Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“This is fucking incredible,” I murmured, unable to wipe the smile off my face. “Two boys in the condor family. They’re gonna give us grays before we’re forty.”
His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Condor family—I like that.”
So did I.
*
Even though our project was sucking the fun out of filmmaking for Roe and me, I didn’t wanna leave Europe. I wasn’t ready. No matter how mentally exhausting things got, being out in the world with Roe was special to me. I missed my son something fierce—that was the only problem. Other than that…
Tomorrow was the day, though. We returned to the hotel after a long day of shooting, and we just threw our equipment on my bed. While I took a shower, Roe hauled out our bags, putting them on my bed too. Then it was his turn to shower, and I made a half-assed attempt at packing some of the stuff we didn’t need until we got home. Most of our clothes, the souvenirs we’d bought. But then I stared at all the camera gear, and I gave up. We could do that in the morning.
After changing into a pair of boxer briefs, I parked my ass on the couch and turned on the TV. They had CNN and Sky News for the English speakers, and a riveting segment on a royal baby was more than welcome to put me to sleep.
I yawned and scratched my chest absently.
Roe came out with a towel around his hips as he was brushing his teeth, and I gave him a quick once-over. Nope, bad move. Too soon. I had too many undressed memories from Vegas. He was gonna have to put clothes on.
I swallowed and diverted my gaze back to the TV, and he rummaged through his bag for something.
Don’t look.
We’d become a tad more touchy-feely since our talk on the balcony in Slovenia—not a lot, just enough for me to notice, and it was mostly coming from me. I wasn’t maintaining the same distance. I liked to keep him close, rest my arm on the back of his chair, stroke his arm, shit like that. And that was bad. He had a fucked-up magnetic pull on me, so I wanted to blame him. It was his fault. But those moments were still on the safe side, despite that the itch I scratched appeared to spread.
No bueno. Less so if he walked around half naked.
“What’re you looking for?” I had to ask.
He had his back to me, making it impossible for me not to get a peek of his ass. “The deodorant I picked up at the airport.”
Well, fucking find it already.
I wasn’t attracted to him, goddammit. The draw was intense but platonic. It had to be. I could even explain away the times he invaded my fantasies, because that was just those compulsive balcony thoughts all over again. The people you read about who couldn’t go out on a balcony without wondering what it would be like to jump. I’d been so messed up by what’d happened between us; Vegas had left a scar, and now I had those compulsive thoughts. Perfectly logical.
And utter horseshit.
I clenched my jaw and forced myself to watch the TV.
The fuck was wrong with me? I wasn’t gay. I wasn’t bisexual. I was into women.
Roe eventually found what he was looking for, and I managed to glue my stare to the screen as he changed into a pair of sweats and finished brushing his teeth.
I rubbed at my chest again, this time because of that uncomfortable tightness that sometimes flared up around my heart. I remembered the physical symptoms of anxiety from Afghanistan, though they’d been much worse. But they still bothered me. Having these hang-ups pissed me off. I talked the talk; I was so quick to be mindful and open and accepting…when in reality, I was anything but. I couldn’t shake the shame I’d felt as a child. The panic and fear. The rambling apologies to my mother.
Occasionally, I ran out of energy to lie to myself. I could lie in bed at night, twisting and turning, unable to sleep, and think back on the feelings I’d had when I’d seen that photo of my grandfather and another man. The warmth, the…rightness, in a sense. An innocent introduction to something I hadn’t known existed.
It was hard to put words to something I’d felt as a young child. The shame was much easier. Because Ma knew everything, right? And the way she’d reacted could mortify me to this day. I wasn’t supposed to get warm and fuzzy at that shit. That meant something was wrong with me. I was gonna go to hell.
Over twenty years later, I was chasing the same warmth with Roe.
The way we’d been at each other in Vegas…
How fucking platonic.
“I’m so ready for bed.” Roe came out from the bathroom again and yawned. “Did you set your alarm?”