Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“Okay…I’m curious. Who’s your favorite band? What’s your favorite TV show? What’s your major, and what are you going to do after you graduate?”
Gabe chuckled. “Uh, let’s see…Kings of Leon are cool, but I like older groups like Queen and Led Zeppelin too.”
“Same here. I like all those bands. And alt-J. They’re awesome.”
Gabe nodded in agreement. “Favorite show…Walking Dead. You?”
“Game of Thrones.”
“I’ve never seen a single episode,” he admitted sheepishly.
“What? How can that be?” I gasped theatrically.
“Don’t take it so hard, Der. It’s a fucking TV show.”
I smacked my palm against my forehead and slumped in the booth. “This is why we’ve never gotten along. We can’t agree on anything important.”
Gabe chuckled. “We just don’t know each other outside of the pool. We can change that.”
“How? What comes next?” I asked in a quiet voice.
He paused with his fork in midair and gave me a shy smile. He seemed nervous suddenly and for some reason, that leveled the playing field. It was good to know I wasn’t the only one feeling oddly vulnerable.
“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. Maybe we start by hanging out together a little bit.”
My heart skipped a beat. I nodded but didn’t speak for a couple of seconds. “We can do that. Coach basically said we had to, so no one will think it’s weird. We’re teammates.”
“If anything, they’ll be relieved you don’t want to kick my ass twenty-four seven.”
“Who says that part would change?” I griped good-naturedly.
Gabe’s eyes lit with ready humor and something like a carnal challenge. “I’m gonna make you like me, Der.”
“I do like you,” I croaked.
“You’re gonna like me more,” he said huskily.
Gabe’s lopsided grin did things to me. Yes, he was good-looking and fit, but there was something special in that extra spark in his eyes. He was devilishly charming and self-assured, but he was complex and confusing as hell. All I knew was, there was much more beneath the surface than I imagined.
We talked about shows we’d loved as kids, which morphed into a chat about cartoons, comics, and Pokémon collections. I laughed aloud when Gabe went into explicit detail about how to properly care for Pokémon cards. His boyish side was endearing and unexpected.
“…label the plastic sleeves. Only one card per sleeve. If you double up, you miss the info on the back,” he commented. He fumbled for his wallet and handed his credit card to our waiter before I could protest. When I was going to argue, he shook his head. “Leave it alone, Der.”
“Okay. Thank you. I’ll get it next time.”
“Or you can cook something,” he suggested.
I smiled, then dabbed the corner of my mouth to keep it from spreading into a megawatt grin. “Sure. What would you like?”
“Spaghetti,” he replied immediately.
“Really? Don’t you want to think about it?”
“Nope. Spaghetti is my favorite.”
“All right. I’ll trade you spaghetti for at least three episodes of Game of Thrones.”
“Deal.”
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach wildly, making it hard to breathe. So I reacted the way any average guy in a panic situation would.…I kicked him under the table. Gabe chuckled and of course retaliated. Then he grabbed my wrist and gave me a stern look before linking his pinkie finger with mine. I had déjà vu of the gay couple I’d seen at the coffee shop the morning after Chelsea’s party. I’d clandestinely observed them, feeling anxious yet curious. I recognized something special between them that I’d never had with a partner. Maybe I’d been looking in the wrong place all along. Maybe this was where I was supposed to be. When the butterflies went into overdrive, I felt flush and funny inside, but fuck, I felt good too.
Something happened after that “date.” We didn’t suddenly become friends or lovers. We were just two guys who were intensely aware of each other and did our best to act normal. We avoided any unnecessary chatter in the pool or locker room, and we didn’t hang out at school. But we started texting and talking in our free time. Silly conversations that had no rhyme or reason.
You gotta stop passing the ball to Michaelson until he’s set, I typed. His corner shot is off.
Blow me. Did you see Fast and Furious?
Which one? There’re a million.
Lengthy texts usually led to impromptu meetings. We’d end up sitting across from each other in a coffee shop talking for hours and finding funny ways to touch. Knees under the table, hands resting on coffee cups. It was almost innocent. Except for the part where I imagined him naked against me. I wanted to do what we’d done in the bathroom. Times ten. And the way Gabe looked at me when no one else was around made it clear he felt the same. If he wasn’t going to make a move, it was up to me to let him know I wanted more.