Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
He pushes his bangs off his forehead and rolls his eyes. He’s definitely not comfortable talking about anything personal…and I shouldn’t care about knowing anything about him either. He shouldn’t be as intriguing to me as he is. “So, no family here?”
“My uncle, Randy. He’s…well, the only one who really gives a shit. Anyway, boring. It’s my turn now. I want to talk about you.”
And now I know exactly who he was seeing—his uncle. He was taking care of his uncle because his uncle is maybe one of the only people Derek lets take care of him. “Shoot.” This time it’s me who shifts uncomfortably, but I figure I owe him.
“Have you lived in Atlanta your whole life? Do you have family around other than your wife and kid?”
“I spent most of my life going from state to state. Mom was always chasing love and dragging me around while she did it. Or chasing a job, or change, or running, I guess. We moved here when I was sixteen. Met Steph—she’s my ex. Mom wanted to move, I refused. Steph got pregnant when we were eighteen and still in high school. I sure as shit wasn’t going to let my son grow up the way I did. My life has been about him ever since. Mom’s here too.”
“Holy shit. You were young.”
“Hardly nineteen when he was born.”
“Jesus.” Derek shakes his head. “That’s some crazy shit. So, now what?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
He leans closer. “I get it now…the caretaker stuff, but I don’t need you to take care of me. You’ve spent your life doing that.”
I don’t know any other way to be.…
“Now what are you going to do for you?”
“I’m fine.” I shake my head. “I have everything I need.” Even if I didn’t, I have too many other things to worry about besides that.
6
Derek
He’s serious, but playful. Stubborn, but charming as fuck.
I have such a hard time reading Jackson, and I’m good at reading people.
Always have been. It’s how I survived being around my siblings growing up and the kids at school. But Jackson’s not an easy read, and that’s frustrating and intriguing at the same time.
Even more frustrating is this game of Twenty Questions about my life. Guys ask me questions all the time but trivial ones: what music I like, how my day was, if I watch RuPaul’s Drag Race—and of course, I do. But I’m not used to guys wanting to get to know me, and it weirds me out a little. Like really getting to know me.
“You obviously don’t have everything you need,” I tell him. I pop the lid off my coffee cup and run my forefinger along the edge of the rim, not trying to be subtle. “Something brought you out to Cockfight the other night. You were looking for something.”
He smirks. “I think you know what I was looking for.”
I stop outlining the top of my cup and pull it to my lips before saying, “Just looking to try something new…just a taste.” I take a sip of my vanilla latte.
I totally wanted caramel. It’s my fave, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. I’d rather satisfy him in other ways. “Mmmm. Vanilla. Some people like that kind of thing, but I imagine you’re not vanilla at all, are you?”
I see desire in his eyes. Being able to read that much in them builds my confidence back up. He can beat around the bush all he wants, but the only thing he wants to be beating on is my ass in the sack.
I bite my lip. “Come on, Jackson. I didn’t wear this jockstrap for nothing.”
The way he clenches his jaw, I can tell I got to him and in my mind, we wouldn’t even be able to make it out of this Starbucks. He’d just take me to the bathroom, and we’d make use of the condom I stuck in my pocket before leaving the condo.
My gaze shifts to his big hand that’s resting on the table. I imagine Jackson’s hands moving up and down my body. How aggressive they’ll be because of how long he’s gone without fulfilling this desire of his. I imagine those lips kissing across my face as he pushes his fat cock inside me.
And now I’m hard.
“You’re doing it again,” he says.
“What?” I’m pulled out of my fantasy, which I’m kind of annoyed about since my version is so much better than what we’re doing right now.
“Making it about sex. Like that’s all there is to you.”
Goose bumps race across my flesh.
“I know that’s not all there is to me. I just don’t need anyone else’s approval.” My words come out harsh, even harsher than I intended, but I want to make that perfectly clear. “I don’t ask for my parents’ validation…or anyone else’s.”