Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Two guys touching doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”
I want to say being okay with seeing gay guys touch is different than being gay, but I don’t. “My middle name is Isaac, after my mother’s father.”
“Damon Isaac King … wait, your initials are—”
I grit my teeth. “I know. You don’t think Stacy has made that joke to our parents ever since I came out? ‘No wonder he likes dick when his initials are DIK.’”
Maddox bites his lip as if he’s trying to hold back.
“You’re allowed to laugh,” I say.
“I’m Maddox Colin O’Shay. Pretty boring. Sorry my name isn’t up to your standards.”
“It’s very Irish.”
“My dad’s name is Colin, and his family is Irish. My grandparents moved to the States when Dad was a teenager. He still has the accent and everything.”
“Noted.”
“What are you studying at Columbia?” Maddox asks.
“I have a degree in sports management from Newport, and I’m about to finish my law degree on top of that.”
“Double degree? That means you’re smart. What made you want to be an agent?”
I clear my throat and stare out my window again. “It was a backup. The original plan was to become a ball player.”
“What held you back?”
“Torn rotator cuff. I was a pitcher.”
“Ouch.”
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, but the loss of baseball is a sore subject—even now, years after my injury. I think it’ll always be hard for me to accept it’s really over. Nothing has ever made me happier than being on the mound. I still have dreams about pitching no-hitters.
The smell of the grass, the bright stadium lights, the game has always been intoxicating. Now I’m like an alcoholic who’s been forced into mandatory rehab, because my addiction is no longer an option for me. But I’m so fucking thirsty for it.
“You need to know anything about me?” Maddox asks.
“Maddox O’Shay. Works at Parsons’ Media, went to Olmstead University, and lies to girls about his sexuality.” I smirk.
“Girl. One girl. And best not bring that up this weekend. Do you have any allergies? Drink coffee? How do you like your eggs? Isn’t this what couples know about each other?”
“No allergies, coffee is essential—and I drink mine black—and if I’m at a restaurant, I’ll order my eggs poached, but if I’m cooking, all I can manage is scrambled.”
“I’m a sunny-side-up type of guy, I need cream and sugar in my coffee, and I’m allergic to morphine and commitment.”
I laugh, and I hate that he’s funny.
“But probably shouldn’t bring up the commitment phobia this weekend either.”
“Smart move,” I say.
“So how did we meet?” he asks.
“Can we tell the truth? My sister introduced us. You went to college with her, you work together, and we all live in the same city. It’s plausible. It’s actually a miracle we haven’t met before. Stacy talks about you nonstop.”
“The brother and the best friend angle. I like it.”
CHAPTER THREE
MADDOX
My boyfriend hates me. Can’t say I blame him.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I met Damon. Other than a Facebook profile picture, I didn’t have much to go on. I don’t even know what color hair he has. In his photo and right now, he’s wearing a Columbia ballcap. I could see him as a ball player; he has wide shoulders and biceps I’m jealous of.
When we pull up to my parents’ two-story clapboard house and I turn the ignition off, Damon stops me from getting out of the car.
“There’s one more important question we should know,” he says.
“If it’s which one of us bottoms, I’m gonna have to go with you.”
Damon laughs so hard he has to hold onto his stomach. At least that’s better than the scowl he’s been giving me the whole way here. “If someone in your family asks that, I may have to ask them which sexual position they prefer.”
“I dare you to,” I say.
“My question is more important than that. Who’s your team?”
“Uh, as in baseball?”
“Duh.”
“Ummm …”
“You do like baseball, right?” Damon looks at me as if I’m about to slaughter a unicorn.
“I’m more of a football kind of guy.”
He checks his watch. “Three hours and this fake relationship is already over.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “How about I go for whichever team you go for. Let me guess, the Yankees.”
“Hell no. I’m a Mets guy through and through.”
“Good to know. Ready to do this?” I ask.
Damon’s eyes travel to the house, and if I’m not mistaken, his skin pales. “I’ve never met a guy’s parents before.”
“No need to be nervous. My folks are great and totally fine with the gay thing.”
Damon huffs. “Only, you’re not gay.”
“That doesn’t matter. We’ll ‘break up’ in a few months anyway.”
He glares at me. “Or you could tell the truth.”
I frown. “That’s freaky.”
“What is?”
“You look exactly like Stacy when you’re being judge-y. I would know. She judges me a lot.”
He cracks a smile.
“Look, we can sit here and go over the reasons why I should tell my parents the truth, but this weekend isn’t the time to do it. We’ll have dinner with my folks, attend Chastity’s wedding tomorrow, get drunk on free alcohol, crash out, and then head back to the city Sunday morning bright and early.”