Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Gabe waited for me, posted outside of his Jeep, arms crossed, a golden band of sunlight shining down on him through a covering of tall oak trees.
Fucking hell, God really did have favorites, huh?
“Glad you found this place alright,” he said as I got out of my car. “The map can get funky.”
“It did try to lead me into a river at one point, but thankfully, Toyotas don’t self-drive yet, or I would have shown up a little wet.”
Gabe laughed at that and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me toward him. “I wouldn’t have minded that.” He didn’t let me reply, kissing me instead.
You know those kisses that are described as sweeping someone off their feet? As plopping them directly on a fluffy little cloud with the number nine hanging off it?
Those kisses exist. Not just in movies or fairy tales, but out in the real world.
And why wouldn’t they? Magic lived in this world and in the one I occupied before finding out about shifters. It existed in attending a concert for a favorite artist and singing along with an arena full of people; it existed in the smallest of flowers that would spring up through cracked concrete, apparently against all odds.
And it existed in kisses like these. A kiss that made you feel less lonely, supported, understood, hungered for, protected. All of it.
All in the way his tongue danced with mine. In how his hand tightened around the back of my neck. In how I could hear him breathing me in, how he pressed his front to mine, erasing any atom of space that may have existed between us.
It was such a contrast to the head nods we’d give each other as hellos before practice or how we’d say goodbye after a game, only to meet up later at his house or mine and spend the entire night rolling around naked.
I want this all the time.
But I knew I couldn’t have it.
I swallowed that bitter pill as we broke for air. He smiled down at me, his pearly white teeth perfectly straight. “Welcome to my hideaway.” He stepped back and flared his arm out, directing my attention to the beautiful black painted cabin behind him. It was a beautiful home, built with a traditional mountainside log cabin in mind but with massive windows, a wide wraparound porch full of potted flowers and cozy places to sit, and a fire pit that looked out over a beautiful vista of the mountains.
“This is yours?” I asked.
“It is. It’s been in the family since my great grandpa.”
“It’s beautiful.” I took a step back so I could soak it in. “I didn’t know you were a mountain boy.”
“I’m full of surprises,” Gabe said with a wink in what could have quite possibly been the understatement of the decade. “Come, let me give you the tour.”
I followed him onto the porch, the wood creaking underneath us as we walked. He opened the dark blue door and let me in first.
The interior was just as breathtaking as the exterior. There were still the same touches of blue that he had in his home, but they seemed to have been toned down by—
“I had an interior designer help out.”
I chuckled, pointing at an artsy bronze light fixture above a round black-and-white marble coffee table. “Yeah, this does look a little different than the design tips you got from the Blue Man Group.”
Gabe took a second to register my joke. His face cracked. “You’re such a dick,” he said with a laugh.
“I also have one. What a coincidence.”
“Oh, I know you have one. A very nice, thick, uncut one.” He licked his lips and kicked up the ever-burning fire in my core. But instead of tending to the flames, he turned and said, “On with the tour.”
I ignored my subtle ache of blue balls and followed, exploring the kitchen and the guest rooms and the spa-like bathroom with its rainfall shower and dark stone walls.
It was on the second floor where the tour took a turn, and it wasn’t because I could see the master bedroom directly in front of me.
“What’s that room?” I asked as we walked past a door with a heavy digital lock on the front. It was different from all the other doors and not just because of the lock. It was also made of a different material, painted over with matte-black paint.
Fiberglass?
“That is…” Gabe’s voice trailed off. He abruptly stopped. We were on the landing to the second floor, the smooth wooden railings looking down over the living room and out through the massive walls of glass. The view seemed painted in, a sun-soaked mountain range covered in deep evergreen trees, undulating like a wave coming to crash onto shore. “It’s my were room. On nights when there’s a full moon, I come here and lock myself in there to shift.”