Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I couldn’t decide if I was comforted by the show of inclusivity or intimidated by the fact that in spite of my out-and-proud status, I didn’t really fit in. I was back in West Hollywood two blocks from the hair salon in the fashionable section of LA where everyone dressed well, worked out daily, and were very in tune with their chakras. I felt like a bad gay. Or a lazy one.
On the upside, I had new spectacles, a stylish haircut, and a date with a beautiful man.
Okay, no, this wasn’t a date.
It was a shopping excursion. We hadn’t agreed to a fee, but I’d certainly pay Noah for his time…which made this the opposite of a date.
“Professor!”
I turned around and geez, I think my heart stopped.
Noah positively glowed in the early April sunshine. His snug-fitted teal tee shimmered with glittery dragon scales as he moved toward me. His jeans lovingly hugged his thighs and his—I tore my gaze from his crotch, noting the denim was artfully torn at the kneecaps. Something told me he’d bought them that way, which should have been vaguely alarming. I mean, if he tried to tell me I’d look good in pre-ripped clothing, this could be a problem.
But my mind went fuzzy when he whipped his sunglasses off and smiled.
He was simply…stunning. Sunbeams showered gold streaks in his dark hair, complementing his green-and-gold eye shadow, pink-stained lips, and purple nail polish. He was jewel-toned and effervescent, like the human equivalent of something bubbly and wonderful.
Though if I wasn’t mistaken, he looked nervous.
“Hello, Noah.”
He fidgeted with the strap on his bag and inclined his head. “I love your new glasses. They’re very sharp.”
I pushed the plain black frames higher on my nose. “Thank you. No glue, no tape.”
He bit his bottom lip. “Snazzy. I like the no-tape option.”
“Me too.”
We stared at each other for a long moment till Noah hiked his thumb toward the store behind him. “Ready to shop?”
“I think so, but…” I stepped closer to him to make room for a kid on a skateboard. “How does this work? We didn’t discuss your fee or—”
“Oh, no. I don’t want your money. I’m happy to help. My plan was to take you to a couple of my favorite places, all within walking distance of this one. You probably need a few button-down shirts, trousers, a nice sports coat, right?”
“Um, yes.”
“And maybe a belt and socks too. How are you doing on underwear?” he asked casually…as if it were no big deal to talk about underwear on a busy street in West Hollywood.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t, but I cast a quick glance to my left and right because this was my underwear we were talking about.
“Fine, thank you,” I whispered tersely.
Noah grinned, suddenly seeming more at ease as he stepped toward the store’s entrance. “If you say so, but they sell delicious unmentionables at Harrisons’.”
“Delicious?”
“Yes. Soft cotton that doesn’t bunch around your balls or get stuck in your crack.” His matter-of-fact delivery contrasted with the mischievous glint in his eyes.
I chuckled in spite of myself. “Well, okay. I prefer boxer briefs, if you must know.”
“Me too. Follow me, sir.”
Noah held the door open with a flourish, ushering me into the store. He bypassed the basic tees and made a beeline to a wall filled with men’s underwear, then struck a Vanna White pose.
“Color preference?”
“Black, white, or gray.”
He tsked. “Oh, that’s a tad boring.”
“I don’t need my boxers to be exciting,” I said primly.
“Oh, honey, yes, you do. We all do.”
And there he was again. The slightly sassy and flirtatious man who threw casual endearments like beads at a Mardi Gras parade. I took that as a sign that he felt comfortable with me, though I’d admit I didn’t understand his initial hesitation.
Did I make him nervous? Was that even possible? He seemed so confident, and I wasn’t exactly the mysterious or dangerous type. The only time I incited anxiety was when I assigned pop quizzes on top of lab work to my freshman students.
“We do?” I studied the size chart on the packaging and stole a sideways glance his way, loving his animated hand gestures.
“Yes, the more exciting, the better. Sometimes I wake up feeling meh and think, ‘Noah, treat yourself better. Put on your best red knickers and go kick some ass.’ And that’s what I do. Some days that’s all it takes. For me, anyway. My undie selection is like a mood ring. Let’s see…what am I feeling today?”
He pushed his jeans low on his hip and tugged at the teal waistband of his briefs.
“What are you doing?”
Noah barked a laugh. “Checking my chonies. I’m matching…not a surprise. I tend to coordinate when I’m nervous. Chaos reigns when I’m casually comfortable. Or just lazy.”
“Why are you nervous?”
“Do you really have to ask? The last time I saw you I stepped on your glasses, then practically threw myself at you.” He lowered his voice theatrically and continued, “I kissed you!”