Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
When he opened his eyes and smiled, I knew I was fucked. Whatever happened here wasn’t ending anytime soon. We’d only just begun.
Justin
“Mmm. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Gray smiled and tossed the cummy towel onto the floor before reaching for his jeans.
“Don’t go.”
He dropped his jeans, then pulled the duvet back, motioning for me to lift my ass and get under the covers. Then he lay down and rolled to face me. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good. It’s gonna be weird between us if you go.”
“How would it be weird?”
I propped myself on my elbow and laid my hand on his chest. “Taking our clothes off, rubbing against each other, and running away is a bad habit to get into. I’m all for the first two, but we can’t work together if we can’t talk freely about…” I twirled my finger between our naked bodies. “This.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Nothing. I just want to look at you.” I peeked under the duvet and whistled. “Damn. I can’t believe that was in my ass. You’re big.”
“All right. Now you’re just being crude,” he huffed primly.
I snickered. “It’s a compliment. But you should know I was sore for twenty-four hours after. Totally your fault.”
“You want me to apologize?” he asked, reaching over to massage my left ass cheek.
“No. I want to do it again. Tonight.”
“We will. Though I don’t know about tonight,” he said with a laugh.
“Why not do it all night? That’s romantic, isn’t it?” I joked. “We can probably get some great material just lying here in bed. This isn’t even your bed, is it? We can pretend it’s a hotel room and that we met at a bar and—oh wait, we did that.”
“You’re hysterical.” He smacked my ass, then pushed his leg between mine. “I think we agreed to do research at a mall next.”
“Ugh.”
Gray smirked. “Hey, at least I’m coming up with ideas. You haven’t told me anything you like…only what you don’t. C’mon, work with me.”
“I don’t know. I guess I’d go to a park or something.”
“Where’d you go with your girlfriend?” he prodded.
I frowned. “Nowhere, really. We hung out. We didn’t have money, and we both worked a lot. She’d come by my bar after her shift at the restaurant, and then we’d walk back to my place or hers and just…talk. I liked that fifteen-minute walk in the dark more than a lot of the things we did. Even though we weren’t looking at each other, we listened. We shared stupid stories about our day and talked about new bands and songs we liked. Sometimes we held hands, sometimes we didn’t, but we connected, you know? I miss that. I miss being connected.”
I cringed at the note of melancholy in my voice. Ripping my guts open and spilling weird, vulnerable stuff most people didn’t share with strangers wasn’t smart. It made me want to belch or say something obnoxious to push him away and dim that glimmer of understanding in his eyes that wordlessly told me he’d been there too.
But just as I was about to open my mouth, he nodded. “Yeah.”
I wasn’t sure I’d heard more pain or loneliness in one word in my entire life. It stopped me in my tracks. I cocked my head and studied him for a long moment like I was seeing him for the first time. Not simply admiring his ruggedly handsome exterior, but really seeing him…and noticing things I hadn’t before. The telltale lines of humor around his eyes were laced with a profound sadness I wanted to examine and run from at the same time. The fact that he hid it so well with that beautiful smile and proud posture hinted at a strength of character I found intriguing.
The problem with being a writer was that I saw all that beauty and was rendered speechless. I needed to write what I saw. I couldn’t speak it. I couldn’t tell him he reminded me of a Hank Williams song or better yet…a work of art. The lonely kind that draws you in with colors and keeps you standing there for hours, memorizing the cracks in the paint and the fuzzy lines next to the razor-sharp ones. He’d think I was crazy, or he’d wonder what someone like me knew about old country songs or modern art. He’d think I was pretentious or—
“You look like an Edward Hopper painting,” I blurted in a small voice.
Gray widened his eyes and opened his mouth in surprise. “Which one?”
“The one with the guy looking out a window or into a window. Doesn’t matter.” I waved dismissively. “That was weird. Hey, I—”
“No, it wasn’t,” he said with a smile. “You just made me want to look up Edward Hopper or visit a museum. Not weird at all. More like thoughtful…and interesting. You don’t give a lot away, do you? But I can tell you’re smart as fuck and very intuitive.”