Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Right. And you think I can help you how? I don’t even know what I want, let alone any other gay guys out there.”
“What does it mean when a guy says he wants to be friends?”
Brady rubs his square jaw in thought. “Now, I can’t be sure here, but my wild guess would be … that he wants to be friends.”
“But …” Ugh. I lean forward and run my hands through my hair. “There was more to it than that. We were having fun, teasing each other, and then he said something about transferring to FU for me, but in the next breath said he just wants to be friends.”
“Hmm. He really said that?”
“That he wants to be friends? Yes.”
“No. That he moved here for you.”
“Yep. Then he kind of freaked out and rambled something about freedom and wanting to be friends.”
“Yeaaah, I’ve got nothing.”
I sigh. “Thanks for all your help, brother.”
“I’m not the gay messiah, and I’m only twenty. I don’t know everything.”
“Wait, you guys have got a messiah? What do bisexual people get?”
“Free bi-fi. It’s like Wi-Fi but better.”
“Score. And on that note, I’m going to go to bed and forget tonight ever happened.”
“Good and healthy plan. Plus, you have a game you have to win tomorrow.”
Right. Football.
The thing I should be focusing on. The only thing.
“You’re right. Eye on the prize and all that crap. It’s not only my future on the line but yours too. What if I don’t make the draft? Who will be your client when you become an agent then?”
“Hey, I’m taking over from Uncle Damon one day. I will own all queer athletes.”
I smile. “Yeah, you might want to reword that when you meet prospective clients in the future. I’m not sure we want to be owned by our agents.”
He shrugs. “Some might be into that kind of thing.”
“And I’m out. I can talk gay stuff with you, but when it comes to sex stuff … no. Just … no.” I head for my bedroom, but when I get to the hallway, Pop’s standing there in only his underwear. I almost jump out of my skin. Shit. “How much did you hear?”
He continues to stand there, his eyes soft in sympathy, and then the next thing I know, I’m wrapped up in one of his bear hugs.
“I’m guessing all of it,” I say.
When he pulls back, all he says is, “Be patient with him. It’ll all work out.”
I find myself holding on just as tight as he is. “How do you know?” I whisper.
He lets out a small laugh. “You sound like your dad and me. Stick it out and be what he needs you to be for now. If that’s a friend, be a friend.”
It’s not exactly the advice I would have liked, but it’s what I needed to hear.
I can do that. I can focus on football and be Levi’s friend.
It’s squashing down the butterflies and the way my body reacts to him that I’ll struggle with.
CHAPTER SEVEN
levi
I came here because of what you represented, not because of you specifically.
Ugh. As the words play over in my head for the millionth time, I stab the canvas in front of me with my paintbrush, completely ruining my work in progress that I need for a midterm coming up. Which only reminds me of all the things I haven’t told Peyton.
Instead of fixating on the stupid stuff I did say, I should focus on the things I didn’t. Like “I’m not really here for law school, but no one back home knows that.”
Fuck, I hope his dads didn’t go back to Chicago and tell my father they saw me here. Though, if they all think I’m here studying law, then it’s not like Dad should be suspicious of them seeing me. So maybe it’s a good thing I held back that little tidbit.
If my father found out he’s paying for an apartment on the beach and tuition for an undergraduate degree in art, I’d need to flee farther away from Illinois than California.
Hawaii, maybe. Australia to be safe.
But lying to Peyton didn’t sit well with me, and then I blurted half-truths all over him, flip-flopping from “I moved here for you” to “I only want to be friends.”
I’m the biggest idiot on the planet, and I’m around ninety percent sure Peyton thinks the same.
Nonchalance is not my forte, so instead of playing it cool, I spouted some philosophical shit about freedom to try to cover my tracks.
I think we ended the night on an okay note—that we’d be friends—but I haven’t seen him since.
Hiding … what? Not me. Never.
In my defense, it’s not like I’ve been actively trying to avoid him like I was when I first got to FU, but he hasn’t sought me out either.
And okay, so maybe after the home game the night after we had dinner was a shitshow, and then last weekend, he had an away game that redeemed the team, but it’s not like he doesn’t have time during the week to come find me. You know, between classes and practice … working on being the next big thing in football and working out. Okay, so maybe he doesn’t have time to find me, and even if he did, it’s not like he’s going to be looking for me around the art department.