Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
He might want to keep things professional… to the extent you can do that with someone’s whose ass you ate earlier.
My cheeks flamed as usual as those memories replayed in my mind.
“Did your song go okay?” he asked gently without looking up from the giant bowl he was tearing lettuce into.
“Oh. Yeah. I’m, ah… I’m working on a couple of them right now, actually. The one that came to me today is done. It’s a happy song, and I’m really pleased with it. The other…” I shook my head. “Something’s not quite right yet. The subject is a little more serious, and the bridge and the final verse need work. Too bad, really. I was thinking about playing that one in Amsterdam, if it was ready.”
“That’d be exciting,” he said. “Your fans would go nuts if you debuted a new song onstage. But only if it feels right.”
Silence fell again. I tossed the bell peppers into the salad and began to slice the red onion. “Tell me about your parents,” I said, realizing he didn’t talk about his family all that much. “You said the other day that they didn’t necessarily know you were gay, and it made me wonder about your relationship with them. I thought you were close.”
“We are. I know it seems strange I haven’t told them, considering we are close, but…” He shrugged. “I didn’t want it to be a thing, you know? A topic of conversation they might bring up at any time. I didn’t want awkward moments of my mother casually mentioning every gay kid she knew or my dad showing up wearing a Montanan Pride shirt.”
I snickered. “Yeah, they sound terrible.”
“They’re the opposite of terrible. They’re the type to love your face off. They’re aggressively supportive.”
It made sense. “That’s how you became an Olympic-level athlete.”
“Exactly. They supported the shit out of me and did everything they could to help me pursue it. To this day I think my brothers and sister are prouder of my medals than I am. My sister has them on display in her house.”
That surprised me. “They’re not at your place in LA?”
I knew he had a small apartment in Santa Monica, but I’d never been there.
“God no. My apartment is a shit heap,” he said with a laugh. “I haven’t even finished unpacking the things I do have.”
I stared at him. “Why? Is it because you spend too many hours at work? Because I could talk to Violet—”
“No. God, no. And don’t you dare talk to Violet. No. I just… I like to explore. I don’t hang around my apartment much. When we’re in town and I’m not with you, I usually hike the canyon or go for long runs. I go to Topanga. Sometimes I’ll try a new restaurant or find someplace with live music. That kind of thing.”
“What kind of music?” I asked eagerly. I’d asked him about music before, but he’d always seemed to imply that he liked mine. Maybe he felt disloyal by telling me what he really liked.
“Zee Barlo cover bands,” he said with a straight face.
I stared at him. “You are a complete and utter asshole. Tell me the truth.”
“There’s this place, Pips on La Brea, that does jazz and amazing cocktails. It’s the vibe more than the music.”
I deflated a little, remembering I was too high-profile to go to places like that anymore. If Bear and I ever had a real relationship, he’d miss out on some of the things he liked.
I sucked in a breath. “What else? Tell me about your sister. It sounds like she rules the roost. You always talk about her like she’s the one in charge.”
We talked about his family for a while as we continued fixing the meal. I moved around him to pull out ingredients to make a homemade dressing I liked while he chopped up garlic the way I asked.
There were upsides to not going out anymore, and one of them was learning to cook healthier and being able to afford fresh ingredients that made healthy eating taste way better.
And the other upside of doing it was that Ryan Galloway loved my salad dressings and acted like I’d walked on water every time I made one from scratch.
“This is fucking amazing,” he said on a groan when we sat down and started eating. “I wish you could move in with me and cook for me all the time.”
He didn’t stop to hear his own words. If he had, he might have spluttered a clarification he didn’t actually want me to move in with him. But since he didn’t take the words back, I decided to tease him a little. “We’d have to live in my house, though, because I doubt you have a steam shower or a Vitamix.”
He grinned at me. “You’re right about the steam shower, but I do have a Vitamix. I got it six months ago thinking I’d copy what you did and make salad dressing.”