Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“Are you serious? Juni, no, we’re not—”
“Double Date Barbie! It’d be so fun! Don’t care which guy I get. I just want one to play with for a while. Or longer, if it works out.”
“Let’s just go back to the apartment before I’m sick again.”
“Hmm, okay.” She heads to the car. I follow. And as we drive back, I find myself staring as much at the side of her face as I am my own in the side mirror, unable to figure out either of us. Then ABBA’s Dancing Queen comes on the radio at full blast without warning, and I’m reminded of one of the first times we went to that Sassy Saloon place and how my first thought was how free and unique everyone seemed. Did I seriously not put two-and-two together and realize she’d been taking me to a gay nightclub this whole time? With gay guys dancing all over me? Flirting with me? I just assumed the world outside of Spruce was louder and it’s no big surprise when a gay guy hits on you at any bar or club. Am I really that thick? About everything? Who I am? What I’m doing in life? Who I’m doing it with? That it apparently comes as a surprise to me that a place called “The Sassy Saloon” is a gay nightclub?
“It’s really not that big a deal,” says Juni as she fixes us a pair of Sandwich Surprises back at the apartment. It’s our thing. I’m not allowed to ask what’s in it. I just have to wait on this barstool at the counter to find out. “I think I’m a little gay, too. There was a girl I used to sleep over with when I was thirteen, maybe fourteen, nearly every weekend, and I liked how she smelled. I kept getting into tickle fights with her just because I wanted to smell her.”
“That’s … weird.”
“It was probably just the fabric detergent her mom used.” She sighs. “As for you … well … maybe it’s the way your guy sounds like when he talks to you that makes your heart go silly.”
“I hate how he talks to me. Like I’m a child.”
“Or it could be what he wears.”
“He dresses like a … a …” I can’t quite insult him fast enough, finding him too handsome every time we encounter each other.
“Or you just like how he looks.”
I press my face into my hands. “I don’t wanna talk about this no more. I wanna forget tonight ever happened.”
“That’s what the Saloon’s for. Forgetting everything. Oh, and these,” she says, spinning around and placing a plated sandwich in front of me. I drop my hands to get a look at it, then glance at her questioningly. “It has Reese’s Pieces in it,” she explains in a whisper, then fetches her own Sandwich Surprise and sits on the barstool next to me to eat.
I stare at the sandwich and wonder if it’s the way he looks. Or what he wears. Or how he smells. Or how his lips felt against mine.
How his breath swirled like ocean breeze in my ears.
How safe I felt with his arms around my body when he held me against him—and how he begged me not to run away tonight, wanting to talk it out. What if I had agreed? What if I was with him at Trey and Cody’s now, totally alone, just me and him in a room?
What else would I want to try on him?
What else would he let me do?
“You haven’t touched your sandwich,” Juni notices, sad.
Maybe it’s not the sandwich I want to touch right now.
It’s that thought two long, agonizing hours later when Juni is asleep hogging the bed and I’m out on the couch in the dark that makes me move my hand to the crotch of my tight briefs.
I’m hard. Achingly hard.
You wanna try stuff out on me?
Bridger’s voice. Bridger’s burning blue eyes. Bridger’s cocky, insufferable fucking face.
Kiss me again?
My hand slips into my underwear, grabs hold of my dick, and squeezes it. I gasp into the silent air of the living room.
Have me hold you like I did by the side of the road the other night?
When my face was buried in his chest, in the blue denim of his jacket, and his arms enclosed around me, pinning my body against him with no chance of breaking free.
My hand’s started to move.
I’m not a flavor of beverage.
Why does it drive me crazy even when he gives me that hard, indignant look? He gets pissed so quickly. And when he does, the way his eyes shine with irritation looks the same as I’d imagine he gets in the bedroom when fucking someone senseless.
Biting his lip, gripping his partner, and reaming them.
Sweaty bodies after working out, after some military drill, all slick with sweat, as he slams himself again and again into his man.