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)
A few minutes later, his name lands on my phone, followed by ten fire emojis.
28
SAINT DICK
Beck
Time slogs on. I’ve never wanted an event to end so badly, but I also do my best to have fun. I hang out in the kitchen, chatting with Luke from the Leopards, who gives me a fist bump for my coming out interview, then to Hazel.
“I heard you’re a writer. Which book of yours should I try?”
She smiles, patting my shoulder. “You do know I write romance?”
I frown. “Um, yes. Why would that deter me?”
“Well, a lot of guys look down on the genre,” she explains diplomatically.
“I’m omnivorous when it comes to a lot of things, books included,” I say with a smile. “Now, tell me which book of yours to try.”
“Try Plays Well With Others. If you like it, I have a signing event next week with a few other authors,” she says.
I take my phone from my pocket and make a show of buying her book on my e-reader and downloading it in front of her.
She hugs me. “If you hate it, don’t tell me, but I already love you for buying it.”
I smile. “I won’t hate it. I’m sure I’ll like it.”
Hazel beckons me to step closer, then cups my ear. “Whenever you leave, I’ll make sure the party wraps up, and then you can come back in thirty.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Does she know everything about Jason and me?
She senses my unsaid question. “Don’t worry. I figured it out. But that’s kind of what I do. I got your back,” she says like I’m her friend now too.
Briefly, I picture being friends with his friends.
And, as I catch sight of Jason in the living room, toasting to Carter, I can see him being friends with my friends.
I like the images.
Eventually, Carter’s ready to take off, and I leave with him.
When I’m home, I take a shower, washing the paint from my chest. But I have a bigger goal than hygiene—jacking off. I don’t want to fire too soon with Jason, so I get one out of my system now, picturing tonight. Takes all of two minutes.
When I’m out of the shower, I pat on the aftershave Jason likes, then pull on fresh boxer briefs, jeans, and a T-shirt he’ll strip off in seconds.
Good. I want to be naked with him all night long. My phone buzzes from the bureau. A text flashes.
Hazel cleared everyone out. When you’re a block away, call me, and I’ll open the garage. Here’s the code to get into my house.
I grab some clothes for tomorrow, stuff them into a canvas bag, and then get the hell on my way. I’m bouncing with hormones and excitement as I drive and ring him when I’m near his house.
“And,” he says, as I hear a rumble in the background once he’s pressed a button, “you’re in.”
The garage opens, and I feel like a rock star as I pull in next to his car and cut the engine. The garage door closes, sealing me in for the night.
I get out of the car, punch in the code, and walk inside. His house is eerily quiet, especially since we were on the phone less than two minutes ago.
Weird.
I slide off my shoes, leaving them at the door, then pad up the stairs to the foyer, canvas bag in hand. I peer around the first floor. Black and orange streamers line the couch, empty glasses litter the coffee table, and plates with half-eaten chips and dip decorate the kitchen counter.
A gentle thud breaks the silence as Taco lands there, beelining for a plate of nachos. He sniffs the cheese.
I scoop him up. “Not a good idea, buddy,” I say, and the critter purrs in my arms.
I’m tempted to call Jason’s name, then hear the patter of falling water from upstairs.
He’s in the shower.
It’s a gift from Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the patron saint of two dudes fucking.
Saint Richard, I believe.
Gently, I set the cat down on the floor and then take the stairs two at a time. But before I reach the top, the faucet squeaks. The shower’s off.
Dammit.
Seconds later, there are footfalls from the main bedroom, and I turn down the hall toward the sound, stopping in the doorway and dropping my bag on the floor.
I stare shamelessly as Jason strides from the bathroom into his bedroom. A towel is slung low around his waist, and he’s drying his hair with another. Droplets slide down his broad chest.
Thank you, Saint Dick.
“Had to get the gel out of my hair,” Jason says, then tosses that towel on the bed.
“Glad it’s gone now,” I say, mesmerized, as I cross the room and rope my hands into his wet hair.
I kiss him hard and ruthlessly, setting the tone.