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)
Jason: Good to hear from you too, Mister Random Message. If you didn’t get a car, what did you do today after the photo shoot?
Tried to resist telling you everything.
Beck: Helped my landlady with her bird feeders.
Jason: Who’s the nice guy now?
Beck: I told you how I feel about nice.
Jason: Yes, in your usual roundabout way.
Beck: I can be direct.
Jason: Can you?
Beck: Do you want me to be?
Jason: Sure. Try me.
Fear climbs the stairs in my chest. The fear that he’ll reject me. I type out the question I most want to ask and hit send.
Beck: What are you doing now?
His response is instant. And it makes my bones hum.
Jason: Hanging out at my house with Taco. Doing a word game.
Beck: You do word games?
Jason: This surprises you?
Beck: I thought you’d be watching a show.
Jason: You spying on me?
Beck: NO!
Jason: Damn. I was looking out my window, thinking the broody guy walking by was you.
My breath catches. I stop in my tracks at a street corner, chest heaving with possibility. Thinking or hoping? is what I want to write. Instead, I reply with . . .
Beck: It’s not me.
Jason: Too bad . . .
Desire shoves my nerves to the back of the line. I walk, and I walk, and I walk. Ten minutes later, I turn onto his block, powered by adrenaline.
I finally reply.
Beck: Actually, it is me now.
Then I walk up his steps and knock on his door.
16
KINGS OF THE COUCH
Beck
Jason’s not dressed in blue tonight. A gray T-shirt hugs his chest, and basketball shorts sit on his trim waist. The ends of his hair are wet.
My heart squeezes hard as I drink him in. He stands in his doorway, barefoot, freshly showered.
I hunt for signs that I’m not a fool for showing up.
There’s curiosity in his blue eyes, but uncertainty too. He doesn’t glance down the front stairs, though, or furtively check the block left and right. He’s not freaked out I’m here. That has to be a good sign.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” he replies. “So, you meant it when you said you’d surprise me at my house some night.”
My throat goes dry. I hope he’s not pissed. “I can go,” I say.
He jerks his gaze into the house, an invitation. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips.
Good. I’m not a stalker.
Well, not completely.
He steps inside, and when I follow him, the buzz in my body kicks up a few more notches.
I’ve gained entry, and I’m a little high from this small accomplishment.
Jason shuts the door with a snick. The noise thrills me more than a sound should. It’s the sound of the world outside winking off and my world narrowing to only us in his home.
“Nice hat,” he says, nodding at my purple cap.
I take it off and set it on a table in the entryway. “Carter gave it to me. He didn’t want me to be recognized.”
“Does he know you’re at my house?”
I cut that notion off with a quick No. Then I add, “We had dinner.” I can’t quite believe I’m here again, so I glance around, noting his couch, the TV, and the shelves. Everything is just like last time. I’ve wanted to return to his home since the first time I set foot in here. But Jason deserves an explanation for my late-night visit, and I’ve been all over the place with answers.
I lock eyes with him and try to give a coherent answer this time. “I had dinner with him just now, and afterward, I told him I was walking home. He said to wear this so I wouldn’t be recognized.”
“Ah, so Seductive hats are disguises. Got it.”
“But I didn’t go home,” I add, stating the obvious, taking another step closer to my confession.
“I can tell.” He points to the kitchen, then claps my shoulder. “Want a drink?”
My skin sizzles when he lets go.
“So much,” I say, then follow him into the kitchen, where he yanks open the fridge.
“Beer,” I say preemptively. “Or wine. Or vodka. Or gin. I don’t care.”
He turns to face me, lifting a brow. “You want to get wasted, Caff?”
“Wait. No, actually. I don’t want a drink.” I should be sober for this. Stone cold.
He shuts the fridge and turns around. His smile vanishes. “You okay?”
I count to four. Breathe in, breathe out. “Remember the night I was here last year?”
His expression shifts to surprise. Or maybe caught way off guard. “Yes. Of course.”
I can do this. I asked to kiss him that first time. Hell, I kissed him again in the stairwell. I walked over to his home at night. “You’re the first guy I ever messed around with,” I admit.
Wow, that’s a massive relief.
“Oh.” His tone is unsure, and here comes a whole new awkward explanation.
I speed up the info dump. “I’ve known I liked both guys and girls since college, but I had a girlfriend for a long time. When we broke up after college, I went out on a few dates with guys but never clicked with anyone. I never did anything more than kiss a guy,” I say, taking a breath to draw up more courage. But fuck it, I’m this far in. “Until you. And I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop thinking about all the things I want with you. I just want . . .”