Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Almost immediately he said, “Nah. I’ve never been in love, never found someone who made me feel that spark. No one has ever made me want that, but if they did, I don’t think I could handle the idea of them being with someone else. I’m a possessive motherfucker.” He winked. “I’m kidding…kind of. About being possessive, I mean. But no offense. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that kind of relationship either.”
“None taken. You’ve really never been in love?” I found myself asking.
“Nope. I’ve dated, of course, but it just…I’ve never looked at someone the way Anson looks at West. I’ve never felt that…need for another person, that…whatever the fuck it is that takes it to the next level. I’ve never been serious about someone. Never wanted to be. It’s not a conscious decision. Guess I’m not built that way.”
“Maybe you are and maybe you’re not. You’re what…thirty? You have time.”
“You say that like you’re an old man or something.”
“I’m older than you.”
He waved me off. “You look good. Shut the fuck up.”
My breath hitched. I sure as shit hadn’t expected Darren to tell me I looked good. We paused, then, “I should go,” he said suddenly and stood. Disappointment flooded me.
Darren cleaned up his mess, I did the same, and then I walked him to the door.
“Thanks for dinner…and for coming to the game. I’m glad you were here.”
“I’m glad I was here too.”
“Night, Angel.”
“Night, Troublemaker.”
Darren slipped out, and I stood there, staring at the closed door for entirely too long.
Chapter Eight
Darren
Late September
“Hell yeah, motherfuckers!” I shoved off Anson’s couch, arms in the air like I’d just won a championship instead of a video game. “Sorry you guys suck.”
Anson rolled his eyes.
Elias chuckled.
I bowed, joking, “But hey, none of us suck as much as your husband.” The last part was said a little louder. West was shit at games. While he wasn’t as into them as we were—and I had a feeling he only played because Anson did—he also hated not being good at something. It made him crazy when we beat him, which was ninety percent of the time.
West poked his head out of the kitchen. “Am I supposed to be sorry for how often I’m on my knees for Anson?”
“Oh, ew. Too much information.” Elias pretended to plug his ears. “Lalalalala.”
“Jesus Christ, West,” Anson said just as I added, “Well played, Weston Calloway.”
“It’s Weston Calloway-Hawkins to you.” He grinned at Anson, and I was pretty sure my best friend went soft inside. Heart eyes shot out of his head, like in a cartoon, and something squeezed in my chest, kept getting tighter until it was hard to breathe.
Well…that was weird as fuck.
Why had I felt that way?
“On that note,” Elias said, “that’s enough for me. I need to get home to my wife.” He wheeled himself toward the door. We said our goodbyes, and he let himself out.
It was about seven, and I wondered if I should leave as well. I didn’t really want to, but this might be time that Anson and West wanted to themselves. It was strange to me, that devotion, that need to be in the same person’s company that much. I mean, they lived together. How much new shit could they have to say? It was something that didn’t compute because I’d never felt it.
“So what’s new with you?” Anson asked, and I took that as permission to stay. Jeremy had taken a new case, so with the time change, he wouldn’t be around to talk until later anyway.
“Not much.” I sat in one of the living-room armchairs.
“You’ve been kind of low-key lately.” Anson took one of the edges of the couch. “You went out when we were in Minnesota, but I didn’t get an earful about whatever woman you were with, and the past two games you haven’t gone out at all.”
Anson didn’t know I met with Jeremy that night. He didn’t even know Jeremy had come to the game. I couldn’t say why I hadn’t told him, but then Jeremy hadn’t told West either, so whatever the reason, I guessed we were on the same page. “Do you miss my stories about women? Because I’m happy to share.” Not that I had any lately. It’d been weeks since I’d hooked up with anyone.
“No, please don’t.”
West came into the room. “We can always share our sex life with you, but then I worry you’d be jealous. You’re missing out.” West handed Anson a bottle of water, kissed his temple, and sat beside him.
“Thanks. I was just thinking about getting a drink,” Anson said.
“I know,” West answered, and I was sitting there wondering how in the fuck he could have known that. Did falling in love and getting married give you an out-of-this-world mental connection? My mom and Deon were often the same. West added, “You always drink a lot of water in the evenings after practice.”