Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Ugh. Why would I do that?”
“Because you like me and we’re gonna be best friends. Plus, we’re incredible fuck buddies.”
“I should go.”
“Try it. Please?”
He rolls his eyes, but then says softly, “Okay.”
I feel like I just won a prize. “Will you watch my game tomorrow night?”
Hayes chuckles. “Now you’re pushing it.”
“Please?” I flutter my lashes again.
“I’m gonna go.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He nods, looks like he’s going to say something, but then ends the call.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Hayes
This time we’re going to Donovan’s house. I’m not sure if I feel more or less comfortable with that. In public it’s less personal, but we might be seen together.
I still don’t know if this is a good idea. I probably wouldn’t even be going if it wasn’t for Rylan. Telling him about Donovan contacting me was a huge mistake. I blame it on my defenses being down after spontaneously combusting about two seconds after we started jerking off together. What even was that?
Luckily, LA traffic is a bitch. The 405 is packed like always, which gives me time to obsess about Rylan and the Jilted Exes. Rylan is back in LA today, but we haven’t spoken. I’m not even sure why I think about that. We’re not boyfriends. It’s not like we’re going to talk every single day. I’m not even the type who wants to talk to someone every day.
I don’t think.
No. I’m not. Definitely not.
I’ve been all over the place lately, and I blame it on an annoying hockey player who calls me cutie.
Traffic begins to flow a little better, so I’m able to pick up the pace. I’d watched his whole stupid game last night. The Rebels had pulled out another win, and Rylan had played another great game. At least that’s what the commentators led me to believe.
“I think I’ve found myself some good pucking luck.” My body shivers at the memory of his absolutely ridiculous words at his post-game press conference. I’m so glad I know exactly what this is between us, that all either of us wants is to have sex, so I’m not tempted to fall for lines like that.
Or for the way he talked to me afterward. I’ll have to get used to us doing the whole conversation thing. Malcolm never asked me questions the way Rylan does. It feels…real, in this way that scares the crap out of me.
Donovan lives in a small, white house, without much street parking—that’s how most of these older neighborhoods in LA are—but I get lucky and find a place. I’m ten minutes late, and I’m never late unless I try to be late, which I did. Strangely, it’s more comfortable for me to arrive after Anthony is likely already there. I don’t always understand why things work the way they do in my head, but I’ve learned to stop questioning it.
It’s LA, so despite it being almost February, the weather is still nice. Donovan has his front door open, the screen door locked in place. I hear voices drift from inside and knock, a moment later Donovan comes over to let me in.
“Hey. I’m so glad you could come.”
“Um…thanks for having me.” I sound constipated. Why am I me?
“We’ll head out back if you don’t mind.” Donovan closes the front door this time. Anthony has a beer in his hand, and he smiles when I enter the room. “Do you want something to drink?” Donovan asks.
“Just water is good.”
Donovan hands me a bottle, and the three of us go out the sliding glass door into the backyard. There’s a covered concrete patio, a small grassy area, and a pool.
“I don’t know how he got my number, but Malcolm called me,” Donovan says just as I’m taking a drink of my water, so of course it goes down the wrong pipe and I start coughing and choking. He chuckles and pats my back a couple of times like I’m a kid. “Sorry. I guess I should have led into that a little better.”
“It’s fine. Just dying,” I tease, hoping to cover for the fact that I’m embarrassed and also curious about Malcolm calling him.
“He got mine and called me too. I told him to fuck off,” Anthony says, and stupidly, my chest clenches.
I don’t want to talk to Malcolm. I want nothing to do with that piece of shit, but a part of me I’m not proud of feels…unwanted? Not good enough? Like there’s something wrong with me? Over how he called them but not me. Emotions are confusing and don’t always make sense.
Donovan and Anthony look at me, and I shake my head. “I’m sure he hates me, considering I’m the one who ruined all his fun by proposing in a public place like that.”
“Yeah, well, I’m happy as hell you did,” Anthony replies. “Minus the public embarrassment for you. If not, none of us might have found out.”