Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
I didn’t give it much thought.
I ran until my legs ached and were so weak, I could hardly stand, then slowly made my way back to the farmhouse, with its long front porch and a screened one around back. It was tucked between trees, on ten acres of land—definitely not the kind of place I’d ever imagined myself living again.
Despite the fact that it had been cool just over an hour ago, the air had already begun to feel thick with humidity. It was warming up quickly, another scorching Southern day where people would drink sweet tea together and gossip about the locals.
I took care of the animals—fed them, collected eggs, milked cows, mucked stalls. It was good, hard work that reminded me I was alive, reminded me of when I was a child too.
Afterward, I showered and had a late breakfast…an early lunch? Who cared. I passed the spare room that only got used when Charles forced his way into a visit, then went into my room, which had an office area toward the back. I didn’t know why I thought I needed an office anymore. Made me feel like a part of my old life was still thriving, I guessed.
The second my ass hit the chair, the doorbell rang. I thought about not answering, told myself to ignore it as I stood again and headed that way. I knew exactly who it would be. If I didn’t order food from Iris’s, the local diner, there was only one person it ever was.
Sure enough, when I made it to the door, he was standing on the front porch, holding a box in his hand, wearing a United States Postal Service shirt and cargo shorts—which I didn’t even know were a thing anymore and likely shouldn’t be. The kid was probably twenty-three or twenty-four, with light, honey-brown hair that stuck out from under his cap. He smiled earnestly the way he always did, a small dimple beneath the right side of his mouth.
He wasn’t quite my height, maybe about five ten or eleven. He had a nice body, his biceps tight beneath the sleeves of his shirt. It wasn’t the kind of muscle you got in the gym. Hell, I wasn’t sure they even had a gym in Ryland; likely not. His skin was sun-kissed, and his physique came from physical labor.
But that mouth, those damn lips. I wasn’t sure there was a better set in the world. Full and kissable and looked like they tasted sweet—not that I would ever know.
“Mornin’, Mr. Fox. Got another package for you.”
I bristled uncomfortably. It was strange hearing my name nowadays—my last name, at least. No one but Charles called me by my first name, Bentley, because no one knew it here. The sale of my house was under Charles’s name and everything else was under my middle name. But every time I heard Fox, all I saw were the headlines of a thousand articles. All I felt was the pain, still a constant throb beneath my skin, when I remembered what happened. “As I’ve said, you can leave them on the porch.”
“Oh, I know. I would have if you hadn’t answered, but I figured I’d let you know it’s here. We’ve had a problem with packages getting stolen, even out on rural routes like mine. It’s probably out-of-towners.”
I didn’t believe they had that problem at all. “I think it’ll be fine.”
His grin brightened just before his gaze dragged down my body. I hadn’t put a shirt on with my jeans after my shower, and his eyes lingered on my bare chest a bit too long… I couldn’t lie, my dick twitched beneath my fly. It had been over three years since I’d been with someone, since I’d touched another person or been touched. Since I’d lost myself inside a man or had him inside me. Since I’d licked sweat from someone’s skin, tasted their cum, and felt a wet mouth around my cock.
I missed sex. I missed pleasuring someone, making them unravel for me over and over. But I wouldn’t be with someone again, could never give myself to another person.
“Sam.”
“Excuse me?” I wasn’t sure how long I’d watched him watch me. Somehow, I’d missed something in the conversation.
“Sam. It’s my name. I know yours, so I thought you might want to know mine.”
My spine immediately straightened, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Did he know? Had he googled Emerson Fox? Had that led him to Bentley Emerson Fox and what happened? But then I noticed his unsure smile, the one that told me he couldn’t tell if he should have said that or not. That he was curious, that he was interested, but couldn’t get a read on me. This had nothing to do with what happened in Manhattan and everything to do with a twentysomething queer boy stuck in a small town, trying to figure out his way in the world and find people like himself.