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 was the guy who had a personal game-day theme song, wore my socks inside out for good luck, and said three pregame Hail Marys. I didn’t want to jinx this thing with Thomas. It was new and sacred and incredibly…life-affirming. The way great sex and long conversations with someone who looked at you like you might be the best thing since the invention of chocolate—which, according to Thomas, was approximately four thousand years ago—could be.
Maybe I should have kept a careful distance, but for the first time in years, I embraced my reckless, impetuous side. I woke up next to a sexy man this morning, sucked him until he was fully conscious, then climbed onto his lubed, sheathed cock, and rode him to the finish line. After we showered, I made him coffee, toasted bagels, and discussed humankind’s most ancient inventions—as one does.
So no, I wasn’t going to ruin this by telling my oldest friend that I’d had sex with the guy I’d agreed to help find a wedding date. That sounded…sleazy, and this wasn’t sleazy. It was amazing.
For the first time in forever, I felt like the old me again. And it was very fucking nice.
9
TOMMY
Don’t quote me, but I think I had a boyfriend.
Or a budding friendship with a sexual component. Like boyfriends but not quite.
Noah didn’t like labels and titles, and I liked him too much to quibble with semantics. As far as I could tell, we did “boyfriend” things, though. We talked or texted daily and saw each other as often as possible.
However, we weren’t good at dating. So far, we’d met for coffee and ended up naked at his place where we stayed…all day. I made a dinner reservation for us at an exclusive downtown eatery that Asher had recommended, but the idea of getting out of bed and putting real clothes on hadn’t appeal to either of us. So we’d ordered pizza instead.
Coffee and food were all well and good, but the desire to get horizontal won every time. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. The graze of his fingertips or the brush of his shoulder felt like foreplay. Two seconds later, we’d share a look and abandon our mission. I didn’t want coffee or food. I wanted Noah.
I loved the contrasts of his wicked sense of humor, his shy smile, and his confident touch. I loved the way he looked at me with a curious mix of cockiness and wonder…like I might have answers he needed.
He was strong and vulnerable at the same time. I felt protective of him one moment and in awe of him the next. I wanted to cover him, surround him, and learn everything I could about him.
Noah didn’t give much away, though. By his own admission, he’d become adept at the art of holding people at bay. He turned questions around out of habit, insisting that he wanted to know everything about outer space, my profession, my career plans, my family, my friends, my house. So I talked…more than I’d ever talk to anyone.
I told him I’d wanted to be an astronaut when I was four and fell into academia when I was a teaching assistant in college, much to my parents’ chagrin. I described my sporty mom, workaholic dad, self-absorbed sister, and my nerdy self. My traditional upbringing wasn’t exciting by any stretch, but Noah hung on my every word. He loved hearing about my friends and some of our quirkier habits.
“I have friends who memorize random facts, wear capes or bow ties, compulsively make lists, and participate in historical reenactments. We all have our odd superpowers, I suppose,” I admitted.
“What’s yours?”
I frowned. “I don’t know. I think I’m the normal one. Or the quiet one. I’m happy staying at home.”
“What’s your house like? Do you have a yard? What about your room? What color is it?”
I decided it was easiest to show him instead.
I parked in front of the slightly derelict old house on the corner of a well-kept street in Pasadena and met Noah on the sidewalk, chuckling at his awed expression.
“It looks haunted, doesn’t it?”
He put his hands on his hips and nodded. “I can’t believe you have a wraparound porch. This is just…magnificent!”
“It is? I mean…I like it, but it’s not exactly the nicest house on the street,” I commented, glancing at our neighbor’s pristine yard and perfectly trimmed hedges.
This was a well-preserved, older section of town where most of the homes were over a hundred years old. Many had been remodeled and retrofitted for modern living, but our house was an original.
“It’s by far the most interesting. I haven’t set foot inside and I already know I’ll love it.” He hooked his arm through mine and smiled. “Show me everything.”
“Right this way.” I opened the front door and ushered him into the dim foyer.