcher, “fell in love with the only other out baseball player in the freaking city. Not that I begrudge you two, but would it kill either the Greek heartthrob or the smug little Valentine’s baby to throw some arrows my way?”
After all, it’s been a while.
And I don’t mean for sex.
Though that’s sadly true too.
It’s been a while since I had a great date—since I wanted to spend time with someone.
Several years ago, I met a guy at a local hiking club, and Hayden and I hit it off so well he asked me to move to Phoenix to be with him. I happily trotted along to the desert, opened my first bar, and was generally loving life with a guy I thought I’d maybe someday settle down with.
Then I caught Hayden cheating.
With the pool boy.
My life was a porno, and I didn’t even get off at the end.
I’ve dated plenty since then.
A couple years ago, I met Mateo at a coffee shop in my neighborhood after I finished a run. I was hot and sweaty and needed an iced coffee, and he did too. We clicked, then got hot and sweaty together for several months.
But the conversation started to fade, and sometimes he was too quiet. I’m chatty by nature, but I do like it when someone talks with me. I was the nixer in that relationship—I ended things with Mateo on account of the zing fading.
There have been a few others in between. I’m into serial monogamy and flirting my ass off, but I haven’t met anyone in a while who makes my heart and cock flutter. They’re a package deal and I need both reacting hard and strong, and all night long.
As I slide napkins to the ballplayers, Grant, the he-devil, tips his forehead to Owen. “Owen’s out and cute.”