Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“I’m not involved with anyone,” I say. It’s the truth, but I try and hide the tension of the part that’s a lie—I wish I were seeing Beck.
“And he knows better than to get involved with our biggest competitors,” Nate adds.
I’m damn grateful my poker face is tight.
When I bound up the steps to my home a little later, I spot a plant on the doormat. A bright red bow is looped around the ceramic rim.
Curious, I pick up the pot of what looks like grass and search for a card. I find one at the end of the bow.
Just a little something for Taco. Hope he enjoys the catnip as much as my girl Stella does!
Xoxo,
Zena
That’s sweet of her, even though it has ulterior motive written all over it. Still, I bet my dude will dig this, so once I’m inside, I text Zena, thanking her.
She replies quickly with Anytime! Let me know if he likes it!
I really do owe her. Maybe after I connect with my agent and officially turn down Zena’s dating app offer, I can donate to an animal shelter she supports. But I’ll deal with that another time.
I set down the plant on the living room table, rip off a sprig of catnip, then head upstairs, where I set the catnip on my pillow. I’m not above tricking Taco into curling up next to me.
Then I get ready to hit the hay.
Once I’m in bed, I try out the unblocked number. Beck’s coming-out chutzpah deserves acknowledgment.
Jason: I saw your interview tonight. Nice!
Beck: I’m still shaking.
Jason: For what it’s worth, you made it look easy. You were smooth. No sign of nerves.
Beck: Yeah? You sure?
Jason: Absolutely.
I wait, but there’s crickets, so I slide under the covers, exhausted and wrung out from the game.
Taco leaps onto the bed, and I try to pet him, but the little prick grabs the blades of catnip with his teeth and sashays to his own pillow. “Ingrate,” I mutter, then close my eyes.
As I’m fading and he’s buzzing, my phone vibrates. Instantly alert again, I grab the phone from the nightstand.
Beck: I was out in LA. My teammates knew. My friends knew. My agent knew. My ex-girlfriend too. She’s still a good friend. But I realized I needed to be out here too. It was . . . necessary. I didn’t want to shout it, but it hit me that I’d been whispering. That’s not who I want to be, so my PR guy and I planned that tonight. He prepped the reporter to ask me that question since I’m not on social media and didn’t want to do a coming-out video.
I’m telling you this because it’s not a journey thing. It’s a me thing.
I can read between the lines—I didn’t do it for you—which gets me even hotter.
Jason: I didn’t think you did it for any other reason than you wanted to, Beck. And that’s the best reason.
Beck: Thanks. Also, nice game today. But I wish you’d lost.
Jason: Same to you. I wish you’d been annihilated.
Beck: I wish you’d been destroyed.
Jason: I wish you’d been pulverized.
Beck: I hope you lose next weekend.
Jason: I hope you lose harder.
Beck: You’ll lose the hardest.
That seems a good note to end on. With a smile, I turn off the phone, but I don’t sleep. My body’s exhausted, but my brain’s too busy with Beck. He’s so direct in his texts, just like he was bold on TV when he took charge of his identity. All of that’s appealing to me. It’s what I want in a man.
I’m half-aroused even as my tired body tries to fall into a deep slumber.
But I better get this lust out of my system now. I give my semi-hard cock a tug, and in a few seconds, it wakes all the way up.
I picture Beck’s mouth dropping down on my dick, indulgently sucking me off until I pant, groan, and come hard.
I tell myself it’s only to help me sleep.
The next morning at Monday Morning Quarterback, I walk down the hall to the studio, chin up, shoulders squared. But inside, I’m hiding a secret, and it’s this hazy feeling of want that’s wrapped all around me.
Like my mind is still getting off to Beck more than ten hours later.
But I’ve got to keep it cool when I see him, which will happen any second. Can’t be a dog raring to hump his leg.
The green light is on, so I push open the door. He’s not on the couch waiting; he’s already in the studio, parked at the soundboard, looking good in tight jeans and a snug red T-shirt across his chest and abs. Lucky T-shirt.
When he meets my gaze, I search for a sign in his eyes.
Something to tell me he’s fighting the same fight. Keeping the same secret.
I shouldn’t want him to still want me. This desire will only make our lives harder.