Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
If I told him yes but had him call me, I could lie to myself, lie and say he’d called and I didn’t want to be rude.
His call came through, and I immediately answered it. I could only see him from the waist up. He was wearing a white dress shirt, but it was all the way open, or at least, all the buttons I could see were undone. I averted my eyes, not wanting to let my gaze linger on his chest. Again, how many bare chests had I seen in my life? Too many to count, but with him…fuck. Because I wanted him, it was different.
“Oh shit. Hold that thought. I forgot something,” he said before I could have any kind of thought—well, any I would be willing to say out loud.
Weston disappeared and came back a minute later, only he wasn’t wearing the open shirt anymore. He had on a gold and white Atlanta jersey with my number. I couldn’t say what I liked more—seeing his bare skin or the eighty-nine across his chest.
“I was supposed to put this on before I called, but then you took so long, I thought maybe you wouldn’t. How do I look?”
Gorgeous. Sexy. Hot. “Eh. You’re all right, I guess.”
Weston let out a deep, vibrating laugh. It sounded like it came from somewhere low in his chest. “Liar,” he finally replied. “I was with a guy tonight who wouldn’t agree.”
Jealousy slashed through me, but I tried to play it off as if it didn’t have an effect on me. It wasn’t supposed to affect me. “It looks better on me.”
“You wish, Hawkins.”
“Hawkins?” I cocked a brow.
“Isn’t that what you sports guys do? Call each other by your last names?”
Weston made me chuckle—he was good at that. “Yeah, sometimes, but it’s weird coming from you. Don’t do it.”
“What are you going to do to stop me?” He gave me the half grin I’d noticed the first night.
I clicked my tongue. “Now, this is where I have you beat—well, one of the many areas— but there’s quite a list of things I could do to stop you. I’m faster than you. I’m sure I have better moves than you. I’m probably more flexible. I’m stronger and more physically fit. Should I continue?” Not that Weston wasn’t in shape himself and, nope, I wasn’t going to let myself go there.
“But you have to see me in person for any of that to matter. Also, I wouldn’t underestimate me if I were you. I’m very…skilled.”
I trembled. Fuck, why did I tremble? Weston had really gotten under my skin. I cleared my throat. “Is there a reason you wanted to video call tonight? If not, I should go.”
He frowned, seeming disappointed. It wasn’t like there weren’t thousands of other men out there for him, men he could talk to and flirt with and…fuck. I couldn’t figure out why he wanted to spend time chatting with me.
“Not really, no, other than to show you my jersey and tell you congrats on the game. I looked up your stats. You really are talented.”
“I’m the best.” That was where I wanted the focus to stay, on my game, not my sexuality. Coming out, if I had a career at all afterward, would change the focus. I would be the gay tight end. The gay football player. “Also, you’re a stalker.”
“Pfft. Like I don’t know you’ve been researching me over the last week.”
“You wish.”
“True.” He shrugged, and damn it, warmth spread through me again. Flirting with Weston was so natural, so normal, but I couldn’t let myself get comfortable with it. Really, I had no reason to keep talking to him at all.
“Good night, man,” I said, which made Weston frown again.
“Night.” I shifted, and he called out, “Hey, wait.”
“Yeah?” I asked, heart thudding for no reason.
“You’re free to call anytime—call, text, video chat. If it’s not safe, I won’t answer.”
Really? Thank you. Okay. All these thoughts swam around in my head, thoughts that needed to drift out to sea and get lost there. “Why wouldn’t it be safe? What’s wrong with two friends talking?”
There was a brief flash of what looked like hurt in his eyes before it did what my thoughts were supposed to do and disappeared. “Yeah, man. I guess you’re right. Have a good night.”
“Have a good night.” I disconnected the call, took my cock in hand, and relieved some of the pent-up tension that hearing Weston’s voice and seeing his face had created. It wasn’t enough.
It wouldn’t ever be enough, but somehow, it had to be.
Chapter Eight
Weston
My new friend—Anson’s choice, not mine—and I fell into the habit of talking a few times a week. He called me man and buddy and friend so often, it was hard to keep my eyes from rolling out of my head. I got it. He was drawing a line, making sure I knew he was straight. But sometimes…sometimes the way he looked at me or the way he said those words made me think maybe it wasn’t me he was trying to convince, but himself.