Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“Anders.”
7
Reed
I’ve barely recovered when Anders climbs out of bed. He’s wobbly on his feet and catches himself by gripping the comforter.
“I’m not that much of an asshole,” I say. “You don’t have to run off right away.”
“Thanks, but yeah, I kinda do.” He scrambles for his clothes. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
Ouch. It’s not like I want to marry the guy, but really? Can’t even hang out for five minutes after getting off? If I didn’t know any better, I’d worry Anders was some closet case, but that can’t be right when Law knows all about it.
“Am I allowed to ask why?” I ask.
“You’re friends with my brother.” He doesn’t look at me as he dumps the condom in the trash across the room near my work desk and pulls up his pants.
“We’re all adults here. And friends might be stretching it with Law. We sort of work together and we had dinner. Once. There’s no bro code against fucking around with you when I met you first.”
“It’s not that.” Now his shirt’s back on, dammit.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s hard to explain.” One shoe on, one to go, and then he’ll be gone for good.
“Anders … it’s okay.”
“I gotta go. Thanks for, uh …”
“Do you always thank your hook-ups for orgasms?” I ask. “I don’t think I’ve met a more polite fuck buddy.”
“We’re not fuck buddies,” Anders says. “It was a moment of weakness, and it’s still not a good idea for me to be with anyone.”
It’s hard to hold in my eye roll. “It’s just sex.”
He winces. “I know. I didn’t mean for it to sound anything more than that, but right now, just sex is too much for me to handle.”
I purse my lips. “Are you okay? Like, really okay? I’m not asking because social conventions dictate I should—I really want to know. We don’t know each other well, and Law may’ve mentioned something that screwed you up.”
He glares at me.
“He didn’t give me details, but if you need to talk or whatever … I may not be relationship material, but my ears work. I’m a pretty decent friend, and I’m not saying that to get in your pants again. If you say you don’t want sex, I’m cool with that.”
Anders sighs and murmurs, “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. But I should go.”
“All right. I’d walk you out, but I don’t think I trust my legs at this point.” The word spent doesn’t begin to describe how sated I am right now.
The only thing ruining my after-sex glow is the fact he’s rushing out of here like what we did was wrong.
The smile Anders gives me is almost cocky but not quite pulling it off. “I’m sorry. It’s got nothing to do with you.”
“Of course, it doesn’t. I’m fucking awesome.”
He chuckles. “God, you sound just like my brother.”
“I’m seeing Law in a few days. If you want me to pretend this never happened, I can. Just let me know in case he asks.”
“You think he’d ask?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t know him well enough to know how invested he is in your life.”
“I would say pretty invested, but not that invested. In fact, when I talk about my sex life, he either leaves the room, tunes me out, or, in some cases, he covers his ears and sings ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ really loudly—the opera part too.”
I laugh. “Is he any good?”
“As tone deaf as a fish.”
“How do you know fish are tone deaf?”
“They live underwater. You think they can hear music?”
We smile at each other, probably at the randomness of our conversation. Add in my state of undress and his freak out, and it makes for a really weird hook-up.
“I’ll see ya ’round,” Anders says and heads for my door.
“Thanks for the orgasm!” I call out.
It comes a bit late, but his laugh echoes through the apartment, right before the door shuts with a resounding click.
“Davis, if I have to tell you one more time to sit your a—butt—in that seat, I’m going to throw you out the bus window.”
The other teachers had a right to warn me about him. He’s disruptive, he’s loud, and he’ll do nearly anything to get attention. They don’t see what I see though. It’s not a cry for attention or a call for help. Davis protects himself the only way he knows how—by turning everything into a joke. I’ve seen it before. Hell, I’ve lived it. Ask anyone I went to high school with, and they’ll tell you I was the class clown.
“Mr. Garvey is violent,” Davis exclaims.
“It’s not like you could actually fit through the bus windows,” I mutter. “It’s a minibus, for crying out loud.”
The kids laugh, but it’s not at the expense of Davis. This is only our second time heading for Law’s dojo, but I already know this group is different with each other than they are during classes and around the rest of the students.