Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Tyler closed his eyes, his throat tight. “I’m not you, Dad.”
“That I’m aware of,” his father said flatly. “I’ll tell your mother you will. Don’t disappoint her again.”
And he hung up.
Tyler pressed his hands against his eyes and breathed out slowly. There was no use getting upset. His parents had always had unrealistic expectations he could never meet. It was okay. It was nothing new.
“What did he want?” Nick said, his gaze on the screen.
Tyler choked out a laugh. “My parents want me to bring a girlfriend to Christmas dinner.”
Nick said nothing. He didn’t even look at Tyler.
It doesn’t matter, Tyler told himself.
His father’s call was the cold shower they both clearly needed to snap them back to reality.
It reminded them of what they were to each other—and what they weren’t.
Chapter 16
Tyler didn’t want to attend Nick’s youngest brother’s twentieth birthday.
It was hardly the first Hardaway family party he had been invited to. He usually liked them quite a bit. The Hardaways were a loud, close-knit, boisterous family, and they were always warm toward him.
But it was different this time.
After what happened a few weeks ago at the Hardaways’ movie night, Tyler had been avoiding their house, not wanting to be reminded of the line he and Nick had briefly crossed. Not that it had stopped him from having sex with Nick at least every other day, but at least they’d been behaving. Sort of. After the movie night, Nick had seemed even more determined not to mix their friendship and their sex life, to the point that sometimes it felt like he was a completely different person when he fucked Tyler—a person that disappeared as soon as the sex was over.
It was really, really fucking with Tyler’s head, making him uncertain about their friendship. The word friendship felt horribly inadequate. He wasn’t even sure they were friends anymore. Nick no longer seemed inclined to share his thoughts, just looking at Tyler with that unreadable expression that had become very familiar to Tyler and drove him absolutely crazy.
Nick fucking drove him crazy, full stop. Half of the time, Tyler missed his best mate and their comfortable, companionable dynamic, the trust between them. The problem was, when Nick was in his best mate mode, Tyler still felt unsatisfied, craving things a friend wouldn’t give him. It was a total mindfuck.
So considering how shaky and weird his relationship with Nick had been lately, Tyler felt very awkward at the Hardaways’ party, unsure of his place among them, a way he’d never been before. As Nick’s best friend, he’d taken part in a lot of the Hardaway family events over the years, but Tyler wasn’t certain that he was still Nick’s friend, much less his best one.
Not to mention that Tyler hadn’t exactly been eager to finally meet Brad the Prat: Nick always invited a plus one to a family event if he was dating someone. But Tyler couldn’t beg off the party: Miles had personally called and invited him, and Tyler hadn’t managed to come up with an excuse not to go.
Now he was fucking regretting it.
Tyler shot another sideways glance at the short, dark-haired bloke who was laughing with Nick. Apparently, Brad the Prat was very much real and not someone Nick had made up, as Tyler had been starting to think. He really was the definition of Nick’s type: a petite twink, with a slim build and pert ass, dark hair and dark doe eyes, and a never-ending supply of clever remarks. Basically, he was everything Tyler wasn’t.
Tyler felt…he felt weird, uncomfortable in his own skin as he watched Brad the Prat share law school jokes with Nick that flew right over Tyler’s head.
He hated it, hated how ungainly and big he felt compared to that dainty little prick, how stupid and uneducated he felt—was—compared to him. He hated that Nick clearly liked the prat, his soft amusement ever-present as he talked to Brad.
Pursing his lips, Tyler turned away—and locked eyes with Tristan DuVal, who had apparently been watching him.
Tyler mouthed, “What?”
Tristan just shrugged, his blue-green eyes sharp and assessing.
Tyler averted his gaze. Successful people like Tristan DuVal always made him feel uncomfortable around them. Tristan was practically the same age as him, but he was a millionaire, a former football star, and the owner of his own fashion line. Tyler always felt so bloody inadequate in his presence it wasn’t even funny.
His dislike of Tristan DuVal had nothing to do with the fact that Nick used to be into him. Tyler didn’t feel any enmity toward Nick’s dates. He’d never attempted to compete with them. There was nothing to compete over: he was the best friend who rolled his eyes and ribbed Nick about his fleeting infatuations and inability to commit to anyone.
But now he felt off-balance. He tried to assume the role of the long-suffering best mate, but it fit all wrong, as though he’d outgrown it without even noticing.