Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
My cock twitched in my jeans on cue. “Wanting you isn’t the issue. It’s more complicated than that for me.”
He sighed theatrically. “I’ve been hit on the head far too many times to guess what that means, Bry. Cards on the table time. What’s the real problem? Am I just not the type of guy you want the good folks of Elmwood to associate with you?”
I laughed aloud. “Are you kidding me? There is no scenario in the history of histories where I’m not thrilled at the idea of having a hunky hockey player in my bed.”
“And yet, I’ve never been in your bed.” Smitty raised his hand. “Let me ask you something. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I replied automatically.
“Good. I trust you too. I want you to know that when we talk”—he gestured between us—“this is just me and you. No one else.”
“I know.”
“Great. So I gotta ask you…what’s with the armor? Where’d it come from, and how do I get through it?”
I rolled my eyes. “Smitty…”
“Don’t do that. Don’t brush me off and tell me I’m reading too much into this, ’cause I have a strong feeling that you’ll help me paint tonight and afterward, you’ll let me touch you. You’ll let me suck your cock and taste your cum, but I might not see you at all tomorrow. Or the next day. And I don’t know how much ramen I can buy before the whole town wonders what the fuck is wrong with me. Someone will follow me eventually and figure out that I’ve got it bad for the real estate agent. They’ll feel sorry for me, and I’ll feel sorry for me too. I fucking hate pity, so let’s not go there. Let’s be real with each other here and now. I’m your friend and I care about you. And…I also want to get in your pants.”
I threw my head back and guffawed. “You’re a piece of work.”
Smitty opened his arms, shrugging boyishly. “Honesty is the best policy. Go on. In fact, you tell me something, I’ll tell you something.”
“Seems fair, but I’m sorry to disappoint you. I don’t have any deep, dark secrets.”
He slumped in his chair in defeat. “It doesn’t have to be deep or dark, dummy. Just something real about you that maybe you’re not so proud of.”
“Oh. Okay…easy. I’m a perfectionist.”
“And…” He prodded.
“I want to be the best and that’s not always possible, so…it’s a struggle.” I sipped my wine, running my tongue over my bottom lip as I set the glass on the counter.
“Keep going.”
“Well, that’s it. I don’t have anything else to say. I was a fuckup in high school and college. The life of every party, the guy who knew where to get the good stuff, and who to contact for a quick thrill. I was the definition of chaos.”
Smitty whistled. “You know, you told me all that, but it’s still hard to believe.”
“I was attention starved. I would have done anything to feel…connected to a person or a group of friends. Anything at all. I took every dare, did every drug, screwed around without a second thought. I was the opposite of the person I am now, and I changed overnight. Like an alcoholic who goes cold turkey after decades of heavy drinking.”
“For Jake.”
“Yeah.” I shifted on my stool to face him. “You want a deep, dark secret? I OD’d more than once. I had my stomach pumped at eighteen and again when I was twenty. I got into a fight with a junkie when I was twenty-two and ended up in the ER when the jackass sliced my lip with a knife.”
He squinted at my mouth. “That’s a very faint mark.”
“They did a good job stitching me up,” I agreed. “It was a bad episode and you’d think that would have scared me straight, but I wound up in the hospital a year later from another overdose. A friend and I were partying at a house in the Hamptons. It was summer. The house was beautiful, and there were fireworks and a lot of people. I remember sirens and water and screaming…and nothing else. I woke up attached to IVs and a police officer asking what happened. I couldn’t tell him. I had no idea. He was disappointed, but everyone was disappointed with me, so that was nothing new. But this time, he was hoping to give a family closure. My friend didn’t make it.”
“Holy fuck.” Smitty exhaled and set his hand on my knee. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too, but the worst part was that I didn’t really know my ‘friend’ at all. I didn’t know his name or where he was from. All I could tell the cop was that he drove a red Honda Civic and kept red vines in the glove compartment.” I stared at the tarp he’d lain on the floor in the living room for a beat before meeting Smitty’s gaze. “I was…a bad person. A shell of a human. I was selfish and dark, and I had no sense of deferred gratification.”