Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
If she only knew who rocks my world.
I’m not making any assumptions about tonight, so I can’t say, yes, there’s this guy I’ve never stopped thinking about.
But, in keeping with my efforts to be more open, I give her some of the details. “I’ve kind of been taking a break.”
She jerks her chin back, surprised. “Is there a reason for the break?”
“Just trying to make some changes in my life,” I say.
“Good changes?”
Great changes, I want to say. “Let’s just say if I were a superstitious guy, I’d be wearing lucky socks.” I grin and leave it at that.
Arching a curious brow, she lifts her cinnamon latte, takes a drink, then sets it down. “Wasn’t there once someone special?”
Normally, this is when I’d evade, side-step the question.
But I’m learning not to do that anymore.
“Yes. There was.” The answer is definite. Unqualified. That feels like another small win. “Someone very special. Maybe he will be again.”
The bigger test comes eight hours later when I walk into a tapas bar in Hayes Valley.
Grant Blackwood waits for me in a booth in the back.
The nervous grin on his handsome face says so damn much—because his smile is nervous, but confident too.
All I can think is he has every reason to be confident.
But I’m also going to have to tell him about a promise I made to myself.
25
Grant
Longest day ever.
I didn’t even wake till nine-thirty. Normally, I love days with my grandpa when we kick around the city, go for a run, grab some grub.
Today, I’m distracted as we jog, but I do my best, chatting about a new porch he plans to add to his house.
“What? The porch on the brand-new place I got you isn’t good enough?” I tease.
“No. It’s not. Can you please get me a ten-room mansion next time? Because that’s exactly what we need,” he says drily. Then more seriously, he says, “You know I love the house. I also love to stay busy.”
I keep him busy as we head to the Ferry Building around noon and grab sushi for lunch. But I can barely eat—I’m too wired about tonight.
When we’re done, I walk him to the boat landing and buy him a ticket. He ruffles my hair. “Have fun tonight.”
A flush crawls across my cheeks. “I’ll do my best,” I say, straight-faced.
Then he heads onto the boat, and I walk across the city to burn off more energy and kill another couple of hours.
Once I’m home, I catch up on some Lazy Hammock business on my computer, then I take a long, hot shower.
And jerk off.
Obviously.
Declan could touch my knee tonight and I might come. I’m so goddamn aroused when I’m near him. I’ve got to get an O out of my system or I might embarrass myself.
Newsflash—I picture him the whole damn time, my brain going wild, cycling through filthy image after filthier image.
I let myself indulge in them for the first time in ages—all the dirty things I want to do to him, with him, for him.
I come so hard I don’t stop panting for a minute. Slamming my hand against the shower wall, I breathe out hard, letting the water sluice over my body.
Then, I clean up, wash off, and get out. I shave, since he likes my face smooth.
So do I.
I dress, pulling on jeans and a tight black polo that shows off the bands on my arm and is snug enough so that he can see the outline of my nipple piercing.
After grabbing my keys, I bound down the steps to my attached garage. I don’t usually drive when I go out because parking in this city is the tenth circle of hell. But my gut tells me this is the right choice for tonight. I get in my Tesla and head to the tapas bar, and look, the parking gods smile on me and I snag a spot just around the block.
Once inside, I give the hostess my name.
She guides me to the curved booth I reserved in the back. It’s in a quiet corner, with low lights and a moody vibe.
I’m early, and I could listen to a book, or mess around on my phone for the next ten minutes, but I can’t concentrate for shit, and I don’t want to be fucking around on a screen when Declan walks in.
I’m not even sure what tonight will be for us. What it might mean, where we might go, what it’ll take to get there. But details are for another time.
Tonight, I hope, is for reconnecting. For the good obvious. This evening, I hope that dreamy faraway look can turn into a dreamy close-up look for anyone who can read the truth in my eyes.
Because I know what I want tonight to be.
So does that damned butterfly of hope and anxiety, showing up for its recurring role in the movie otherwise known as Hey Grant, You’ve Still Got it Bad for Your Ex.