Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
There was a small door around the corner. I let Andrew walk in first, and he swiveled his head around, checking for any people.
“Nobody here,” he said to me.
He reached back to take my hand and I took it without thinking.
As he led me through the dim room with ornate wooden walls and desks scattered around, I realized the improbability of the situation.
The rich star football player, holding my hand. Leading me to a place he can take care of me.
It almost made me dizzy.
Or maybe that was the liquor.
As he led me to a staircase just outside in the hallway, I thought we’d gotten away with it. But right as we turned to start walking up the stairs, a door creaked open behind us.
“Oh. Hey, Andrew. Hi, Gray.”
I cursed under my breath before turning around.
It was Max. The bartender from the Hard Spot, here in Andrew’s frat house.
I was suddenly keenly aware of the fact that I was still holding Andrew’s hand, as if we were a couple, instead of… whatever we were.
“Max,” Andrew said, smiling politely. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Holy shit, Gray. Are you okay?”
I’d all but forgotten that I was dripping with blood. I was so focused on the fact that we’d been caught.
And caught holding hands.
As if we’re two young kids in middle school, for fuck’s sake.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I tripped. Fell into a gnarly hedge. Andrew was just showing me to the first aid kit.”
I tried to ignore the fact that I saw Max’s eyes glance down at us holding hands.
“Max, if you wouldn’t mind, we don’t really want the other guys to know about this,” Andrew offered.
Max held up his hands. “I hear you, loud and clear.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Andrew continued, effortlessly sliding back into being a good host.
“Yeah,” Max said with a smile. “Last time Luke was in the bar, he really enjoyed a rum cocktail I made him, and he kind of demanded my phone number in case he ever wanted more cocktails for a party. He texted me and told me about the good game. It was my night off, so I decided to head over.”
“You’re always welcome here,” Andrew said. “Have fun, okay?”
Max saluted us. “You two have fun, too.”
As we continued up the stairs, the moment he was out of earshot, I spoke to Andrew.
“He thinks we’re fucking. One hundred percent.”
“He might,” Andrew agreed.
“You trust him?”
“I’d trust him with my life. Max has been through a lot, especially with his boyfriend Draven. Trust me.”
Andrew took me up to a nice bathroom on the second floor and quickly located a first aid kit.
“I’m going to tell you something,” Andrew said. “You also have to promise it won’t end up in the article.”
“Yes?”
“Sometimes the guys call me Mother Hen when I grab the first aid kit. This is going to hurt.”
I didn’t wince as he put the alcohol wipe onto the cuts along my left arm. It hurt, but I’d felt worse.
“Mother Hen,” I repeated. “You’re a natural caretaker, huh?”
I watched as he discarded one wipe that had been soaked with blood. He grabbed a fresh one, working down along my arm, then took another one for my face.
He was precise. Focused.
I remembered what he’d told me, the first night we met.
He wanted to have a family one day.
Kids to take care of.
You’d be a very good dad, Andrew.
And it should have been illegal to look as good as he did under a simple bathroom light like this one.
“I don’t know if I’m a caretaker, but I know that I’m going to try to fix anyone’s pain, anytime they have any.”
“So good-hearted,” I teased.
“Hey, I mean it. Anytime one of the guys even mentions having a headache, I’m there to offer an ibuprofen.” He turned to give me a slight smile. “You can feel free to write about that part.”
Even after he’d cleaned all of my wounds and pressed bandages over a couple of them, something inside me felt a bit… exposed.
I was still reeling from everything that had happened outside.
Why, why, why?
Why the fuck had I told him as much as I did?
I never opened up like that to anyone. Certainly nobody at TNU.
My therapists had known, over the years. I’d trusted them, but almost no one else. The personal details of my childhood were enough to disturb anybody.
There had been one person I’d told, in my freshman year of college, when I was new and made the mistake of trusting someone. I’d told him even less than I told Andrew tonight, but he’d treated me like damaged goods afterward.
I’d even noticed him pick up his wallet and put it in his pocket afterward.
Afraid that I was going to fucking steal from him.
“Come with me. I want to show you something,” Andrew said, flipping off the light in the bathroom as he led me out into the hall.