Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Christ, he sounded like my dad. A hockey professor instead of an English and history one.
“You’re good at this, Nol. Fuck, you don’t need me at all.”
“Not true. We need your name…remember?” Nolan singsonged.
“Right.” I bopped him upside the head as I stood. “Text me when you need me next. If you already told me, I wasn’t listening. Do you have my number?”
“If you haven’t changed it, then yes.”
I nodded. “It’s the same.”
“Okay. Thanks for today. And um…I apologize for being a dick about it earlier. I just—”
“Hate me?” I made a funny face to defuse the sting of honesty.
“No. I don’t hate you. We’re good.” He pulled his keys from his pocket and jiggled them meaningfully as he moved to the door. “I need to go to the diner. Maybe I’ll see you at my mom’s on Sunday.”
I followed him and did my best to get ahold of that flip-flop, fluttery feeling in my chest. I wasn’t sure what was going on with me. Maybe I was at some weird nexus where nostalgia aired some unwanted truths from the past.
That kiss the other day didn’t help. I could bury that shit in a heartbeat and I knew Nolan would let me, but instinctively, I knew that nonstop fucking fluttering wasn’t going anywhere now. I had something to say, and this was the best place to do it.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted.
Nolan shot an inscrutable look at me, his hand on the doorknob. “For what? The kiss?”
“No. That was—no. Not that. It was…weird maybe, but not a big deal, right?” I didn’t wait for him to respond. If I was going to open an old wound, I had to rip the bandage off fast. “I’m talking about…when we were kids. I’m not sorry it happened, but I-I’m sorry for the way I left and—”
“Stop.” He slapped his hand on the door and faced me. “Jesus, Vin. Where the fuck did that come from?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Months…maybe years.” I swallowed around the Sahara in my mouth and licked my lips. “Look, I want to clear the air once and for all. I don’t want us to walk on eggshells, trying to avoid any hot topics. I know you’re pissed at me for that night after the graduation party, but—”
“No, I’m not,” he intercepted. “Not even close. Sure, my ego took a hit, but I got over it.”
“Right. Okay,” I replied woodenly.
“Like you said, we were kids, and at the end of the day, it was just a kiss.”
I expected a wave of insta-relief to wash over me, not an indignant desire to defend our younger selves.
Let it go, let it go.
I couldn’t do it.
“It wasn’t just a kiss.”
Nolan raised a single brow. “What was it?”
“There were other…parts involved,” I said awkwardly. “Your hands and…my dick. And for the record, I’m talking about when we were teenagers, not the other day.”
He didn’t say anything for a long minute. “I remember. Did that…mess you up or something?”
“What? No, I—” I sucked in another deep breath and scratched my head. “Okay, yeah. It did…a little.”
“And that’s why you stayed away? You were afraid I’d out you or blab about a one-time drunken experiment when we were sixteen and seventeen?”
“We weren’t drunk,” I corrected. “And no, I didn’t think you’d say anything, but I—”
“Hey.” Nolan moved from the door and came to stand in front of me. His gaze was serious and steady…like him. “We were teenagers, Vin. Yes, my feelings got hurt, but I grew up and I got over it, and I dealt with my own shit. Coming out was no party, and I spent too much time in my head for years. That’s on me, not you. But if this is something you need to hear, listen up…one night with a guy doesn’t make you gay or even bi. You’re just…you. And even that silly kiss at the diner is just…not a big deal.”
“Then…why are you pissed at me?” I demanded.
He pursed his lips. “I don’t think this a good time or place to hash out the past or—”
“It’s a great time. Let’s go, Moore. Give it to me.”
A heavy silence fell between us.
“Okay. Fine. I’m mad that you weren’t there for him,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact. “You got a taste of the sweet life, experienced some fame and fortune, playing the game our dad taught you to play, and you never once showed up for him.”
“Your dad? I came home for the funeral. I—”
“No, dumbass. Ronnie.” Nolan leveled me with a harsh stare and continued. “Where were you when he tore his ACL, got addicted to painkillers, cut from the team at Michigan, and spent six months in rehab? Where were you when his wife OD’d and left him with a newborn to raise on his own? You never even fucking met Jasmine. And you haven’t seen Mary-Kate since Dad’s funeral…seven fucking years ago.”