Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
After dropping his brother at the bar, he drove to the mini-mart across the street. They usually had a display of somewhat hearty flowers, and it couldn’t hurt to show up with a peace offering.
He knew less than nothing about flowers, but they were colorful, alive, and arranged in a way that made them look pretty. That’s all that mattered, right?
Would Liam care about the type of flowers? Most of them had a sticker that said assorted wildflowers. A few were plain roses, even Tate recognized those. Should he get roses? They only had pink. Were roses good for an apology, or were they about love?
What the hell is wrong with you?
He stood there like an idiot for a solid fifteen minutes, staring at the case and driving himself insane, when an older woman in a grass-green store vest wandered over. “Celebration or screw up?” she asked with a twinkle in her blue-gray eyes.
“Oh, uh, screw up. Big one.”
“Ah, I thought so. You have that deer-in-the-headlights look a man gets when he messes up for the first time in a new relationship. Am I right?”
He glanced down at her. She was at least a foot shorter with tightly permed gray hair and a kind smile. “Something like that.”
“Then go with these.” She stretched to reach the largest bunch of wildflowers. “They have a little something for everyone. And the colors complement most people’s décor.”
The flowers had to match Liam’s house?
“Uh, thanks.” He accepted the bouquet. “Appreciate the help.”
She patted his arms. “Let’s get you checked out so you can win your girl back.”
His heart stuttered. “S-sounds good.” Every time he hid the fact Liam was a man, his body responded in a visceral way. Right then, he felt a painful pressure in his chest as though someone had reached in and squeezed his heart.
The short drive to Liam’s studio was spent rehearsing an apology speech and trying not to vomit. He could barely control the car with how hard his hands shook, and he peeked at the flowers no less than twenty times as though they could somehow leap out of the car and run away.
This time, he parked behind the studio, as he should have done that morning and would have if he’d been thinking clearly—if the green-eyed monster hadn’t eaten his brain.
Flowers in hand and speech prepared, he jogged up the outdoor staircase to the small balcony outside Liam’s back door. After blowing out an unsteady breath, he knocked.
The door opened, and the second he saw Liam, his tongue dried up, and he forgot every word he’d planned to say.
He could only stare at the two large bandages covering Liam’s knees.
That’s your fault, asshole.
When he dragged his gaze back up, he found the man staring back at him with one raised eyebrow.
“I fucked up.”
So much for everything he’d planned to say.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BY THE TIME evening rolled around, Liam had worked himself into a tizzy. Round and round, he’d gone through the spectrum of emotions from anger to embarrassment to sadness and even compassion.
Right now, he was back to anger. “I get that he’s not ready to come out,” he muttered as he yanked the cork out of a bottle of wine. Not the same brand Tate had purchased for him. That would be sad and pathetic.
Fine. It was the same.
“I really do get it. And I respect it.” He poured a healthy glass of wine. “But for fuck’s sake, did he have to act like I was a damn leper? I was the one who suggested we go upstairs to my bed where we could have had privacy.” He gulped a large swallow of wine. “But he was all, ‘It’s too far away.’ Damn him and his hotness.”
Liam sighed and took another sip of wine.
“And now I’m talking to myself again.” As he’d done way too much that afternoon.
Just as he was about to pull a box of cereal from his cabinet, a heavy knock came at the back door.
He stared at it, knowing full well who’d come to see him.
Was he ready for this? Was he willing to listen to Tate’s apology?
If he didn’t, he’d spend the entire night awake, staring at the ceiling as he wondered what thoughts were going through Tate’s head. He’d also worry whether Tate was okay and if Randy suspected anything, which pissed him off. Why the hell should he be worried about someone who obviously didn’t give a shit about him?
Good. This was the energy he needed to have when faced with Tate. He shook out his arms and legs, then marched toward the door leading to the itty-bitty balcony behind his apartment.
He yanked the door open, prepared to blast the man, only to freeze. Tate stood there holding a giant bouquet of beautiful wildflowers. Had a man ever brought him flowers? It didn’t take more than one second to think back through the men he dated and come up with the answer. A big, fat no.