Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Do I get your name?” he asked.
“Parker Hansley,” I replied, wondering if I’d see recognition in his face. I ran a queer podcast called The Vers with my three best friends. Not that we were famous, but we had a fairly big following in the queer community. It was always interesting to me when I dated someone who listened to The Vers because it was known that I had bad luck with guys and that I was the romantic of the group.
“Elliott Weaver.” He reached out, and I shook his hand. He didn’t seem to make the connection with The Vers. “What do you do, Parker Hansley?”
I chuckled at him using my surname as well. “I’m a baker. I own Beach Buns in Santa Monica.”
“I live in Santa Monica. I haven’t been there, though.”
“I live there too! And it’s the best bakery in Southern California if you ask me,” I teased. “What about you?”
“I’m a city planner for the city of Los Angeles.”
We kept walking for a few minutes, the street getting less and less busy. Elliott talked about his job, then asked if I was born and raised here, typical questions when you were getting to know someone.
“I’ve lived here my whole life,” Elliott said. “My mom is Cuban. She moved to Florida for college, then to California for law school. She met my dad there. Ten years after they graduated, I came along.”
“They’re both lawyers but you had no interest?”
“Yes, but we try not to speak about that around my father. It’s a sore subject.”
“Expectations can be tricky.” I hesitated, then said, “My mom died when I was young. She was great.” She’d been a pediatrician who loved baking and her family more than anything. “I still miss her.” My dad did too. As far as I knew, he hadn’t even dated since losing her. If he did, it had never been serious and he’d kept it on the down-low. He’d loved her so fucking much that he didn’t know how to be happy without her.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Me too. Anyway, I don’t want to bring the mood down. Thank you again for helping me with Jim.”
“No problem.” He motioned behind me. “Ice cream?”
I turned to see we were standing in front of a parlor.
“I probably shouldn’t,” I replied because I liked him, and when I liked people, it rarely turned out well for me. Plus, I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea and think that because he’d helped me with Jim, I would be going home with him tonight.
A small frown curved his lips, and I could tell he hadn’t expected that answer. Still, he said, “Okay. It was nice meeting you, Parker Hansley.”
Well, shit. I figured he’d at least ask for my number. Clearly, I could ask for his, but I didn’t let myself. “Nice to meet you, Elliott Weaver.”
We shook hands again, and he walked away.
I regretted it the second he was gone. What if I’d just let a good man slip through my fingers? Hell, he’d jumped in to help me without knowing if he’d get anything out of it.
For a good ten minutes, I tried to talk myself out of going after him, but it didn’t work. He’d gone in the direction of the bar. I would go back and see if he was there, and if he was, I’d take that as a sign that I should get his number. If not, it wasn’t meant to be.
I made my way back, the bar busier than it had been when I left. I spent at least twenty minutes looking for Elliott, but he wasn’t there.
“Fuck,” I grumbled, then shook it off, telling myself he’d been too good to be true anyway. Something about him had felt different, though.
When I got outside, I ordered a car from my phone. While I waited for it to arrive, I paced the sidewalk. Maybe he would come to Beach Buns. Maybe we’d run into each other again. Maybe he was the world’s biggest dickhead and I’d dodged a bullet. I had no way of knowing.
When I got to the corner of the street, I froze—Elliott was in the bar’s parking lot, leaning against a black BMW, making out with a guy.
Ah, so that’s definitely what it had been about. He’d helped with Jim to score points with me, thinking it would get him laid. It’s why he hadn’t asked for my number. He’d wanted to have sex, and when I didn’t keep the night going, he found someone who would.
I was replaceable.
I turned around and walked away.
CHAPTER ONE
Elliott
January
I sat at the bar, trying to force myself not to look at Parker. What were the odds I would run into him in Las Vegas?
I’d been a little obsessed with the guy for close to a year now. Okay, obsessed was too strong a word. I didn’t generally get that wrapped up in anyone or anything, but I’d been intrigued by him since I’d met him at a bar in West Hollywood. He’d snagged my attention from the start because how could he not? Parker was long and lean, with short black hair and a smooth face without the hint of stubble. He had strong, angular features, but not overly so—his face and jawline looked like they’d been carved to perfection, yet at the same time, it was also a bit of a baby face. I didn’t know how he managed to pull it off. What really killed me about him, though, was his eyes. They were so damn blue. Every time they met mine, I felt like I was lost at sea and didn’t want to be found. It might sound dramatic, but it was true.